The battle quickly turned. With the Briska silenced, the regulars from the bar set to with whatever weapons they had to hand. Mirra’s crossbow fairly thrummed with the speed at which she shot and reloaded, shot and reloaded. Herrin, regathering his breath and his confidence, almost laughed as he chased away the Briska.
When the last of them disappeared into the night, Mirra’s clear voice rang out across the courtyard.
“Make a chain! Grab a bucket!”
The regulars lined up in mere moments, and buckets of water were passed hand to hand to put out the fire. By the time the first light of dawn smudged across the sky, the fire was out although smoke still spiralled upwards.
Mirra strolled across the courtyard towards Herrin, her face stained with soot. She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a hard look.
Herrin glanced down at his shoes for a second. “I didn’t think you’d heard that,” he said.
“Oh, I heard,” she said. “Care to explain?”
He looked around and frowned. “Have you seen the elf?”
She sighed heavily. “Don’t try to change the subject!”
He shook his head. “I’m not. Look around. Where’s Tryls? He was right here just before you blew that thing…”
© Kari Fay
(Author’s Note: Apologies, this is again not much of an instalment 😦 In case you’re just joining me, the story began at Herrin’s Escape.)