Kiema had been forced to back track and take divergent routes on the way to the home of Baroness Marghaid, wife of Eadric Galensson, and sister to Princess Rian. Like a slow rising tide, she had felt pulses of belligerence in shadows of the forest tracks ahead. For her to feel them while her gifts were muffled and fueled by only herself meant they were strong indeed. She did not have the skill to face whomever it was alone, and there were no others to draw energy from to amplify her talents.

When the castle had drawn into view from a place where trees broke from the rim of a hilltop, the smoke she had noticed earlier that day smearing the sky like a stray brush of gray paint revealed its source. The pitch pits cast a throat scraping stench up into the air that traveled on infrequent breezes. Kiema caught its pungent aroma from time to time as she approached the building with greater caution.

Patrols of travel dirtied brigands walked in silence around the castle caught in siege. She could feel them though and timed her passing at their furthest points, concealing her goings as best she could with what bits she could remember of traveling with Ewan. In the shadowed corner of the servants entrance, she tucked herself down against the barrels. Refuse ripe and rank assaulted her, and she pounded against the door, drawing up her energy to send threads of assurance to the guard on the opposite side of the door. She pitched her voice, using the training of her musical craft so the guard might hear her words. "I am Mistress Kiema Buie, friend of Baroness Sylvia and a member of the Circelus. Let me enter and speak with your noble lord and lady."

She felt her back ache and knees protest at holding such a position. The malevolence neared again and she kept silent, crouching low, keeping the dark cloak low over her head and face. As the patrols stepped away again, she reached to knock again only to have the door open. Without hesitation, she darted inside and drew back her cloak hood to reveal herself for what she was.

Baron Eadric in full armaments stood among his men in the small alleyway between the slender entrance and the kitchens and servants' quarters. No one moved until he gave a nod and then the area was a alive again with preparations for continuing to survive the seige. "Mistress Buie, I do not know by what grace you have managed to make it past those traitors and blackguards to us, but thank The Twelve you have."

She walked with him as he turned through the narrow between walls of keep and quarters. "When did they arrive? What do they want?"

"They want our downfall and they arrived this morning." He motioned a few men to change their position before continuing. "They have made no demands but our surrender in the name of the true heir and King Rhodri, claiming us to be traitors for our ties to Prince Maelgwn." The scowl was seen even as light began to fade into a spectacle of colors against bumbling clouds in the sky. "Twilight hours have ceased our exchanges of words and weapons, but I do not think it will hold them away all night. We are not Yransea here, and I have few warriors to hold them at bay forever."

"If they call you traitors they will be doing the same, whomever is behind this, to Yransea."

He thought only a moment on her words. "I doubt it. It is too strong. We are a smaller bite to chew, and we give them a position to strike. They must take us first."

"But they have not tried to take your castle by full force. I saw no attempts at entry on that door."

Eadric nodded. "It is too narrow to enter. We would be able to pick them off one by one as they entered until they plugged up the doorway with their own dead. No, they will scale our walls and break down the great doors. They are not waiting to starve us out." He stopped walking and looked at her. "I need my wife free of here, but I cannot spare enough men to protect her."

He had not asked in the words, but he had in his voice. Kiema heard the pleading even in the steady spoken facts. She felt the anger, sorrow, and frailty of the man mixed and broken with determination and devotion. "My lord, I can see your wife safely to Yransea if you can give me but one man to see us there. I will be able to lead them past the attackers."

"I confess I had hoped as much."

"A hope I felt flare when you sighted me, my lord. My gifts may be dampened, but there is still enough in me to do this task. We will see her safe."

Kiema had not witnessed any arguing between man and wife, but she did oversee the preparations and spoke with the guard, Dillan Gareddsson, who had been chosen to accompany them. Small packs required, one horse with soft leather over its hooves and twined in the brass links of its bridle, as well as the provisions in their most minimal amount were gathered at the back entrance. Marghaid's golden brown hair was concealed, her green eyes weary into a dullness cast down, and her hand heavy upon the arm of Kiema who supported her.

When the moon began its dance with the clouds, bright and dark in a chaotic rhythm, the three set out, walking in their desperate escape and making for the safety of Seansloe.

Kiema knew her place would be to remain, though she had questions for Storm, ones she might have the chance to ask later if the lady did not remain.

Storm bit her tongue to keep from speaking out on Ewan's behalf. The suggestion him doing nothing grated against her, but did not bring doubt. Again, her face remained expressionless as they talked amongst each other, before being addressed. She wanted nothing more than to help in any and every way, but the image of her two sons tore her immediate response. "I will stay and offer whatever I can, but I cannot promise a length of stay for long."

"Nor can I," Kiema smiled and motioned for Storm to take a seat. She did not elaborate on the reason until Marghaid and Rian, who did not look pleased at being in some fashion dismissed, left the rooms for quarters hastily prepared for the Baroness's arrival. When they had departed, Kiema rubbed at her eyes. "I am drained, my lord and ladies. I will not even try to read your emotions now, or I might collapse having done as much as I could, what little it was, for Marghaid." Dropping formalities one sign she was more tired than she even thought.

Lyana sat even though Keefe maintained a thoughtful pacing. "I appreciate what you have done for my sister, Kiema. Now, the question is what more is to be done?" For this she looked back to Keefe.

"I must still ask why. Why them? My first instinct says to set up a place from where they can establish an attack. It is well known the southern baronies support the Prince. Do they want a foothold?"

Kiema shook her head. "I wish I could say. I wish I had the time to count the numbers of the attackers. Then we might know more to their purpose."

Lyana rubbed her face and glanced to Storm. "There have been hints that you possess some...skills." The woman was hard pressed to find an exact description of the skills without sounding rude.

Concern for Kiema broke through her facial barriers for a quick moment as she sat down and really looked at her. The questions began again, but without Storm understanding much of the reasonings, set her mind to solutions. She could not help the twitch of a smile as she glanced over to Lyana, "Yes, I have gifts, if you will. However, I have not been able to find a way to use them here, yet."

"Oh," Lyana sighed, shifting with some discomfort in the confirmation as well as disappointment in the reality.

That was puzzling to Kiema, who spared a moment to consider why the lady could not reach her talents be, and only added. "We may have to look into that, but," and she strengthened her voice, looking up to Keefe, "that will be something of a windfall I would say, should we find a way for Storm to use her gifts." Kiema was not certain if she intended the pun or not.

"I agree," Keefe nodded and sent a sympathetic smile to Storm, trying to relieve her of any weight of the problem. "We have what we have. The warbands, three are in house, is that so, Lyana?"

"Yes, mine, Clwyn's, and Dai's. The numbers are down now though with the season. Some have returned to what families the few have. Others took up positions on ships. My own band has lost one quarter of our numbers. If we were to send any aid, to be of use it would have to be two of them."

"I am not sure aid is the best course of action, as much as I hate to break faith with Eadric." Keefe finally sat. "Patrols, however, will have to increase. We need better warning should they come this way."

"The guards can hold this building," Lyana countered. "Let us aid our allies while there are allies left. Would you not agree, Storm?"

Storm was quick to bottle the wild hope that came with Kiema's suggestion to look into the problems of her gifts. Her discomfort was a far smaller problem than what they were all considering now. Her smile was slight but genuine in return to Keefe.

This was not the time to sit and ponder her latest troubles. "I do think that some aid should be sent. However, I do not know the numbers of Eadric's men, but this swift encounter, there should be more patrols as well. The element of surprise will only hurt us more if we are short of numbers."

Keefe considered the words, rubbing at his bottom lip as he stopped pacing and stood with arms crossed. "If we send any at all, it can be but one warband. Who has the most numbers?" The last he asked of Lyana.

"Dai's. Most of his fighters have family close by and are mostly veterans. Do we want to send our most seasoned?" Lyana asked.

Kiema was listening to it all, attentive even in her weariness. She was a peace broker, when possible, and all this she only needed to witness now that the conversation had been moved into action and away from bickering.

"I think the seasoned the better. In their lesser numbers, they would still be a significant force. We will start a rotation of the other warbands and guards. Lyana, I trust you to see to that." He let out a grunting sigh, half a suppressed laugh and half a weary resignation. "It seems His Highness failed."

Kiema stood with a warning grin. "I think we have not yet grasped the entirety of Maelgwn's plans, though this was one of the things he was trying to prevent. My lord, your test as protectorate of the barony is here." The smile turned to a knowing one, and she turned to Storm. "If you are willing, then perhaps later tonight we can explore this difficulty with your gifts. For now, I must take my leave and rest."

"Of course," Keefe nodded. "Storm, I know you did not come here to take part in our troubles, but trust that I will do all in my power to keep you and your family safe."

Listening now, she nodded slightly in agreement with sending just one warband. Watching Kiema stand, she gave a small smile. "I would like that very much, Kiema, once you have rested. I will be ready when you are." Her attention turning to attention to Keefe, there was a small amount of relief to her worries with his words. "Thank you." She inclined her head slightly, "I will do all within my powers to help."

"Hold them as long as you can, lads!" Lyana screamed along the line of men defending the walls. She turned to her second in command. "How many of the patrols are still out there?"

He let loose an arrow over the ramparts and growled his reply. "Three."

Lyana had just returned from her patrol when she heard cries and shouts follow up behind her on the road into Seansloe manor. A few brave townsfolk warned of the brigands they had seen: A troop of men on horseback moving directly for the manor, ignoring the town. She had thanked them and sent them back to town. As much as she desired to keep them, a few more hands though unaccustomed they might be to handling blades to defend their lives, they had homes and businesses to protect if things went ill at the manor.

A last ragged slash of red and orange caught upon the ribbons of cloud in the sky muted purple-black. The gates held by wearying defenders could be seen below struggling to keep the doors open for stragglers and other defenders to return. Lyana raced down from the high wall to join in with them, calling to those with pitch pots at the top of the wall to take their aims well as the large ceramics hurtled down and cracked open burning whatever they touched.

Another patrol returned, hacking their way through, losing numbers in the final distance to get behind their comrades. Lyana shouted the warning to let them pass and saw Kiema among them. They shared a look, one acknowledging the other and then the woman was gone from her sight and another foe claimed her attention.

The two patrols, little more than two in each and more walking wounded than battle ready, recovered and she made the commanding cry. "Close the doors! Bar the doors!" And every effort was made to get the men disengaged and the doors shut. They would not hold forever, but it would give them some moments of respite. Moments all strung together like a wild, bloody dream were all that they could count on then.

If music could be made of clattering metal and whistling arrows and a chorus of screams and calls in harmony with the chill of wind, then that night held such a symphony. Kiema felt battered inside and out. Her skills of battle were physically limited, and her talents drained. She could not dispirit the enemy any longer and only felt the vibrant echo of their gained confidence.

They had breached the doors of the Keep and the hallways and rooms were pockets of danger. She was with the children, their nanny, and both noble ladies descended of that household. She knew the third lady, Captain Lyana, was in the hall with Lord Keefe and others, what others she was not sure in the frenzy of emotions. The night had stretched around them like a suffocating sea of death.

In the midst of noise and disarray, Storm stood still as a statue behind Lyana and in front of the door. The sword that she had found in her dash to make it inside rested at her side with the signs of blood hidden in the shadows. Each scream was clear in her ears that rang to her mind, but still her face and posture remained composed and ready. Emotions took energy, and the Air would spare none that would keep her strength from its best. What was hidden in the room with Kiema was too precious, and her senses heightened and tried to stretch as far as possible.

Lyana felt sick and sore. Each defense that fell fired anger inside her. The anger flung itself one way and then other: at herself, at the attackers, at the prince, and even at her dead brother. She kept hearing the call of her men in hallways and shouting up stairwells. There would be some coming through. The beat of their steps were like hammers at her chest. The weight of her shield grew with each moment. Keefe was at her right, and while he was an able swordsman, he was no Ewan. If Ewan had been there.... She stopped that train of thought. He was not, and Storm had as much at stake behind that door as she.

The thunder of armored feet, the jingle of mail links, and the shouts of men rushed up to that sacred hallway. Keefe readied himself, his sword in hand and cradling the broken left arm close. There had been no time to tend to it as he had fought his way to this position from the broken doors. "Here they come. Few at a time it seems now. Let's stay here as long as we can to keep them out of that room." And the first shock of a full blow was caught on his sword sending a convulsion of pain in the opposite arm.

The sound of men in the hallway had Storm's blood pulsing quickly through her veins, giving her muscles a slight relieve in their ache and energy for a second wind. The grip on the sword once again felt all wrong, and the balance uneven, but it was the best and only options of protection she could produce.

When the small wave came, Storm did just as instructed. Finding any opening and weakness in the attack was used to keep them from going past her. She tried to spread her small form without becoming vulnerable, and moved further up to form a line with Lyana and Keefe to push men back.

The slice was minor but enough to weaken Lyana's shield arm to the point she could not longer hold it. "Damn," she threw it aside at one of the attackers, sending him off balance in the direction of Storm. The next man had more brute strength than finesse, and she dispatched of him with a quick counter thrust and side step.

Keefe shook his head to clear away the growing darkness. He knew he must be losing blood, but he had to keep focusing. Sweat stung his eyes and his blood pounded in his ears. One brigand and then another applied their skill against him and took advantage of his wounded state.

Lyana saw Keefe weakening and barreled her shoulder in one man's ribs as he rose his weapon for a strike against Keefe. She carried him back to the wall and then struck his unprotected nose as hard as she could with the hilt of her blade, feeling the warm spray of his blood against her cheek. "Keefe you're, too weak," she gasped as they finished off that group. "Get in the room."

He wanted to argue, but he could not and went inside. Lyana looked to Storm to see if she was in any better condition.

Storm for the time ignored the shield, her entire focus being on making the least amount of movements for the greatest result. The heavier blade drove a force from her wrist up the expanse of her arm, but the severity of failing was too great for her to trouble the thought.

When the group was finished, Storm traded out her sword for twin blades from a fallen man. Gathered in one hand, she picked up the shield to swiftly turn on her heel and whisk it on top of another's head as he stirred. Glancing around to make sure that no one else was stirring, Keefe was given just once glance before she looked up at Lyana. There was only one visible cut on her right upper shoulder, but it was minor. Still, the sight of battle on her clothing made it difficult to tell if any was her own.

"It is just us for a bit, Storm, and whatever the men are hacking at below. Let us hope it does not worsen." A hope that the next run of men to make their way through, three from one end of the hall and two from another, seemed to stretch even thinner.

The fighting became less skill and more brawl. She tried to beat back one into the other and confuse their motions. Twisting and turning forcing one to get in the way of another to trip over bodies on the ground. She felt the strike to her leg and fought its desire to collapse beneath her.

In the room, Kiema had ushered the family into the nursery at Keefe's arrival. Miriam stood outside its door, her face paper thin to see the blue veins beneath, her bony hand holding a dirk, and she had the fierce determination to let none pass by her. Kiema tended to Keefe as best she could, binding up his arm and staunching the blood flow with strips from her skirts and the curtains.

A quick nod, Storm didn't bother with words. It was part from habit, only now there was no wind to carry her words and no room in her mind for speech. The blades were divided for each hand, and she concentrated on getting as much control of her flighty heart and breath for the next round.

It was becoming increasingly difficult, trying to manage those in front of her while minding the gap that now needed to be covered with Keefe's absence. Catching drift of Lyana's plan, she also tried to force the men to stumble over each other. While one toppled and took a fellow man with him, an arm quickly seized Storm's, and she stumbled just over her toes before her free hand and blade found him.

What was once at least a moment's respite between the coming of attackers no longer seemed to exist. No more in groups of four or five, but like a trickling of spiders out of cracks, the men and few women who had come to destroy the seat of Yransea power came at them. Lyana drove them aside and felt her body burn with the souring of her energy. High wall of the manor, to the Keep doors, to hallways, to there, she had fought them and tried to hold them back just that moment longer. She stepped and the leg that had taken the wound failed her. Down to that knee she fell. Luck or the surprise of her stagger confused her attacker into a false move against her. With a punch hard with her sword, she felt it sever the links of chain and punch through the leather beneath as the grate of bone against metal slithered up to her arm and she pulled the weapon free.

"Into the room, Storm," she gasped and threw herself back to the door, wrenching it open and waiting only long enough for the lady to get in before she fell through.

Panting, sweat mixed with blood stung her eyes and threatened her vision. Panic of defeat was the only drive keeping her body upright against its will. She knew that her body had received more injuries, but just what kind and to what degree was unknown. Her limbs still moved, and burned in their weakened state. The heat and burn created from the rigorous attacks reached the corner of her memories of a burning home, and panic surged enough for someone to pass her.

Her name saved her sanity from the overwhelming thought, and she turned just in time to all but tackle and fall upon the man in front of her to scramble inside the opened door.

One attacker tried to scramble in after them and received a kick in the jaw for his troubles. Lyana gasped for breath, pushing her back against the door, grunting at the pressure from the other side. "Barricade!" she cried out. Tears of frustration and tension streamed down her dirty cheeks. She could hear the cries and screams of her nephews and nieces in the other room. It tore her heart to shreds.

Kiema sprang to the task and Keefe joined her in moving furniture to help the bar across the door keep the attackers out. The thunk of an ax against the door rattled the aged and rarely used bar. Reaching down inside her for whatever remained, Kiema sent out a thread, it felt as thin as a spider's web, towards the attackers to try and subdue them. It was all she could give. The last of that gift drained away into vapor so that everyone around her was just as a hollow shell and she could not tell who or how many were on the other side of that door.

Storm used all of her body weight to help move furniture to the door, trying her use her legs and shoulders rather than her arms and wrists that screamed in agony. Her breathing came in racking heaves, each movement feeling like it had her all, and yet she tried to keep moving.

"We come to it at last. By The Twelve I did not think it to be here or now," Keefe whispered.

Lyana could see he felt he had failed them. She struggled to get up on a seat. "Not yet. Not while we live."

The ax kept striking.