~ Chapter 11: Sweat & Shame ~

When big pig Hando told Breeze the smuggler they were looking for worked out of a place called the Red Lantern Inn, the wolf had expected to find a normal, if perhaps unusually decorated... well, inn.

“This is a whorehouse." Breeze said plainly, paws on his hips. Fenton was at his right, and the Doberman clapped him on the back.

“Too fuckin' right it is my friend! Why, the Red Lantern Inns of Niverron are practically a cultural fuckin' staple point!" He cackled, still cradling his newly stolen bow like it was a firstborn pup. At Breeze's left, Erasmus scowled, hefting the actual pup in his arms, Abigail was awake but calm for the moment, simply taking in the sights around them with wide, blinking eyes.

The Red Lantern Inn was a three story building built mostly of a deep reddish oak and grey bricks. The front face was lined with crimson stained glass windows, each one of the large portals glowing ethereally from – what Breeze assumed was - flickering candlelight within. Each level boasted a small smoking deck with a maroon shingled roof atop it. The place smelt of sweat and shame mixed with incense, and Breeze's eyes caught on the two supple foxes lounging on the ground floor veranda, each sipping tall goblets of wine as if there was absolutely nothing better to do. The vixens waved briefly, and Fenton gave them back a giddy flick of his paw. The effect was somewhat spoiled by his swollen eye, lip, and blood-stained jaw, but the dog pressed on regardless.

“You ain't got these fine establishments back north? I mean, it's a rare sight fer a charmin' lad such as myself to pay for a lady's company, but we all suffer dry seasons sometimes, no shame in it, ain't that right Breezy?"

“Breezy?" The wolf asked, giving Fenton an unimpressed look.

“Thought I'd try it out." The Doberman said with a shrug. “Not a fan?"

“I would humbly advise that from now on you stick to calling people only by their actual names, Goodman Fenton." Erasmus added with a sigh. While Breeze liked to see Erasmus actually showing some backbone, the constant jabs between the two were getting on his nerves.

“But no. We don't." Breeze continued gruffly. “We've got brothels alright; we just call 'em for what they are. Ain't like you southerners and your stupid names for things."

Fenton flashed his teeth. “Takes the edge off s'all, I reckon maybe you could learn a thing or two from it, eh? Either way, if it's all the same to you two, I knows what I'm doin' while you lot chat to this Gorm fella." Fenton fingered his gold pouch, the first half of Breeze's promised payment. The wolf grit his teeth.

“Just don't cause any more trouble than you have to." Breeze huffed, pushing forward. “I can't be bothered fighting any more soldiers today."

“You're a right arsehole Breezy, hope someone's told you that 'fore now." The Doberman piped, grinning ear to ear as he trotted along behind. In that moment, a distant cry of harmonised joy went up a few blocks behind the trio, firecrackers exploding over the city's main thoroughfare as dozens of booming drums beat in time with dozens of clapping paws. The sounds of festivity blanketed Niverron like a heavy fog, the noise of music and fireworks intermixing with merchants shouting, performers performing, and a seemingly unending scores of inebriated onlookers eating and drinking and fighting and fucking.

Thankfully, Breeze was over here, and they were over there.

As he led the group up the steps and inside the Red Lantern 'Inn', giving a half-wave to the longing vixens, Breeze was relieved to find the din of the festival leaving them behind as the door closed behind them. He was already fed up with southerners and their wilful ignorance, the echoes of nescient celebration were like knives in his ears, each stab of sound summoning an unwanted memory of his own time spent killing over city walls. Breeze didn't know how the citizens of Niverron could forget they were surrounded by Nurjan's forces, under siege by a larger and more prepared force than they had ready. The city rested in the palm of the Cleric-General's paw, and sooner or later he'd curl that paw into a fist and crush the life out of them, like a juicer crushing berries. According to Erasmus, if the Emperor's soldiers managed to take Niverron, there would be shit-all to stop them marching on to Hieron, the Ferrin Union's current capital. If this all went wrong, it could spell the end of the hundred, Astmoor could win.

And the citizens of the old capital were - quite naturally – celebrating.

The festival of soul. Whatever the hell that is. Breeze thought, reckoning the south had everything he could name except soul. He sighed, feeling his ears relax in the muted room of Red Lantern Inn's lobby. Nothin's got quieter walls than a whorehouse.

The waiting room the trio now found themselves in was cosy, the walls so richly decorated with red and gold tapestry that Breeze felt as if he were getting fat just from looking at them. He wrinkled his nose at the overpowering scent of jasmine and mint, crossing his arms as a slender dusty-brown vixen in a tightly strapped bodice approached them. Her top was made of fine purple lace and shiny black leather, with a narrow layered dress jutting from her waist and flowing to her knees. Her feet were pushed into high leather boots, and a shiny black cigarette holder stuck out from her maw, smoke trailing from the tip mystically.

“Well, hello lads." She cooed, two more vixens peeling out of the alcoves behind her. “I'm afraid we aren't taking much in the way of gentlemen callers todays, what with the guests outside and all, we ladies have some... preparations to make."

“Sure does smell good in 'ere." Fenton said, slinging his bow over one shoulder and licking his teeth. “Lotta good lookin' too, aye." He added.

“We could perhaps make an exception or two." The vixen chuckled, blowing smoke towards the Doberman as she came even closer. “I think Susanna is still working, though you may find she demands a surcharge for the inconvenience."

“Of course." Breeze muttered, shaking his head. The vixen cocked an eyebrow, eyes scanning over him. Her expression was one tested by age, tan-fur face holding a look as if she'd gotten the full measure of him already. Probably she had.

“A northerner, mm? Lot of distance between you and the Madlands now, I'm sure you've a story. Welcome to Niverron." She said, extending a paw. “I am the lady of this house, and you may refer to me as Madame Richeleau, charmed. Are you a cynic then, Master wolf, unsurprised that a few of us are still working? Me and my girls are opportunists, and even if we must prepare for the worst, we still have to eat."

“That's not what I meant." Breeze explained, relaxing slightly as Erasmus gingerly shook the vixen's paw. “I meant I'm not surprised working girls are the only folk 'round here with any damn sense. Astmoor's at your gates, and the rest of the city's having a party."

“They're afraid, try not to blame them." Madame Richeleau sighed. “The hundred's been around longer than any of them, and the ones that aren't scared are complacent. Indulging in drink and celebration is much easier than facing the truth. For them, the Empire is something far away, the war has never come this close before and so most have never seen it, they don't know what the reality will be. Don't think it's not encouraged too, the Union couldn't keep this fight with an unruly peasantry, and our auspicious rulers do so love their god of lethargy."

“You come'n find me when you're good'n ready, aye friend?" Fenton whispered, nudging Breeze's arm, practically drooling at the sight of one of the vixens biting her lip behind the Madame. “I'll start runnin' if I hear shoutin', but you take yer time!" And with that the Doberman was off, his tail wagging as he hurried on up the set of stairs behind the girl.

“We could just leave without him you know." Erasmus mumbled. “Save some money, surely saving his life is payment enough."

Madame Richeleau licked her lips, tail curling around her legs as she leaned in towards the short otter. “I haven't gotten your names, how rude. You're a cute one."

The soother coughed, blushing. “Er, p-pardon. I am Artificer Erasmus Verranum, and this is my travelling companion, Breeze Czeslaw." Breeze scoffed as the fop actually bowed. “We've journeyed here from Hieron, on a matter of grave importance."

“Have you now?" The vixen mused. “We get very few otters through here Erasmus Verranum, and fewer as handsome as you. Your friend is busy with Susanna, but I'm sure our Abigail would take good care of you, if you wished." Erasmus swallowed audibly, glancing down at the small bundle clutched in his arms and wincing.

“Er, I'm right, thank you though." He blushed deeper still, looking away guiltily. “Especially with such an, uh, unfortunate name."

“She can have a different one, if that's the bother." Richeleau offered, sniffing as she raised a paw, trailing a finger across Erasmus's chest. “We could even offer a discount…" Breeze had never seen the otter more uncomfortable, and he seemed eager to look at any one place but the tall vixen bearing down on him. For some reason, the wolf thought that the cause was more than just the unfortunate choice of name. The otter had a look he vaguely recognised from a very long time ago, one that said this is all wrong.

“We're here for Gorm." Breeze interjected, rescuing the awkward young man. “We're friends. Someone told us he could be found here." Madame Richeleau's demeanour changed immediately. Like a torch being snuffed she pivoted, from the role of bodacious temptress to one not unlike a particularly strict quartermaster.

“Of damned course you are." She muttered, waving her girls away. The whores made themselves scarce, disappearing into the darkness of the brothel as Richeleau sucked on her pipe. “Are you here on behest of that spotted fucker? I should have realised." Her eyes narrowed on Erasmus. “You did say you're an artificer, didn't you?"

“I am, correct." The otter replied, bowing his head. “Your assumption is valid, we are here on orders of the Royal Inquisition, sent by Third Inquisitor Claude Morgan himself. And they're rosettes, not spots... he hates that."

“I don't give a damn what he hates, he's a bastard of a man." Richeleau snapped.

“We're trying to be discreet." Breeze added plainly, giving the otter a sharp look. Richeleau glanced his sword, then at the fox pup cradled in Erasmus's grip.

“Clearly." She replied sourly, leaning back on a cabinet. Outside a startling boom went off as some giant firecracker detonated in the sky. “This really is a fucking terrible time for you two to arrive, you know. How set on seeing Gorm are you? Or rather, what do you think Claude would do if I were to deny you?"

“If you've met him, you already know." Erasmus shuffled in place. The vixen nodded, groaning into her paws, ears flattening.

“Is there some problem?" Breeze asked. “He's here, right?"

“You could say that." Richeleau replied. She turned in place, cursing as she waved for them to follow. “Alright then, follow me." The fox led them down a narrow hallway lined with erotic oil paintings, usually foxes and wolves locked into threesomes, some with fingers splaying their cunts, some simply looking helpless on their knees, eyes wide and dresses torn. One or two of the lewd pieces featured only men, either kissing one another with their pricks out, or simply standing with sheath in paw. Breeze found it interesting, but oddly off-putting.

“You know, I'm originally from Astmoor; closely guarded secret." Richeleau called over one shoulder. “I left Istren precisely to get away from men like Claude Morgan – no offence to your boss, Erasmus." She gesticulated as she walked, her waving paws dispersing the smoke from her cigarette. “The man I worked for before leaving was just like him, just like. When I was travelling here, I found an old Union census tucked away on the ship. I pored over it, hour after hour, and eventually picked a new name for myself, one he'd never know of." She choked out a sardonic laugh, stopping before a narrow door, the handle iron and sharp, a huge lock placed just above it. The Madame looked distantly out a window. “I chose the first name I thought he wouldn't be able to spell. Now here I am again, one big Triumvirate-fucked circle, life's funny, no?"

“This is honest work." Breeze said quietly. “Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. What Morgan does, that's anything but." Richeleau glanced back, smiling wanly.

“You're sweet, Master Czeslaw. If only old Gorm weren't about to utterly spoil the mood." And at that she pulled a key swiftly from her bodice, and unlocked the door. “Before he does boys, you must understand that Gorm is a career smuggler, he's always been the skittish type, it gave him an edge. However, I'm afraid this latest siege was... well... all a bit much." The door swung open.

Breeze blanched as he stepped past the tall vixen, eyes bulging as he took in the sight before him. Gorm was a short and portly badger in a cheap nobleman's gown, a line of glinting rings adorning his fat paws. He seemed like the sort to drink cheap red wine and spill it often, the shelves of his office lined with dusty bottles and dustier books, the latter of which were probably never touched. The room smelt almost like marinated lamb sizzling on a spit, a heady aroma that took Breeze back to a half dozen unpleasant memories from the northwest. A blue velvet armchair sat in one corner, a series of tasteful erotic artworks decorating the walls around it – the office was almost cosy, in fact. The atmosphere was somewhat spoiled however by Gorm, who was left hanging at the end of a thick line of fraying rope tied to one of the rafters overhead. His body was utterly still, his tongue puffed up and hanging out the sides of his muzzle, sausage fingers limp, the gooey whites of his eyeballs looking as if they were slightly too full, fit to burst, likes pimples on a hog's arse. From behind Breeze's shoulder, Erasmus gagged.

“Well shit." The wolf said, turning back. “The fuck do we do now?"

As if on cue, Abigail chose that moment to stir, coughing and spluttering against the blankets shrouding her face. Her short cries and coughs pierced the air, and Erasmus nervously tried to shush her as he stumbled into the room, trying his best to avoid looking at the necked badger. The otter looked utterly outmatched, stammering and shaking as he tried to shield Abigail's view with his body.

“Give her." Breeze growled, snatching the pouting pup and putting her against his chest. Her cries died as surprise replaced displeasure, and her tiny orange face blinked three times, staring up at him with those shining eyes.

“Ah, so it's three ill-matched men just out and about travelling through a warzone with their fox pup then?" Madame Richeleau murmured, tsking. “What the hell is Morgan up to now? And that was rhetorical, I don't want to know."

“Breeze." Erasmus whined, tugging on the wolf's sleeve. From down the hall, Breeze heard a short series of rapping knocks at the brothel door. He ignored them, focusing on the panicked otter. “We have to get over to Lyskirk, if we went back now it would... Nurjan is here, there's no time!"

Richeleau choked out a laugh. “Lyskirk? Why there? You won't get by that pissing blockade without Gorm's contacts, those fools are actually doing a good job of keeping us out." The vixen explained, as the knocking at the door picked up its insistence. She leaned out of the smuggler's office-turned-tomb, shouting down the hall. “Elaine, fetch the bloody door already!"

“We'll think of something." Breeze said to Erasmus, still rocking the pup in his arms. “First things first. We need to get out of the city, before we can't." He looked to Madame Richeleau. “Do you know if Gorm had a stamp or something, a seal, some sort of proof we came from him?"

Richeleau grimaced, nodding reluctantly. “I hope the Triumvirate isn't watching right now." She turned to the hanging Badger and reached up to grab one of his swollen paws. With a grunt she tugged a thick ring off one of his fingers, passing it to Breeze. “Best I got. You're fucking welcome." She glared at Erasmus, who had finally started to relax. “When you see your master next, you tell him he and I are through. I owe nothing."

“Of course." Erasmus said. “I'm sorry."

“Madame?" A fluffy black and white sheepdog that Breeze guessed was Elaine poked her head through the doorway, tongue pinched between her teeth. The dog gasped at the hanging badger, but Richeleau's snapping fingers brought her attention back.

“What is it?" She hissed. “Now isn't the time, why is it never the right time?! Just send them away girl, honestly!" Elaine faltered slightly, but still managed to get the words out.

“Well uh, there's 'bout dozen fellas here Madame. Some of 'em're city guards I think. They're led by some pig, calls himself Hando." The sheepdog looked nervous, and flinched as Richeleau swore. “They're here for 'im." Elaine added, pointing at the hanging body.

“I suppose you have something to do with this?" Richeleau snapped, glaring at Breeze. She whirled back on Elaine, peering over the sheepdog's shoulder. “Girl, pray tell you did not let them in?"

“No Madame."

“Good girl. Alright, I'll handle this." And she motioned for Breeze and Erasmus to stay, marching down the hall.

“Give her back." Erasmus muttered, relieving Breeze of the pup. He tucked her into the harness on his back, her cries dying down quickly as she was soothed. “What do we do now? I'd dare say Hando won't be pleased letting us out the front."

“We wait." Breeze said, keenly watching Richeleau down the hall. She mouthed a curse, then spoke.

“Hello there, Master Hando, I believe? This is the Madame of the house, Richeleau. Hope you forgive me keeping the door locked, but my girl Elaine says there's some trouble afoot, is that true darling?" She cooed, voice as supple and seductive as when Breeze first walked in the door. The wolf strained, shuffling down the hallway and gesturing for Erasmus to wait in the office, his ears stretching so he might hear better. “We don't want trouble, sir."

“Well you've fuckin' got trouble! We're here for Gorm, we ain't gonna hurt none'a you ladies so long as you don't get in our way! Just let us in to get what's ours!" Breeze groaned, recognising that it was indeed the voice of the big pig from the tavern. The same one they'd promised to give half of Gorm's money to. “That swindler has buggered us enough, now open up this door, or there's gonna be hell for all'a yous!"

“Well, I hate to break the news boys." Madame Richeleau cried. “But Gorm is rather dead. We found him necked this morn, haven't even had the opportunity to cut him down yet."

“Cut the bullshit lady, I get enough of it from that two-timing thief!" Hando cried, and as Breeze got closer he heard a resounding agreement from the small mob the pig had gathered. “Think this's the first time I heard he's up and died? Least make yer lies convicin'!" A slight grog-addled cheer went up with that, and Breeze bit his lip.

Stands to reason a tavern-owner would have a lot of friends.

“Hando, that you?" He shouted, stalking down the hallway. “This is the wolf from earlier. Gorm's necked alright, the Madame ain't lying! We're digging through his stuff now, but it might take a bit to uh, to sort! Why don't…" He struggled to think of something to say, damn it all, Erasmus had made it look easy. “Why don't you and your lot saunter on back to the tavern, and I'll bring you what's half by sundown!" He paused, paws held ready. Richeleau gave him a pointed look, and Breeze shrugged.

“No thanks, wolfie." The pig's voice shouted back, anger bubbling in his words. “I reckon he's bought you off, damn sellsword northerner! I daresay we're comin' through now!" And with that a thick chunk of wood, wielded like a club, punched a hole through the front window, followed by a thick pink fist attached to a thick pink arm. “Open this fucking door now you bitch!"

“Breeze!" The Madame hissed. “Well fucking done!"

“Shit, he seemed reasonable enough in the tavern!" Breeze grunted. Hando's arm was fumbling around, the glass scraping the hide on his forearm as he searched for a lock he could undo. Breeze drew his sword, and without hesitation lopped off the invading limb halfway down his forearm. The fist tumbled forward and bounced with a squelch, blood spurting over the floor and wall as the stump was yanked back through the hole, the satisfying sound of the squealing hog following suit. Breeze looked to Richeleau, pointing back towards the smuggler's office. “Get your girls, you got a back exit?"

“Naturally," she didn't even seem flustered at the fact he'd just severed a limb before her eyes.

“Then get!" Breeze growled, poking his blade through the cracked glass and sticking a drunken shepherd in the thigh. The Madame got, hurrying her girls down the hall, ushering them towards Erasmus and Abigail.

“YOU SLAG! YOU AND THAT WOLF BASTARD GET OUT HERE NOW!" Hando bellowed, slamming his good fist down on the door. Breeze wanted to laugh, shocked the old boy was still going. “If I can't take what I'm owed outta Gorm's hide, then I'm taking it outta yours!"

And his name is Hando! Hando Handless, now that's a name fit for the north. Breeze grinned, bracing himself as a heavyset fox threw his entire body through the glass, stepping in with a cleaver in paw, tiny lacerations dotting his hide as tiny flakes of red sprayed across the lobby. Breeze cut him down with a slash before he had both boots on the floor, the wolf dancing back as yet more of the front windows were smashed in, the ten or eleven brutes outside destroying anything they could touch in their bid to get in. Two more fat idiots came through, and Breeze took one's leg and opened the other's chest – the combination of no training and a lot of drink keeping them from posing much of a threat to the wolf. He hopped back again, grabbing a tall bookcase and pulling it over with a heave, books and weird art sculptures tumbling down with a crash. Doesn't matter how drunk they were, enough bodies would be able to overwhelm anyone, and the numbers were on Hando's side. The mob cried out in unanimous anger, and Breeze twisted on the spot, running down the hall and into the back office. Madame Richeleau locked the door after him, tugging him by the arm out a side door and into the back alley.

The two spilled out into a spacious rear courtyard, the intermittent cobblestone yard outfitted with a little gazebo and wrought iron furniture. Erasmus held his borrowed knife up in a trembling paw, relief flooding his expression as Breeze was the one to come staggering out of the whorehouse. The Madame's girls had already scattered, but she remained, eyes locked on the second-floor decking.

“Susanna!" She cried, as a scantily dressed fox came scrambling out from the room within. Goodman Fenton was right behind her, wearing only his trousers, stolen bow and quiver slung over his back. “Use the rope, the rope, hurry!" Richeleau shouted, and the fox nodded. She took a short line of cord that was hung from the deck's wall and tossed it over the ledge, letting Fenton help her to hop over the rail. She began to slide down, but then the door to the balcony burst open, an angry looking fox and wolf making for Fenton. The fox crashed into the Doberman first and they skidded into the wall with a mutual growl, while Breeze was stuck just watching.

He tore himself away, grabbing Erasmus by the arm. “We should go." He hissed, turning to Erasmus. “Ras! We should go!"

“You saved him once before, now you just wanna leave him?!" The otter exclaimed, as the big wolf on the deck slashed his bitten sword into the rope Susanna was using. She was about halfway down when it was cut, and she fell with a yelp, landing on a patch of grass and weeping as Richeleau ran to help her up.

Breeze tugged Erasmus again. “There wasn't a mob of furious drunks after us then! Idiots or not, I can't fight ten people at once!"

“Then what was the point?" The otter snapped, giving Breeze a second of pause.

“Go, you've got to go Susi, you know what to do." Richeleau was saying to the girl as she picked her up, and the young fox nodded woozily, wiping at her eyes as she began to run.

“Pissing fuck!" Fenton cried, as he crashed into the big fox, the two of them crashing against the rail and flipping over it together in a big squirming mass. The two tumbled, swung, and then fell the short distance before landing in a shrubbery, the Doberman coming out on top. The impact threw them to either side of the bush, but they'd resumed the grapple even before Breeze started running. Fenton had his paws wrapped around the fox's neck, but the snarling vulpine was getting punch after punch into the dog's underside. Breeze finally reached them and put an end to it with his sword, the end going neatly through the fox's skull, spilling brains and bone onto the lawn.

Fenton kept shouting and choking regardless, so the northern wolf yanked him off the dead body with a growl.

“We're leaving!" He shouted, hearing the angry mob raging as they reached the office where Gorm had killed himself. Richeleau had locked the door, but it was buckling under their combined weight, and as Breeze pulled the Doberman back to Erasmus it finally gave, the giant pig leading the charge, his breaths coming in heaves, stump wrapped in a ripped strip of stained tunic as they came bumbling out from the whorehouse like pus from a wound.

“YOU!" He roared doggedly, pointing with his good hand at Breeze.

“Me." The wolf replied, stepping forward with his sword.

“Fucking liar! You ain't come 'ere for... for debts!" The pig wheezed.

“And you didn't come to die, but here we are." Breeze muttered, though he doubted the fool heard over the shouting of the mob behind.

“Someone gimme steel." The pig barked at his crowd, holding out his good hand. His stump had soaked right through the makeshift bandage, and was now just dripping gore on the stones at his feet. A brown fox from behind passed him a short axe, and he weighed it in his arm, nodding. “This'll…" He stopped, swallowed, and Breeze glanced at the small puddle of blood pooling beneath his hanging wound.

“Feelin' light headed?" He asked, holding his sword loose and ready, eyes darting over the crowd, watching for any sudden moves. He could feel Erasmus soothing him, tension and tiredness easing slightly. Maybe he could take them, they were a right crowd of rabble, and most looked drunk. All it would take was one lucky hit, one misstep and they'd overwhelm him.

“Hando, we goin?" A bull to the pig's left asked nervously, then in a lower voice said, “this weren't what s'posed to happen! No one but Gorm were s'posed to get hurt!"

“I'm…" The pig started, eyes going wide as his gaze tilted up. “What's…" Breeze refused to look, but then a murmur rippled through the mob as they began walking back, and then the murmurs became screams as they were turning in place and falling over themselves in the mad panic to get back the way they'd come. Finally, the wolf relented, glancing up just in time to see a huge sphere of flaming rock soaring almost lazily overhead. It flew high and slow, turning end-over-end as it drifted across the darkening clouds.

“Triumvirate's breath." Erasmus said softly, as Hando fell to his knees, huffing, pale as a ghost.

Breeze had one thought through his head, the pit of his stomach bowing out, mouth going dry, tail tucking.

Catapults.

It had started.

Hando fell flat on his face as he passed out from the blood loss, his angry mob already broken, trying to scatter and flee down the alley and back through the whorehouse they'd near destroyed.

Deep in the centre of the city, the catapult's load crashed into a high brick building, ripping the structure apart as it did, a massive ball of flame swallowing it all as chunks of stone and wood were thrown about like a pup's play toy.

“Triumvirate prevail." Erasmus whispered. “Nurjan truly is upon us." In the distance, the tower that was hit snapped in the middle, the top half crumbling over, tiny pieces of it raining down as it fell into the streets, spraying up an awesome blanket of dust and dirt.

“We're fucked." Fenton said.

“Bad timing." Madame Richeleau muttered. “Always at a bad fucking time!"

Shit. Breeze thought, as rain began to fall on his head. He turned, gaze going up and seeing it – the fall of Niverron painted in black and white across the heavens.

He could hear distant screaming already, the panic and frenzy beginning at the crash site and spreading like a wildfire, the festival of soul coming to a screeching bloody halt as people dropped their instruments and drinks, running for cover. Breeze knew immediately, this would be a bad one.

But judging from the half-dozen other flaming stones soaring toward them through the air, it wouldn't be a long one.