“Caelan, your stew is doing fantastic. It’s a real shame that we don’t have any more guests to eat it”, the landlord said to his cook, now back in the tap room. Then he made a few steps into the room, clapped his hands loudly and waited until it was quiet. “Dear guests”, he began, his voice filling the room completely. “Unfortunately I have to ask you to leave the Golden Steed. Go home. Pack your things. And be ready to leave Dunvegen. Doom comes marching from Moore! You have oft listened to my stories, now listen to my warning: get to safety.” Quiet murmuring, uncertainty, questions that nobody wanted to ask the landlord directly. But no one got up to leave the inn. “I implore you: get yourselves and your families to safety. Forget the bill, but heed my words.” Good mood seemed to return over those last words; even so the people were still reluctant to get up from their chairs and only did so after finishing their drinks.

“Very dramatic”, Áed commented and Odhrán ignored him.

“Didn’t we want to speak to the Túath first? Before we scare the people?”, Sara asked, less than happy.

“Call it a flash of inspiration”, Odhrán replied with a shrug.

While the giant gathered the barmaids at the counter to talk to them, Áed turned to Sara: “Do you think they'll listen to him?”

“I hope so. You saw what’s headed for us– Dunvegen doesn’t have a chance.”

“Shit, Sara, how is this supposed to work? Even if we get these people to leave... What about all the other villages? We can't warn all of them in time.”

“No, we can't. And we won't save them. You shouldn't think about it. We have to go north.”

Odhrán continued talking to the women: “And if they don't listen to you, then come back here on your own. Bring what is important to you, what you can carry and wait here for us. We'll come and get you when we get back.” They nodded eagerly and disappeared through the door along with the throng of guests. One of them remained standing; it was the one he had spoken to when they had entered the Golden Steed.

“Zofia”, Odhrán turned to her, “tell Peadar to harness the horses to the cart. Then load up what you can find in the kitchen. Have Caelan help you with that. I have a feeling we’ll need it.” She nodded in reply with a grim expression on her face and then disappeared through the door as well.

“Áed, would you bring me one of those chairs.” The giant stepped behind the counter and looked upward at the raven’s beak on the wall. “Old friend, never thought I’d hold you in my hands again.”

Áed - albeit reluctantly - brought a chair from the next table behind the counter and Odhrán at least nodded his thanks.

“Are you planning on bashing their skulls in if they refuse to listen?”, Sara wanted to know and Áed thought he could hear that she might even be serious. And the tone in which Odhrán replied didn't exactly reassure him. “If I have to, yes.”

#

Loudly the raven’s beak impacted on the ground as the Giant of Kynvell set it down in front of him. Steel on stone. They had entered uninvited and now he demanded the attention of those present. “Honoured councillors, I'm terribly sorry if I’m interrupting right now.” He looked at each of the men in turn. All of them were easily twice as old as Áed and seemed to lead a far better life than him as well. All dressed in expensive fabrics, richly embroidered, clean-shaven or neatly trimmed beards, a table that seemed to bend under the weight on it and iron circlets on four heads and indignation on every face. “What do you–” A man in a white shirt, a short beard and an iron circlet on his head - as red as his waistcoat - had raised his voice against Odhrán, but was immediately interrupted by him again.

“I bring ill tidings. Moore has fallen.”

Silence. No one dared to speak while the men at the table processed the news. THe first to grab a hold of himself was a corpulent councillor in green robes with a sword on his left breast. “And is there any proof of that?”

On that Sara and Áed stepped up next to the giant. Sara saluted and then began: “Sara Redmond. Corporal with the third platoon, assigned to the Western Frontier Guard. We were stationed near Moore. Our post was overrun. We were the only survivors. We rode to Moore to warn them, but we were too late. We didn't find any survivors.”

Those around the table began talking to each other, weighing up what they had just heard; the word lie was dropped more than once. “What if it’s true?” - “We can’t just take anyone’s word for it.” -They were all too preoccupied with each other to pay any attention to the three still standing near the door. “That’s ridiculous. There have never been any attacks here.” Áed gave Sara a look seeking help, but she just shrugged her shoulders. He took heart; these discussions were jeopardising the lives of people out there. “Honoured councillors–"

“We didn’t ask for your opinion!”, the man in the red waistcoat snapped at him.

Another also stood up, his iron circlet richly engraved, his red robe lavishly embroidered and his face marked with countless wrinkles. Of all those present in the room, he seemed to Áed to be the oldest. “Rohan, be quiet! We will listen to them. Please, my lad, say what you have to say.”

“Are you serious, Riordán?”, the other wanted to know, outraged, and Áed thought he could see a vein threatening to burst on his forehead if he didn't calm down soon, but Councillor Riordán didn't respond to the interruption.

“My father swore to lead and protect Dunvegen. Just like his father before him. And his before him. And so have I. If there is even the possibility that the citizens who trust me are in danger, then I will listen to what these people have to say.” He looked at the other three councillors in turn, the one who had objected last. “Bricín, Émer, Rohan, do you agree with me in this assessment?”

Bricín, Émer - the man in green - and Rohan - the latter reluctantly - nodded. “I’m still convinced that this is a waste of time.”

“That we will judge after we have heard their entire story.”

Odhrán murmured, just loud enough for Sara and Áed to hear him: “So I won’t need this here after all.”

“So please, tell us what has happened. How bad is it?”, Émer - the man in green robes - wanted to know. Áed described to him how Cruidín had been overrun in no time, as if there hadn’t been hundreds of soldiers of the Imperial Militia stationed there. He explained that it wasn’t elves, they had to fear, but monsters of a different kind, he had never seen before. And he told them about Aoibhinn, Carthach, Siollán, William and all the other comrades who had fallen, with torn flesh and teeth in their guts. He glanced over how they had been arrested for desertion in Andras and sentenced to death, both of which the members of the Túath needn’t know. And finally he told them about the gates to the hells which had once been Moore.

“This is serious. If even an imperial outpost can be overrun this easily…”, the councillor who had not spoken before chimed in. Bricín. He rubbed his chin and paced restlessly behind the table. Except for his bald chin, he reminded Áed of a luchorpán from the old stories.

“This easily? With all due respect– We had been undersupplied for weeks. We lost an entire platoon the week before. Those that were left fought to the end.” Áed didn’t like the way he portrayed things. Good women and men would never again see a sunrise and this cake-eater allowed himself to drag their memory through the mud like this.

“Yes, but that is of little use to us now. I very much doubt that we have a company of Swords stationed here that we don't know about”, Councillor Rohan said pointedly.

“Please. Stay calm”, Councillor Riordán intervened. “We want to protect the people of Dunvegen, not fight.”

“So call on the citizens to evacuate the village! At worst, we only got a couple more hours. And the longer we talk, the less time we have.” Sara was right, it all went far too slow for Áed’s liking. This once they were here in time. This time it was possible to save the people. If only they would finally act.

Riordán and Bricín nodded.

“I will have guards go from house to house. They should inform the people”, said Councillor Émer.

“People won't be thrilled about having to leave at night”, Rohan pointed out.

“They will manage if they want to live”, Odhrán replied calmly and Áed tended to agree.

“Yes… Yes, it seems they will have to. Bricín, can you send riders to the neighbouring villages? They should have the same luck as we do. I will send someone to Captain Ausaláin. Saints willing, he will send troops”, Riordán contemplated.

“And the wedding?”, Émer interjected now, even if with very little conviction.

“You can’t be serious. The two of them should finally join hands and then get out of here with the others if they value their lives. They can still celebrate when they're safe”, grumbled Odhrán. That seemed to be enough for the other councillors as well.

So they left the Túath's house and made their way back to the Golden Steed. Odhrán was the first to speak. “That went well. If I had known they would agree so quickly, I wouldn't have needed the old thorn.”

“Aye. Now it's up to the people”, said Áed.

“I still don't understand why you had to take the hammer with you”, Sara said to the giant, grumpily, but he just laughed it off. “You never know.”

On their way, they were often stopped by excited people who wanted to know from Odhrán whether he knew or had heard anything about what exactly was going on. He answered their questions as best he could and explained to them what was going to happen; that they would be leaving Dunvegen. This only helped to calm their moods on rare occasions. The village was in disarray and the cheerfulness that had greeted them just an hour ago had vanished. The air tasted like before a storm, when animals were hurriedly driven in, shutters were closed and anything that wasn't secure was tied down. Donkeys, goats and oxen were harnessed to carts, packs heaved onto them, instructions shouted. Where he could, Odhrán helped. Still the women and men of the guard were going around, knocking on doors and windows, spreading the bad news. The wedding feast had been broken up and the last remaining guests were arguing with a woman in uniform who told them to pack their things and join the rest of the community. Odhrán tersely explained the situation and that it was better to follow the woman's instructions. Not a cloud hung in the red sky.

“Why aren’t you a member of the Túath? The people here respect you; listen to you”, Sara asked.

“That's not for me. The days when I made decisions for other people are long gone. I just want to be a simple landlord.”

In front of the stable of the Golden Steed there stood now a large cart with two horses in front of it. The stable hand who had  taken Sara’s and Áed’s horses before, was just dragging a sack onto it. “Is it really true, Odhrán? Zofia isn’t talking shit?”, he wanted to know by way of greeting.

Odhrán nodded. “Aye. We’re leaving the Golden Steed. Are Zofia and Caelan ready?”

Peadar replied: “Both of them are still inside. I think they’re getting something from the kitchen.”

“Good. We’ll depart with the others. We should have everything in order until then.” Then he turned to Sara and Áed. “I hope your horses can go a little bit longer.”

“They will have to”, Áed said.