A/N: There might be a little bit of stronger language in this chapter, so if you're averse to that I would advise caution.

Um…my apologies. This plot twist may seem overkill to some, but I really needed it to make the story work, and I promise that I will add nothing else that's entirely outrageous. That's all I can offer you.

Chapter 7

Numair cursed himself for having been caught off-guard. He should have been paying attention to his surroundings. How many times had he been working with the army or the Queen's Riders, or been on a mission for Jonathon, or just plain found himself in a bad situation? And yet he was unable to realize the approach of an untrained mob of villagers until it was too late.

He knew how it had happened, of course. Daine's accusation had shocked him to the core, and he had been so caught up in their conversation that he had not an iota of attention to spare on anything else. Too often had that woman had that effect on him, but never to this extent. He knew he should have just warded their room in the inn and had this conversation there…but for some reason he had felt the need to conceal his Gift from these people as long as possible. Now he cursed himself for that as well, even knowing that they would have been trapped like rats in that room.

Still, what was done was done, and he had no time to dwell on self-admonishments or rationalizations. He had to deal with what was going on here and now. These villagers demanded that he hand over his Daine. They were welcome to try to get her, too—if they could get past him alive, he didn't deserve to keep her, and he'd be damned if she would just roll over and let them take her, either.

"I believe that you will find taking control of her will be a bit more difficult than you imagine." He was trying his hardest to be diplomatic first; he had no desire to cause unnecessary harm to defenseless village people. "May I ask why you are so determined to have her?"

"The bastard's crazy!" One voice piped up, followed by a tumult of other contributions that Numair only managed to catch a handful of.

"Thinks she's an animal!"

"Feral bitch!"

"She's a danger to people everywheres!"

By the time the sea of noise had died down, Numair was struggling to reign in his temper. He reminded himself that these people were ignorant, that they had probably never even heard of Wild Magic or the Wildmage in all their lilves. It helped, but not quite enough.

"Does she look crazy to you?" The mage demanded, gesturing at his love. Daine, to her credit, was standing beside him quite stoically given the circumstances. "Is that what you call crazy? This young woman is one of the most—" He was cut off by a hand lain on his arm—an arm on which, he was almost surprised to see, were perched any number of birds. He looked at her again to find her being supported by a young buck and surrounded by yet more of the woodland creatures that she shared a bond with. She seemed to draw strength from them as he watched.

"That's enough," she instructed him. "I can handle this myself. It's my past to confront, not yours." She turned to address the crowd, but was cut off before she even began.

"Come now, Master Salmalin, you can't go saying she ain't crazy forever," Mandaly informed him, drawing ever nearer to the pair of them. "We all know what she done all them years ago, so you got to stop defending her. It ain't nice taking advantage of a girl that ain't even know she's human, especially now you got me."

Numair bristled at both the insult to Daine and the implications laced through her words, but this time he was not the one to defend his companion's honor.

"I know what I am just fine, Mandaly Bernsra," Daine pronounced coldly and crisply, her voice traveling into a sudden silence, "and that's something no one but the Black God has the right to judge. Seems to me you have enough on your plate trying to snare every eligible man that walks by your door without bothering with gods' work."

The crowd broke into a wild muttering, some commenting on the fact that she seemed quite herself, others on the animals surrounding her, and still others on the idea that she was trying to bewitch them. Numair found himself smiling at Daine's comeback and took a step closer to her (which was, coincidentally, a step farther from Mandaly).

"Aye, she seems fine now," said the man in charge at last. Numair noticed that no one had yet addressed the young woman directly. "Mayhaps she ain't never made you think otherways. But then, mayhaps you ain't never heard what she done ten years back neither."

"I know enough of what happened then," the mage informed him high-handedly, "to understand that your fears of her madness are completely unfounded. And if you would be so kind, sir, as to not act as though the person whom this concerns is incapable of speaking on her own behalf."

"And I would, too, if she were able to speak for herself," the leader returned, glancing at the girl with a curled lip. "Thing is, she ain't better'n one o' her precious beasties as far as the thinkin' goes."

"Of all the ignorant—"

"Numair." The voice was quiet, but urgent. The so named man turned to face the Wildmage, thinking at first that she would reprimand him again for fighting her battles. On his first glance at the expression she wore, though, he knew that it was far more serious than that. She had a look to her as though her mind was elsewhere, and it was only from a distance that she operated her body. He gave her a moment, knowing after years of companionship that she was concentrating on something her magic was telling her. Suddenly her head snapped up, eyes locking on his instantly.

"Hurroks—nine of them. Five minutes, maybe ten if we're lucky." It took a moment for this information and its connotations to sink in completely. The gods had removed the majority of the ill-intentioned immortals from their world, true enough, but for divine entities their job had been surprisingly unthorough, and a number of these beings remained. Apparently this—herd? flock?—of hurroks was among those.

It was instinct, long years of being placed in similar positions, that took over rather than any affinity for the villagers of Snowsdale. In an instant he was taking command of the situation, striding towards Snowsdale confidently with his love close behind.

"Your village is in danger. If you value your lives and those of your loved ones, you will go to your homes and stay there until the trouble is past," he instructed as the astounded crowd parted to let him and Daine through, uncertain of what exactly was going on. A number of villagers broke off from the group in order to protect themselves and their families, no questions asked. The rest, however, proved harder to convince.

"What's the big idea?" One man demanded. "You think we're stupid enough to fall for that? You're not getting off so easy as that!"

This outburst provoked a number of like-minded exclamations, and soon the mob had reformed around them. The pair stopped, surrounded, and Daine's eyes took on a glint that Numair could not quite identify.

"A group of hurroks is coming straight for Snowsdale," she snapped, frustration evident in her voice, "and all you can think of is getting your vengeance on me? If that's so I'm glad I went mad, as it meant I didn't have to live my life with cowards like you!" The crowd began its frantic murmuring once more, shocked at this girl that had had once been one of their number. Several men protested this statement quite vocally.

"We haven't the time to waste on this!" Sarra's bastard daughter continued angrily. "Can't you see that there are more important things to be doing right now?"

"Hurroks! What would hurroks want with us?" One man demanded.

"Bitch's still mad as ever!"

"Why should we believe you?" the leader of the group called over the rest of the cacophony. The Tortallan mage fixed him with a superior look that clearly stated that this small-town man knew nothing.

"You, sir, are looking at the two most powerful mages in King Jonathon of Tortall's employ, arguably in the entire continent," he informed the man haughtily. "I suggest that if we tell you that your town is about to be attacked by hurroks, you believe us."

This statement carried over the multitude and induced a sudden silence that lasted all of three seconds before the stunned chatter sprang up again. Still, such was the shock of the crowd that they managed to make it into the village before they were halted again.

"They're lying!"

"No way that whore's a mage!"

"They're trying to trick us!"

"The bastards are gonna pay!"

Of course, by this point Numair had resigned himself to the fact that he would simply have to ignore these people, livid though he was. At the moment, there was too much at stake for him to bother with a response; he had to concentrate on positioning Daine and himself in the best possible place to do combat, if it should come to that. He glanced at the sky briefly to see how much time they had left before the hurroks were upon them and cursed.

"They're here," he muttered, as much to himself as his companion, who had undoubtedly known of their arrival long before he had. Nevertheless, she too cursed upon hearing this news.

"I'd hoped to get to my bow before they got here," she told him with a wry smile, seeming to have put aside her grievances of the morning in face of this threat to the place that had once been her home. He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose that you'll just have to use your magic, then," he replied. After all, if the people of Snowsdale wouldn't believe him when he said she was a mage, she would just have to prove it to him.

And of course, the hurroks chose that moment to attack.