Rastan rode all day and all night until her prowlgrin could take it no more. In the early hours of the morning they stopped and rested for a few hours before pursuing their relentless chase. Hour after hour Rastan bumped up and down in the saddle until she no longer felt the jostling.

It wasn't until mid-afternoon of the second day of chase that Rastan saw another intelligent being. A Freeglade Lancer was staggering about dazedly beneath her, and Rastan warily descended to inspect.

It was a young man in his teens, with grazes on his face and legs and a nasty cut on his arm. His uniform was torn and he was thoroughly dazed. Rastan quickly told him to lie down while she gave him some water to drink and prepared a salve for his arm. When he had eaten and drunk a little, she questioned him gently on the whereabouts of the rest of the Freegladers.

"We were ambushed!" he gasped, every word an effort. "There were a thousand of them and only two hundred of us…we never stood a chance. The Captain realized this and surrendered quickly but we lost so many people! I escaped from the camp where they are keeping us with the help of Rook. I was the least badly injured and he told me to go back to the Freeglades and tell the Council. I must tell the council, I must…"

"Shhh," soothed Rastan. "The camp is only seven miles away? I can make that on foot, you take the prowlgrin. We'll leave in two hours, just enough time to be rested."

The young Lancer was already asleep. Rastan only dozed lightly for a few hours. When she arose the librarian was still sleeping. She left him the prowlgrin and some the food. Rastan packed most of the food and medicine in her bag. She had a feeling she'd need it if she ever found the enemy camp and the prisoners. As the sun was setting on her second day of travel, she continued on into the Deepwoods, this time on foot.

It was past midnight before she reached the prison camp. It was a high Ironwood palisade, impossible to tear down. The top was covered in thorny vines and goobierry leaves that emitted poisonous essences when touched that made the skin swell and turn painfully red. Too much of it could kill an unsuspecting Deepwoods dweller.

Near the prison camp was a nicer set of temporary dwellings. Delicious smells were wafting over the clearing, combating the odor of rot and sickness emanating from the prison.

Rastan crept around the palisade. There was only one visible entrance and that was watched by four fully armed guards. No entrance there.

She continued her trip around the wall and then she saw it…a large tree branch hung right over the wall of the palisade! It had been knocked over by a recent storm and the tree was very unsteady, but it was no match for someone who had been raised around skyships.

Rastan nimbly climbed the branches until she found the one that would be her bridge to Rook. Holding an adjacent branch with one hand, she tiptoed across with all the grace of a gymnast. When she was well over the tall palisade she let herself drop lightly down into the prison.

She was shocked by the sight that met her hazel eyes. Even in the dark Rastan could make out bodies lying in heaps. Feeble pleas for food and water were coming from every corner of the darkness.

The shock soon passed and her nurse's instincts took over. For the next two hours she went from creature to creature, giving them food and water and healing whatever wounds she could with her medical kit.

Gnokgoblins, Lancers, slaughterers…they all faded into a blur. She had come to the camp to help Rook and now she couldn't find him.

"Thank-you so much, milady," croaked a Freeglade Lancer after she gave him a drink of water and some tilder jerky. "Is there anything an angel might need that a lowly gnokgoblin could provide?"

"Have you seen Rook Barkwater?" asked Rastan eagerly.

The Lancer's body was racked by coughs and it was a while before he was able to answer. "He was beaten nearly to death yesterday when he helped one of the kids escape. I haven't seen him since then."

Rastan's heart sank. What if he had been taken to another camp? What if he was …dead? The first peekings of the morning sun snapped her from her reverie. She realized that if she remained in her clean clothes when the sun came up she would be found out and forced back into life in the Colony.

Rastan hid what food, water, and medicine was left in the pack in a shallow hole. By the time she was finished, her fingernails were broken and bleeding and pain was shooting up her arms.

Next came the worst part. She staggered over to a pile of bodies and looked for the costume of a female Freeglade Lancer. The body was heavy and the tunic spattered with blood, but it would do. Rastan knew she should have been disgusted at what she was doing but there was something new awakening in her. It was a flame of passion, of fortitude that enabled her to go to any lengths to save those that she knew and loved.

Wrenching the uniform off the Lancer, Rastan hastily slipped it on. She dirtied herself until she felt she looked sufficiently bedraggled and miserable. No sooner was this done than the enormous gates began to open.

Rastan threw herself flat on the ground and closed her eyes, trying to look as ill as possible. She heard the guards laughing and jeering at their prisoners' misery and clenched her teeth in hate. Their heavy feet pounded to her. She heard occasional groans of pain as the soldiers kicked the wounded to make sure they weren't dead.

"What's this?" asked a nasty voice high above her head.

Rastan cracked her eyes open to see a pair of dirt-crusted boots right in front of her nose. One of them lifted up and nudged her until she rolled over with a theatric groan.

"Why looky, it's a girl-thingy. Reckon we can have a little fun?" They all chortled nastily.

"What is going on over there?" barked a gruff voice from the other side of the camp. "You had orders to find the fittest and take them to the Assembly. Why haven't you found any yet?"

"Coming, Captain," replied one of the men angrily. The group moved on to round up "the fittest ones".

It was not until the gates slammed shut that Rastan dared to raise her head ever so slightly. There were no soldiers left in the wretched prison and the guards could not see over the palisade.

Slowly, Rastan stood up and continued to help all of the injured. They were dying fast now, and she estimated that of the two hundred that had set out only about seventy-five were left in this hellhole.

She toiled under the afternoon sun until she could work no more. Crawling under a bit of shade, she fell down and slept for a few hours before her duty called her to help the people.

All who had been treated had received what she could give them but there were hardly any herbs left and the hearty Freeglade food she had brought with her was gone. Her water had long since been drunk so she had to give the poor wretches hard bread and metallic water provided by their captors.

By nightfall, some of the captives were beginning to regain consciousness permanently. They asked her whispered questions about people and places they knew and she answered as best they could.

Rastan nursed throughout the night, pausing only for a few hours to snatch some sleep. At least now she had two or three assistants helping her tend to their fellows. These were generally the ones that had suffered the least or been the healthiest before the episode. Although weak and unsteady on their legs, they provided invaluable help.

As the sun rose, Rastan made a decision. She cut off all of her long black hair and traded her woman's tunic and skirt for a man's heavy shirt and pantaloons. When all was said and done, she could pass for a man. This was vital to the next step of her plan.

When the doors opened that morning, she was sitting up against the wall, her eyes half open. The guards immediately caught sight of her.

"Got one!" cried the burly goblin who hauled her up by her hair. She winced and cried out in pain as she was thrown unceremoniously out of the camp and chained up in a line.

It didn't take long for all of the places to be filled. Rastan's heart twinged as she recognized many of her patients; creatures still unfit for hard labor.

"Get a move on you bums!" cried the slave driver at the back of the line. A whip cracked over their heads and the column began marching towards the direction he indicated. The march wasn't far but for many of the soldiers it would be fatal. Their harsh breathing echoed up and down the line before they even started and several had collapsed before they made it. These were taken and hauled bodily back to the camp. Rastan could only hope that her apprentices could deal with these new casualties.

The column was marched into an enormous building at the center of the camp. The entire settlement seemed to be crammed into it, at least a thousand warriors of all species. Their attention was focused on a distant podium at the front of the hall. As the prisoners entered, a hush fell over the crowed and all eyes turned to them. Prodded forward by the guards' spears, the small company had no choice but to walk past all the staring eyes to a large cage where they were herded in.

A hammerhead goblin with long green teeth and malicious yellow eyes walked up to the podium. He shuffled some papers, cleared his throat, and began to speak in a high, nasal voice.

"My people. You have before you fifteen creatures, armed soldiers from the Freeglades. They have willingly lifted arms against us. The choice is now before them: join us or die. Let the first prisoner come forth."

The door to the cage opened and a tusked goblin roughly grabbed the Lancer next to Rastan. He was dragged to a smaller podium and the "trial" began.

"What is your name?" asked the clerk.

"P-plurinulus," stammered the unfortunate librarian.

"Rank,"

"Private in the Green Flight of the Librarian Knights under the Professor of Darkness,"

"Do you wish to join us?"

"Never,"

"If you do not you will die,"

"Than I shall,"

"The current punishment is to be…" he searched through his papers, "…thrown into the Wig-Wig Arena of the Great Shryke Slave Market."

The librarian paled. His knees began knocking.

"Do you wish to change your answer?"

"N-no…Yes, yes, I'll join you!" he broke down into sobs. A group of low-belly goblins smugly brought out the sacred stone of their settlement. The librarian placed his right hand on the stone and raised his left hands and swore an oath, tears running down his cheeks the whole time.

When the ceremony was finished, he was guided to a seat to the right of the podiums. The clerk then turned his attention back to the cage. "Bring out the next prisoner."

This time, the enormous tusked goblin grabbed Rastan. She gasped as her hair was nearly pulled out by the roots. Rastan was dragged onto the podium and stood tall, staring out over the bloodthirsty creatures before her. She swallowed hard when she recognized a few faces that she hoped never to see again.

"What is your name?"

"R…oger. Kilogre. Roger Kilogre."

"Rank,"

"Private in the Freeglade Lancers under Rook Barkwater." Her heart twanged painfully as she spoke her husband's name. Was he even alive anymore?

"Do you wish to join us?"

"Never."

"If you do not you will die,"

"I'd rather die than serve under such scum of the Earth and Sky," said Rastan passionately. The clerk only smirked.

"Your punishment," he said with the air of one relishing a terrible sentence, "will be to be dismembered by a Bloadoak after your ears, nose, and lips are cut off." Rastan's lips trembled at the thought but she held firm. A hate such as she had never known was boiling within her.

"I will not join you. Ever. I will live free or die."

The clerk merely shrugged and Rastan was hustled off the podium and into a cage to the left of the podium. As she was carried past the cage she thought she heard some applause and a few murmurs of appreciation.

The next prisoner was called to the stand. He, like Rastan, refused to join the war group. The next and the next followed this example until there were fourteen people in the cage on the left and only one on the bench at the right.

The expression on this one Lancer's face was enough to break Rastan's heart. He stared at all his comrades on the other side and then in one swift movement stood up and ran straight towards a guard. The soldier, surprised, raised his sword and the librarian impaled himself on it. His last words were shouted to the ceiling.

"Free!"

Now the atmosphere in the court was changed. The clerk looked worriedly down at his list and then back up at the crowd. Fifteen prisoners today and only one conversion, who committed suicide not long after. Making up his mind, the clerk raised both hands for peace.

"Now, the final trial of the day." An excited murmur swept through the crowd. "We will be trying our greatest prisoner. Guards, bring out…Rook Barkwater!"

The entire hall exploded into cheers and applause at the announcement. The librarians and Lancers on the bench gasped in horror. The cheering rose to a defeaning crescendo as the prisoner was escorted into the hall.

Rastan fought back tears when she saw him, being dragged along by two goblins, barely able to stand. He raised his head and she saw the innumerable scratches and bruises that continued down his chest as far as the audience could see. But in his eyes there glinted nevertheless the same will of iron that had always been present.

"What is your name?" asked the clerk with a cold smile.

"Rook Barkwater," replied Rook. His voice was not strong but it sent comfort through his troops.

"Rank?"

"Captain of the Freeglade Lancers,"

"Will you join us?"

"Never!"

"If you do not you will die,"

"I will do what I must to serve the Freeglades," replied Rook impassively, though sorrow flitted momentarily across his features. "If that includes dying now then I am proud to do my duty."

"Not only will you be killed," said the clerk in his evil whine, "You shall see every loyal member of your company killed before you."

For the first time, Rook seemed to notice the men and women standing in the cage. He quavered for a moment but the stares his camarades sent his way kept his courage.

"So be it," said Rook softly.

The clerk stared at him in disbelief. This was not what he was expecting. Damn the Freegladers and their stupid nobility.

"Executions will commence tomorrow at dawn." He said curtly. "The court is dismissed.

Rook was dragged off through a small door behind the podium. The other prisoners could dimly hear his shouts echoing down the corridor.

"Stay strong! Stay together! Don't falter!" the shout trailed off into a cry of pain and then silence.

Rastan and her friends were dragged through a different door. The cart rattled down the hallway, shaking the prisoners painfully. They finally stopped in front of a big cell and all of the prisoners were hustled into it.

They listened to the cage rattling down the hallway until it could not be heard any more. All of them stared at each other in silence for a minute until a Lancer with platinum-blonde hair broke the silence.

"Well," he said, "I guess this is it. Nothing left to do but tell each other our life stories.

"I was born in the Foundry Glades nineteen years ago…" He continued, telling about how he had lost his mother at a young age and was raised by his father. When the latter became an alcoholic the young librarian was left out on the streets. He would still be there if it hadn't been for the generosity of Captain Rook. The illustrious captain had secured him a place among the Lancers and everything had gotten better from there.

"That's why I'm here." He concluded. "When I learned that I might get a chance to be a hero, I volunteered. If I had known it would have ended this way I don't think I would have signed up so fast…anyway, enough about me. Who's next? What about you? You said your name was Roger during the trial?"

Rastan blushed furiously as everyone looked at her.

"Yeah…well…that's not really my name. See, I'm not even a Lancer really, and I…" she took a deep breath. "I'm a woman and my name is Rastan Barkwater."

There was a moment of stunned silence and suddenly everyone started talking at once. It seemed that they all wanted to know exactly how and why she had got there, so she obliged, not without some hesitation.

The silence was complete as she told her story, starting from the point where she left on prowlgrin back to go after Rook. She told about meeting the Lancer, and climbing up the palisade. There were several nods of recognition when she told how she had spent the next day and a half healing everyone she could find.

"I remember getting food and water," said one Lancer dreamily. "I thought it was an angel."

Rastan blushed and rapidly finished her tale, telling how she had cut off her hair and donned a new uniform in order to find her beloved husband. An awestruck silence greeted the end of her story.

"I don't think I've ever met anyone as brave as you," whispered one Lancer. "It will be an honor to die with you tomorrow."

"Don't talk like that," chided a Lancer, "you heard Rastan's story. Help is on its way as we speak." There was a thoughtful silence.

"Anyone want to tell another story?" suggested the blonde librarian.