Not long after, they stood before Rehs’ home. It was squat and small, but it looked to be better constructed than some others that Taelord had passed. The foundation was stone, with a roof made out of solid wooden beams, with hide stretched across them. Mud and straw filled in the gaps. The door was wooden, and next to it was a single window, a simple hole in the stones, with a shutter which could be closed over it at night.

The shutter was open at the moment, allowing light from the home to spill into the rapidly darkening street where Taelord stood. It shown dimly on other homes nearby: they were in the largest section of the city, where the roads wound and the homes were small.

The light flickered as if from a fire, and he could hear a calm male voice speaking within, although from his current angle he could see nothing but a wooden wall.

“Come on,” Rehs said. “It might be a tight fit, but we have space in the storeroom.”

“We can sleep outside,” Taelord said quickly. “We’re used to it.”

“Not a chance,” Rehs said with a laugh. “I’ll sleep outside before you do. We don’t have any extra beds, but we’ll be able to find you some straw to sleep on, and my mother has extra blankets.”

Straw? Blankets? Taelord guessed Rehs didn’t realize most Volcarrens were lucky to have a roof for the night, let alone walls.

Rehs beckoned them all forwards, and pulled open the door.

Taelord had no idea what he might find inside. The typical Volcarren shelter had been made from bones and animal hide, usually constructed in a canyon or cave. Srung had been built from large stone blocks, and had possessed little decoration. A rug here, a curtain there to keep the sand out. Braziers had lit the dark corridors, and doors had been fashioned from age-blackened wood and metal frames.

The interior of the house Taelord now saw couldn’t be more different. Warmth and light spilled out as Rehs opened the door, coming from a fire which was set into the adjacent stone wall, crackling invitingly, with two pots suspended over it.

A man appeared at Rehs’ shoulder, smiling and holding out a hand in welcome. “Come in, come in,” he said. “You’ve spent your last night without a roof. What we have is yours.” He beckoned them in, and Taelord and the others stepped across the threshold.

Most of the home was comprised of a single large room. The fire was set against one wall, and opposite it were three smaller rooms, each with a simple wooden door. All were currently closed.

Set in the middle of the wooden floor was a solid-looking table, set with simple wooden dishes and flanked by wooden benches, with a chair at either end. Taelord had never seen so much wood in one place.

Drying herbs hung from the rafters, and Taelord saw an old spear hung on the wall over the hearth. Other than that, the home was bare. It didn’t feel empty though. It had a distinct air of having been lived in: corners and surfaces were worn and smooth, the door caught slightly as Rehs closed it, and the underside of the hearth was blackened with soot.

But what Taelord noticed most was the smells. The home smelled of wood of course, but it was fresh wood, a scent Taelord had only smelled once, at Srung. He had thought it was the best scent then, and his opinion hadn’t changed. There was a spice to the air as well, probably from the herbs overhead, and a familiar scent of leather, from the roof.

But the most powerful smell came from the pots over the fire. It was unfamiliar to him, savory and spicy at the same time. He had never really gone hungry in the Volcarren – his proximity to Srung ensuring that food could always be found. But he was still used to eating whatever he came across. The idea of actually eating a prepared meal, instead of what was left over, felt odd to him. Like the world had somehow reversed.

Three people were in the small home. A girl, maybe fifteen, stood near the fire, holding a woven basket which was flat like a platter. A woman was stirring the contents of one of the pots, and as the Volcarrens entered, she began ladling it into bowls, and placing the bowls on the platter. They both wore simple clothes of what looked like wool – Taelord had seen it on occasion in Srung.

The man who had appeared at the door now gestured at the room, still smiling broadly at the Volcarrens. “We might be a bit cramped, he said, but we have warm food and soft straw. I’m G’shar, and this is my family: Syafa, my wife; you know Rehs, my son; and this is Aiiva, my daughter.”

Syafa nodded briefly to the Volcarrens, casting them a smile before returning to the pots. Aiiva glanced at them, gave an uncertain smile, and quickly focused her attention back on the platter she was holding.

“I can’t tell you how pleased we are to have you here,” G’shar said. “Please, sit.”

The Volcarrens sat awkwardly around the table. The benches on either side seemed wide enough for four to sit comfortably side by side, so Taelord took the far one, his mother sliding in next to him, and Veth and Scar-shoulder sitting next to her. Rehs sat across from the Volcarrens, still staring avidly at them as if he had never seen anything quite so fascinating.

G’shar eased himself into the chair at the head of the table, stretching out his leg as he did so. He grimaced, and rubbed it as he sat.

“Injury?” Veth asked, noting the motion.

“An old one,” G’shar said. “I was drafted into Kelen’s army during the Midland campaigns. Got struck in the leg by a stray spear, and it’s never been quite the same since.”

“You’re a soldier?” Scar-shoulder asked.

“I’m a farmer,” G’shar said. “Always was, always will be. The Empire though… it takes whoever it can for its wars. There aren’t very many professional soldiers these days – most are laborers, rented out to the warlords.”

Rented? Warlords? Taelord glanced at Veth, and saw that he was just as confused. “But,” he said, “I thought there was peace here.”

“Peace?” G’shar said, giving half a laugh. “Technically there is peace, certainly. But unrest is growing throughout Valhalla. There have already been revolts in some of the southern villages.”

“Why?” Taelord asked. “What are they revolting about?

“Of course,” G’shar said. “You wouldn’t know. Well—”

“Enough talk for now,” Syafa interrupted. “Let these people eat. Then you can criticize the deplorable state of the Empire all you want.” She sat down at the other end of the table, and Aiiva approached, carrying her platter full of bowls.

G’shar smiled at his wife and fell silent, and Aiiva put bowls of stew before everyone. She sat down herself, and for a moment there was silence as they ate.

Taelord dipped his wooden spoon into the stew and took a bite. The broth was thin, but it was actual broth, not simple water as it might have been in the Volcarren. It was mostly meat, but Taelord recognized the texture of vegetables and even grain – both practically nonexistent in the Volcarren. Even the meat was different – tender and seasoned. It was easily the best thing he had ever tasted.

However, the experience of eating the only decent meal he had ever had was marred with a flicker of worry. There was unrest in Valhalla? Towns in revolt? Taelord had been so focused on escaping the Volcarren, that he had always assumed Valhalla would be a land of peace and plenty.

He glanced at his mother, but she seemed unconcerned with what G’shar had said. She was eating slowly, apparently savoring every bite. Next to her, Veth and Scar-shoulder also ate, but Taelord saw them exchange looks, and he knew that they were wondering what was happening in Valhalla.

“What was it like, in the Volcarren?” Rehs asked, leaning forward eagerly as he ate.

“Let them eat,” G’shar laughed. “There will be plenty of time for questions later. More?” he added, nodding to Taelord’s bowl.

Taelord glanced down, realizing that he had emptied the bowl in a few quick spoonfuls. Another habit from the Volcarren: eating quickly before the chance was gone. He felt somewhat embarrassed; everyone else was still eating, savoring the stew.

“Only if there’s enough to go around,” Taelord said. “I don’t want to—”

“Nonsense,” G’shar said, waving his hand.

Aiiva got up, took Taelord’s bowl, and went to refill it from the pot over the fire.

“Thank you,” Taelord said to her as she returned and put the bowl back for him.

She gave him a tentative smile, and then returned to her own bowl.

Taelord looked at the stew for a moment, the smell of good food wafting up from it. He had gotten used to always being hungry in the Volcarren. Even in Srung, he had subsisted mostly off of dried meat and boiled roots. And now a bowl of stew sat before him, a meal fit for the Emperor himself.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked G’shar, looking up. “All of this – feeding us, giving us a place to stay. I don’t understand.”

“You stood up to the Empire,” Rehs said. “You challenged them, and you won.”

Syafa nodded. “Giving you a place to stay is the least we can do,” she said.

“But…” Taelord frowned. “Aren’t you subjects of the Empire? I thought people here would be displeased to see us, maybe even hostile.”

“Hostile?” Rehs echoed. “We’re on your side.”

“Side?”

“Eat,” G’shar said, “and I’ll tell you why these things are.” He leaned back, his own stew finished. Veth and Scar-shoulder had stopped eating, and were watching him. Even Taelord’s mother seemed to be listening between spoonfuls.

“I suppose,” G’shar said, “the unrest started a long time ago. You see, Valhalla is split in two. The North and South are separated by a vast amount of barren land. It’s dry, mostly devoid of animals or trees – not suitable for life.

“The North is colder, but is full of forests. There is good farmland there, and plenty of water and lumber.

“The South is warmer, and much of it is barren, but there is space here. Near water, like we are, crops will grow and animals can be herded. Further south, there are forests and game animals, and the southern seas are full of fish.

“The climate is gentler in the North, but there are resources here in the South. We can produce ore from the Midland mountains, cloth and meat from the animals we raise, and enough grain to feed the entire Empire.

“But the people are in the North. They live easier lives, while we in the South have to contend with the climate. It’s been that way since time began: the South producing, the North consuming.

“The Northern kingdoms grew wealthy off of our labor, and instead of learning to support themselves, turned their efforts to ‘civilized living’. Politics,” he added, at Taelord’s frown. “Comfort. Leisure. Luxury. The Imperials want for little in their Northern cities.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Taelord saw that his mother had stopped eating, and was giving G’shar her full attention.

“The North grew greedy for power,” G’shar continued. “Soon, they weren’t content with dictating the laws of their own countries. They wanted to control us as well. Divides between North and South grew, armies formed, and eventually it broke into war.

“We lost. We didn’t have the time or knowledge to train soldiers, and the North was better equipped, thanks to our labor. I’m sure you know this story: it’s how the Empire was formed.

“For a time there was peace, as the Empire called it. Then, unhappy with the way the Empire controlled his life, Migol banded together the South and led a revolt. He was defeated, slain, and his followers were banished to the Volcarren over a century ago.” He nodded to Taelord and the others.

“Since then, unrest has only increased. Migol sparked the idea that revolt was possible, and there have been small rebellions ever since. None have succeeded of course, because they were isolated. But now some far southern villages have risen up against the Empire, banding together. It’s said that rebel spies are all throughout Kinsland, in every city, and that a real rebel army is massing somewhere beyond the Lower Wastes, led by a general they call Einar. These are more than passing rumors; they’ve lasted long enough to prove that.”

There was a moment of silence as Taelord digested what he had said. “And these things,” he finally said, “what will they lead to?”

“War,” G’shar said with a frown. “I don’t know where or when, but war seems certain, especially with your arrival from the Volcarren.”

Taelord glanced at his mother, and saw that she was watching him, her expression sad, as if she was sorry he had to hear to truth. He looked away. “Is it safe here then?” he asked.

G’shar nodded slowly. “For now,” he said. “It is safer than anywhere else, at least. Leaving wouldn’t give any escape from the taxes the Empire imposes on us, not unless we joined the rebels, and I’m not prepared to do that. And for now, Helsng offers safety from the brewing war. So we stay. But there may come a time when we must leave.”

“I’ve heard that rebels are massing at Fedir,” Rehs said, an excitement in his voice. “There are rumors that they’ve arrived in Vysor too, right here in Kinsland.”

G’shar nodded solemnly. “You may be right.”

“They’ll come here,” Rehs said confidently. “We’ll throw out the Empire soon.”

“We?” Syafa cut in. “I thought we agreed, Rehs.”

“Maybe you did. I will join them, Mother.”

A silence fell over the table as everyone paused eating. Rehs glanced at his mother, and then at Aiiva, who had her spoon suspended halfway to her mouth, and was watching him.

“This is what I’ve been waiting for,” Rehs said. “The chance to strike back against the Empire! The chance to hurt them like they’ve hurt us.”

“Rehs,” G’shar said calmly, “we talked about this. I wouldn’t see you hurt. I know the ways war can change a man, and wouldn’t wish those changes on anyone. If it seems like war will come to Helsng, then we will leave. All of us.”

“This rebellion is important,” Rehs said, frowning at his father.

“Of course it is,” G’shar said. “But I doubt that it needs the life of a thirteen-year-old.”

There was silence. Rehs turned back to his stew, scowling. G’shar frowned. Syafa was silent, and Aiiva watched Rehs, as if afraid he might get up and walk out the door.

“There might be no war,” G’shar said quietly. “Not with Utgar here.”

“What do you mean?” Veth asked.

“He’s a Valkyrie,” G’shar said simply. “Everyone, Empire, rebels – they’ll do whatever he says. If he wants war, there will be war. But the rumor is that he wants peace. And if that’s the case, no one – rebel or Empire – will be able to keep him from it.”

“That’s why we met you outside the city, Rehs said, anger still in his voice. “The Empire wants to seem unbeatable, but then Utgar escaped. That was supposed to be impossible, and he did it.” He glanced at his father. “It’s like… Rebels have been massing in the South for a long time, and now Utgar’s here with a Wellspring…”

Taelord glanced at Rehs. “You hope he’ll join the rebellion,” he guessed.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Rehs said. “He’s already fought the Empire in the Volcarren. He was imprisoned by them. They’re petrified of him, afraid of what he might do. Of course he’ll join the rebellion.”

“We will too,” Veth said, surprising Taelord. He leaned forward, a disturbing gleam in his eyes. “The Empire put us in that prison. It’s time we repaid the favor.”

“Utgar wants peace,” Taelord said. Rehs and Veth glanced at him. “He does. We aren’t here to start a war.”

“Maybe you aren’t,” Scar-shoulder said. “The Empire’s had this coming for a long time. I intend to have my revenge, and I won’t be the only one. The other Volcarrens will want blood.”

“You’ll defy Utgar?” Taelord said.

“Utgar might not be able to stop a war from happening,” Scar-shoulder said. He didn’t meet Taelord’s gaze. “When it does, I’ll be there.”

“I will too,” Rehs said eagerly. “It’s time—”

“—To sleep,” G’shar finished. “It’s late, Rehs, and I’m sure our guests are tired.”

Aiiva stood, gathered her platter, and put the empty bowls on it. Syafa stood as well. “We have room for you in here,” she said, gesturing to one of the three rooms behind them.

Taelord and the others stood, and Syafa ushered them into the dark room. It seemed to be a storeroom – there was a small pile of crates in one corner, and some sacks in the other. Beyond that however, the room was bare. Taelord suddenly felt guilty about eating as much as he had.

Against the wall were several flattened rectangles of hay, bound together with cord. Blankets had been laid on them, forming makeshift beds.

“It isn’t much,” Syafa said, “but I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Taelord said, turning to her. “This is far more than we had expected. And… I’m sorry if our presence has caused Rehs to—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Syafa said. “He’s always wanted to do something more than farming. This is just his latest interest.” She turned, closing the door behind her, but Taelord saw her face as she left. There was worry on it.

They lay down, Taelord choosing a bed next to his mother. She smoothed the blankets and put a cushion she had taken from Srung under her head, and was asleep almost instantly. Taelord however lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling, the things he had heard repeating in his mind.

They had just escaped the Volcarren. The last thing he wanted was more conflict. Utgar had the Wellspring. Surely the Volcarrens wouldn’t go against his wishes? Yes… Yes, there was no point worrying. Utgar was a Valkyrie.

Taelord rolled over, but sleep didn’t come. He stared into the darkness for a long time, Scar-shoulder’s words echoing in his mind:

“I intend to have my revenge, and I won’t be the only one. The other Volcarrens will want blood.”