Fire. The Kyriandoris manor house was burning. Four stories, from the servants' quarters in the back to the Lord and Lady's suite on the top floor - two hundred years of history - was going up in smoke as the sun set. The wine cellar below might be saved, but that was the last thing on the minds of the Kyriandoris defenders at the moment. More important were the hobgoblins and ogres running rampant throughout the vineyards, setting fire to whatever they could not simply tear down. All the while, house liveried soldiers fought, cried out in pain, and died to protect that which they had come to hold dear: The livelihood of the foremost winemakers this side of the Dragon Mountains.

Vaasakiir looked up from the chaos of the battlefield within the vineyard walls and shook her head. All around her, Kyriandoris men were falling, though not without adding to the carnage by taking out a few hobgoblins before they did. Only the great ogres managed to move unfettered through the mass of twisting, lunging bodies. Their pelts were festooned with arrows, one or more of the wooden shafts protruding from shoulders and backs, unnoticed. The giants' great clubs felled men each time they swung, and they had made it to the position where Lord Indehar Kyriandoris stood with his select troupe of guardians. Vaasa knew he would stop the threat, and turned back to dispatch another raging hobgoblin with a pointed finger and an uttered word. The creature jerked and fell as if impaled from two directions at once.

She turned back after another attacker lunged past, missing her with its short spear and receiving a slash across its back that left it screaming as it grabbed for the injury. Reversing her blade, the female warrior impaled the creature through the heart to end its agony. It was only then that she heard the keening cry of her father, and the sudden cry of a horn from his position.

"The alarm!" she cried, turning to see what had happened. The ogres were moving away now, the hilltop where her father had taken his stand mostly devoid of figures. The hunched forms of two fallen ogres littered the hillside where they'd fallen, impaled by spears and lances that had been set against their charge. Three others moved away, a flag of white linen flying from one of the massive creatures' shoulders.

"Mother..." Vaasa whispered. Ilena Kyriandoris had stood with her husband. The lady was untrained with any weapon and unused to any armor, and so Indehar had commanded his closest soldiers to protect her at all costs while he led the defense. Ilena had been wearing white...

"To the hilltop!" she cried, turning and slashing at another hobgoblin that rushed her. The creature reached up, dropping the rude falchion it had been wielding and screaming, clutching the slashed ruin of its face. Around her, Vaasa's complement of soldiers wheeled about and moved closer to her, heading up the incline to the burning manor house at a lope. Around them, the hobgoblins realized their leaders were abandoning the fight, and began to flee in droves. Where they stayed, Kyriandoris guardsmen cut them down. The fighting was over.

Or so it seemed.

"Father!" Vaasa's appearance at the top of the incline drew relieved looks from the defenders there, but only for a moment, before they turned to grief once more. Indehar lay on the ground, wheezing, his armor bent, his sword shattered on the ground around him.

"An ogre club," Shendil, her father's Captain said quietly, moving to intercept her before she could rush to her father's side. "He will live, but he is in much pain."

"Is he alive!?" she cried. "Where is my mother!?"

Around her, the men found other places to look. Shendil looked after the departing ogres, just now stepping over the ruined southern wall and leaving the devastated vineyard. "They took her..."

"NO!" Vaasa's cry was one of defiance, anger and loss. Her view turned watery as the tears came unbidden.

"Vaasa," she heard her father call painfully. With a look at Shendil, she moved to his side and knelt.

"Father," she said softly. "I am here."

"Ilena!" he gasped, reaching up and grasping her arm. "They took her! Tried... to... stop them... he wheezed.

There was a grasp at her shoulder. Shendil was there. "He should not speak," he said concernedly. "The priest will come soon. He should be able to see to his wounds."

"Shendil!" the wounded man on the ground called, the words wheezing from his lips, along with flecks of blood. "You failed me!"

"Milord," the warrior replied, falling instantly to one knee.

"I told you to protect her!" Indehar turned to look at his daughter. "Vaasa!" he said. He stopped, coughing blood and waving her away when she tried to help him. "Your mother... My wife... he said. He tried to get up on one arm to speak, but could not. He fell back and breathed for a moment, catching his breath painfully.

When he had it again, he turned to her, eyes burning in the darkness. "They shall not have her, Vaasa," he said, anger turning his lips downward at the edges. Lips that had always been turned upward in a smile. Lips that had tasted a thousand barrels of wine each year for their potency and flavor. Lips that had kissed her goodnight for as long as she knew. "Get them for me, Vaasa. Get them for her."

Vaasakiir, beloved of Indehar and Ilena Kyriandoris, first daughter and scion of the family's sorcerous vein, nodded and stood. Nearby, Shendil stayed down, eyes cast at the ground in failure, his future uncertain, his inability to protect that which was most important to the Kyriandoris family written in his face.

"Lose the vineyard," Indehar had said, as the cry came out that the ogres were approaching, "but do not lose my wife!"

"Althebir, Tethas, Tulare," the young warrior woman said, picking among her father's best men. "Rellios... She turned to their sergeant, still kneeling, staring at the dirt before him in shame. "Shendil," she said.

The warrior looked up at her, confused.

"If you wish to redeem your failure," Vaasakiir said simply, "come with me..."

"There are horses behind the manor house," he said, relief and then determination flooding through his face. "We can catch up to them in a matter of minutes."

"No," Vaasa replied, startling them all.

"But...

"Were we to ride to them alone in the middle of the night, we would be slain out of hand," the youngest Kyriandoris interrupted. "This requires more than just brawn, Shendil. The ogres have us outmatched there. It is HERE that they cannot beat us." She reached up and tapped her head.

There was a general murmur of understanding among the men she'd chosen.

"The rest of you," she said to those whose names she had not called. "See that my father is kept comfortable until Father Erik can come. See what you can do about putting out the fires, and start cleaning up the vineyards. We have a winery to repair come morning."

The guards around her nodded. Vaasakiir moved toward the horses.

---

Ten minutes later, Vaasa and her escorts were racing through the forested lowlands south of the manor house, the trees flashing past in the night, the rustle of the breeze through the leaves an inchoate murmur in their ears. There was a lower valley a few miles to the south of the vineyard, where the trees split to allow passage of a small river that drained the region. It was the only stopping point among the trees large enough for the ogres to make camp, and that was where Vaasa would wait for them.

"What if you are wrong and they go east?" one of her escorts, a young man named Tulare asked quietly.

"Then we will lose them and have to track them in the morning. Ogres are not known for being neat in their passage, and if they know this region, they will know this is their best choice for the night."

They burst into the valley and pulled up, Vaasakiir raising a hand to stop their thundering passage. The vale dropped into peaceful silence once more, the only sounds those of the wind in the trees and the rasping song of hundreds of grasshoppers. Above, the moons glowed in the night sky, allowing perhaps a hundred yards of reasonably good visibility. It was more than enough for what she had planned.

She pointed at hillocks to either side of a smaller stream that entered the flow here. "Hide in the trees there," she said. "Take your mounts and let them go beyond, so that the ogres cannot hear or smell them. Set up three arrows within easy reach and lay your sword out beside them. When they start to cross the river, fire your shots and join me."

"Milady," Shendil said, nodding to the others, who moved out to do her bidding. "What of you? Will you be taking part in this attack?"

"Of course, Shendil," Vaasa said, getting off her horse and taking its reins. She began leading it into the trees downstream of where the ambush would take place. "They took my mother."

"Yes," the veteran said quietly. "For which I will never be able to recover my honor. But, milady, I would not stain it further by losing you in the same night."

Vaasa turned and stopped, her voice a harsh whisper. "I am not an untrained woman with naught but a knife for my protection! I have hunted with the rest of you for nearly five seasons! I am a better shot than half of your troop, and can best most of them in swordplay!"

"I know," Shendil said wearily. "I trained you..."

"Well enough for this," the young noble woman replied, hissing. "I take responsibility for my own actions this night, Shendil. You do what you can. Now, get back to your men and do not attack until all three flights have been fired. Do you hear me?"

The grizzled warrior stared for a moment and then nodded. In the distance, the sound of crackling brush could be heard. The ogres were coming. He set off at a run, his horse trailing after him, the jingling of the harness sounding like thunder in the silence. Vaasa found a boulder that had been washed down the river during one of last spring's floods and set her back to it, pulling out her own bow and drawing three arrows from her quiver. She ran the black and white fletched feathers of each through her lips, preparing them for flight as she prayed.

"Lady Goddess," she whispered almost silently, "We have done your work for as long as our family has been. Tonight, our Lady, my mother, your servant, has been taken from us. Bless us in our actions, and see that the circle does not go unclosed...

Fleetingly, she realized that she had prayed to the goddess she had grown up asking for a good harvest to save her in combat. She opened her eyes as the sound of crackling brush reached the other side of the river. Shrugging, she rolled around, twisting her head so that she could see the ogre's approach, reaching across and pulling one of the arrows from out of the ground where she had stuck it.

The ogres stumbled into the clearing, coming up to the edge of the stream before realizing they were no longer sheltered by the trees. Ilena's white-clad form was still draped easily across one wide-shouldered brute, like so many potatoes carried to the larder. Her dress was stained red with blood, parts of the white linen stained black in the moonlight. There was too much for her to still be living... Vaasakiir gritted her teeth. She prayed that it had been quick.

The lead ogre stood for a moment. One of the other two mumbled something and the first grunted back, waving a hand for him to be silent. He was doing something, Vaasa saw. Sniffing the air...

Turning, she realized in a panic that her own horse had not gone further than she had! It was cropping grass a short distance away. Turning back in horror, she saw that the ogres had still not moved.

When they start to cross the river, fire your shots and join me...

"And if they do not cross the river?" she muttered softly. "At least be silent," she thought, turning back to her mount. The horse did not seem willing to move, thankfully, cropping grass and chewing quietly where it stood.

In the clearing, the lead ogre, a hefty fellow called "Greechak" by his companions, seemed to come to a conclusion and waved the other two on. He stood where he was, dark eyes scanning the line of trees opposite them as he sent his companions forward. He had survived the failed assault on the city of Penth earlier that morning through a rare intelligence among his kind. He had seen that the assault was going to falter even before the attack began. The hobgoblins they'd commanded simply weren't up to facing a determined resistance. Chieftain Thartor had paid the ultimate price for his arrogance in thinking that the humans in the walled places were weaker for depending on their walls. Their battering rams had hardly scratched the gates before they'd had their lines broken by a determined counterattack. The fight at the vineyard had been an attempt at providing sustenance for the night, but again, the defenders had proven more capable (and more numerous) than he had expected, and he had moved on after making certain he acquired a meal. Now, innate senses were telling him something was wrong...

Senses that were proven correct when, moments after his lieutenant entered the shallow river, the air was filled with the whistling sounds of arrows, and the pained grunts of his allies as they thudded home with amazing accuracy. One arrow in particular slammed home in the right shoulder of the armor he was wearing, the impact jerking him slightly so that he viewed the direction it had come from. There was a large rock that way... The ogre carrying the woman dropped the body in surprise, the corpse crashing into the water forgotten as another flight of arrows flew out of the trees ahead at the stunned and surprised two. Greechak roared a command, and they lumbered out of the river, heading for the trees, raising their clubs. He, instead, entered the river, heading toward the rock; black eyes squinting to get a better view.

The second flight of arrows flew out of the trees as the two crashed out of the river and up the embankment, one ogre yelling as a sharp arrowhead bit into his chest and caused him pain. Another bolt flashed out of the darkness at the leader, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him back a step.

"Strong," he thought. He grinned, bringing his club into position. "More battle!"

The two ogres hit the tree line as the third flight flickered out. This time they were less effective, the trees cutting off angles of approach, some of the archers reaching for their blades as the lumbering creatures drew near. Vaasakiir's last missile deflected off the oncoming creature's reinforced leather body armor, and she grabbed for her blade, rolling out of the way even as the ogre's giant tree limb of a club slammed down where she'd been just moments before.

"HA!" the giant creature cried, pivoting to follow the nimble woman. In the trees, one ogre cried out in sudden pain, the agonizing sound joined a moment later by a man's scream, cut off in a gurgle. A second loud roar echoed in the clearing, and the heavy sound of an ogre body hitting the ground drew the leader's attention off the woman for just a moment. This was not going as he'd expected it to...

His attention was lured back as the woman's blade found a weak spot in his armor, below his shoulder at the armpit. He added his own roar, this time enraged as he turned back, black blood running down his chest and tickling his body beneath the armor. He swung his club at her, sweeping her back but doing no damage as she leapt and rolled out of the way.

"COME ON!" she cried, fury evident in her voice. "COME ON, YOU UGLY CRETIN!" Before he could recover the limb, she was on him again, this time flashing past as she added a cut to the same side, severing several of the leather plates that hung over his torso and leaving a long, bleeding gash. "THAT WAS MY MOTHER!!"

"Kyriandoris!" a cry was raised from within the trees, followed by the crunching sound of bones being crushed. A human-sized figure flew out of the trees, crumpling to the ground and not moving. The sounds of conflict in the trees became more hectic, the snarl of the surviving lieutenant telling Vaasakiir that the second one was not going down as easy as its companion had.

"They'd better hurry," she thought, sidestepping a downward blow and darting in, only to skip her weapon across the leather hide protecting the ogre's groin. The creature lifted the limb and swept it her way at head height faster than she had expected. She tucked and rolled to avoid the impact, but took a blow in her shoulder that sent her sprawling.

Another startled cry announced the death of another of her men and the ogre grinned at her as he spun about to see his prize. Vaasa lay on the ground, her sword arm numb, but her blade still in her hand.

"You die now," the ogre managed in mangled common. A deep bass chuckle emanated from within its massive chest. He took another step and raised his club off the ground.

"Vethas Tochiel!" Vaasa cried, seeing the limb rise. She pointed her finger once more, and a spray of lights flickered out at the ogre, drawing a startled reaction and a step away. He growled, the growl turning into a roar as the rainbow of lights flickered out and he was left unharmed.

He grinned. "You magic no hurt ME!"

He charged...

"Kyriandoris!" A cry drew Vaasa's eyes from her impending doom as one of her guardsmen rushed past and rammed his blade deep into the ogre's side. Another appeared from the trees, firing an arrow as the first man dove to one side.

Rather than complete his sweep at the injured woman before him, the ogre turned, bringing his great club around in a sweeping arc that impacted with his assailant's back, sending him flying, to crash headfirst into the river, where he lay limp. Not even a cry escaped the man's throat so sudden was his death.

He turned back to his prey as another arrow thumped home in his back. The archer was no threat. The woman with the magic was!

Upon drawing his attention once more, Vaasakiir rolled to one side and pointed her finger, muttering a silent word and watching as two invisible forces streaked forward, slamming the ogre and dazing him where he stood.

"That hurt, didn't it?" she asked, gritting her teeth. Her arm was tingling, but she could feel it again. It wasn't broken. She rose up unsteadily as yet another arrow zipped from the lone remaining archer and imbedded itself in the ogre's side.

Greechak was confused. A moment ago, he'd been about to kill this meat woman and take her to his camp to have for dinner. She'd stolen his first meal, after all. It was only proper that she provide his meal when he chose to sit down and brood over his twin defeats tonight. Now, he couldn't remember why he was here. And where were Othas and Draitch?

Vaasakiir stood up, seeing the ogre standing, stunned at the impacts, the injuries she and her companions had dealt it, both here and back at the manor house finally starting to take hold. Grinding her teeth together and ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she raised her blade and rushed forward, into the waiting arms of death, if he weren't as badly injured as she thought he was. She hit, the blade cutting easily through sewn leather and bearskin hide, slicing through internal organs and rupturing the ogre's heart.

Greechak stood for a moment, staring down at the little woman who had just stuck him and caused him so much pain. This... wasn't... how... it... was... supposed... to... work...

The ogre fell down, dead.

"Milady!" Tethas rushed forward and caught Vaasakiir as she threatened to feint, so bad was the pain in her arm and shoulder. Kept from falling, she recovered her wits and cast about the clearing, counting the bodies.

"Where are the others? Who yet lives? Shendil?"

"Dead, or dying, milady," Tethas answered quietly, the adrenaline rush of mortal combat starting to fade now that the threat was removed. He turned and nodded toward the body lying half submerged in the river nearby. "Shendil was the one who distracted it..."

"He saved my life," Vaasa whispered.

"He also slew the second ogre, milady," the young warrior observed quietly. His breathing was becoming regular again, and he swallowed, realizing how dry his mouth was. "We should get back. They will be wondering about us..."

"Not until we gather the bodies of our fallen," Vaasakiir said, straightening and reaching over to massage her injured shoulder. It hurt, but she could still move it. Her fighting days were not over. "We take them back as heroes of the Kyriandoris," she said, nodding. She turned and eyed Shendil's fallen form before blinking and turning away. "Especially Shendil."

Tethas moved away, leaving her for a moment to do as she had commanded. The young noblewoman moved to where her mother had been dropped, her body washed up by the slight current of the stream so that she lay with her head on the rocks at the side of the flow, as if she had gone to sleep. There were no outward signs that she was gone.

"Mother... Vaaskiir said softly.

And then the tears came...