The city was supposed to be neutral. A place where people of all races could go and mingle without a fight. There were some rules, and they were enforced with determination.

But on the 3rd day, everything changed.

Orme woke up slowly, groggy from sleep and a late night of chatting and dicing. Wren was already gone. Orme cursed his old age that made him sleep in, then got out of bed. There were things to do. They had planned to explore the public library that day, to see if they could find some more details from before the war, or of that envoy party they’d found out about.

Orme made his slow way downstairs, cursing at his leg wound under his breath. The damned wound wouldn’t heal and it hurt. A lot.

Downstairs he found Iyona, alone at a table, drinking tea. He ordered one for himself and joined her. “Where’s Wren?” He asked.

“Already gone. Said to find them at the library when we oldies were done with breakfast.” Orme laughed. “We oldies, eh? I’m thinking we should teach that insufferable kid a lesson. How about a surprise sword training today?”

She smiled the most beautiful, mischievous smile he’d ever seen. “Deal.”

They finished their tea and left, aiming for the public library. It was in the heart of the city, while the inn was on its borders. It would take maybe half an hour to reach it. 

They didn’t rush, there was plenty of time. 

Or so they thought.

The streets passed by, slowly getting wider, the building more stone than brick and mud, and grander too. There were flowers on the windows of the ones closest to the library. Bright red flowers that they'd never seen anywhere else before.

The public library was stationed at the top of a volley of stairs, tight and steep. Iyona and Orme lifted their left foot and were about to step on the first when a BOOM made them jump. Orme lost his footing and fell, thankfully backward. From his seated position he could see the colour drain from Iyona’s face. She’d recognised the noise. Hell, he had too.

Cannons.

“Wren!” He yelled, and jumped to his feet. His wound flared, and he ended up on his knees. “Curse this stupid wound. Wren! Iyona, go find them!”

She nodded, her brows knit together, and ran up the stairs into the library. Orme sat on the steps, waiting for the pain to recede. There was no use for them both to run inside, he pondered. Might as well wait there and see how things go.

As he waited, he watched. And there was much to see. Commoners running back home in a rush, soldiers running the other way to man the walls, and of course the city gates closing. They closed slowly, allowing a trickle of people to pass before definitely getting barred and locked. Whatever happened to those who couldn’t come in, he would never know but could very well imagine. Nobody has time for stragglers.

Once the gate was secure, more and more soldiers rushed up the walls to the battlements. 

And Iyona came out of the library, Wren in tow.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Wren asked as they knelt next to Orme. He was so relieved to see them that he didn’t answer, only took them in his arms. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You’re fine. Everyone’s fine.” He kept repeating those words over and over, trying to make himself believe them. Seeing the soldiers rushing to man the walls had shaken him.

An awkward moment passed, then he released his kid and got up, oh so slowly. “Let’s head back to the inn. We should prepare. It looks like the city is under siege.”

They made their way to the inn, zig-zagging between running people and those too shocked to move. The buildings seemed to flash by, their doors barely more than blurs as Orme half ran, half wobbled through the streets.

The inn was as quiet as usual, the old man behind his counter didn’t seem to know the news yet.

Orme hated to break it to him. “Hey, I know you don’t care much about the world outside of this place, but the city seems to be under siege. If you want to go meet people or do something, we can stay and man the fort.”

He snorted. “Not the first, not the last. I’m good.” And continued to clean the same dirty glasses again and again.

Orme briefly wondered about the kitchen staff, but figured if they worked here, they probably had the same view on things as the old man. He pushed this out of his head and joined Iyona and Wren at the table they’d claimed. “So, what do we do?” Wren asked. Orme had not a clue, and shook his head.

He was about to ask for something to drink when something unusual happened. A man came in.

He was tall, taller than most people. His skin was almost as dark as his hair and eyes, and his clothes were a pale shade of beige that made it all the more obvious. He had a backpack that looked like it was about to explode, and a shoulder bag that had seen better days. I guessed him to be about 50 years old, sturdy yet a little hunched, just enough to bely a more advanced age than he would probably have wanted to show.

“Can I?” he asked. The innkeeper nodded, and the newcomer took a seat at another table. “Mead, please.”

His face was familiar, but Orme couldn’t quite put his finger on why. His voice though, he would have recognised anywhere. “Bob? Is that you?”

He turned to Orme and a smile devoured his face at once. “Orme! What in the eight levels of Hell are you doing here, you?” He crossed the few paces separating them, dragging his chair with him. 

“It is you! I should have known you’d be here as soon as the siege started, you’re always in the most dangerous situations. Everyone, this is Robinson. He was one of the best cooks I’d ever met, when I had my ship. We’ve been through a lot, him and I.”

Orme’s companions nodded, looking curious.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, oui!” Bob said. “In other news, the city is well and truly under siege, and I had to fight my way out of being drafted to man the walls, man. They’re going after everyone that looks like they can hold a sword. I figured if I managed to get here, they’d leave me alone, but we better be careful. You all look like you can fight. And are expendable, oui.”

“Wait, so they just go around dragging people to the walls? They’ll definitely come down here then, this is the poorer part of town after all. “Wren said. They seemed anxious.

Orme put a hand on their shoulder. “They won’t come here at first. Poor people don’t have time to play with swords. And besides, Bob has a few tricks up his sleeve, and so do I. You don’t survive this long doing the job I did without knowing a thing or two about not getting caught.” He tried to look as calm as possible to reassure them, but the truth was, he wasn’t feeling so good about all this.

While it was true that he’d been in dangerous situations before, he’d never been in this particular one. All the doors to the city were closed, and from what they just learned it seemed the walls were well seen to. There would be no way of escaping easily, including at night as he’d first thought. Perhaps they’d have to stay and hope the guards didn’t find them. Or at least not separate them.

The innkeeper finally brought Bob his mead, and Orme ordered some for them all as well. This was a drinking moment, and he was going to make the most of it.