Drums beat slowly throughout the clearing as the column of prisoners was marched towards the Deepwoods. A grandstand had been set up near an enormous bloodoak and the seats were already filled, an hour before the official execution.

In the general air of bustle and confusion as the last-minute changes were made, Rook was able to edge nearer to his men without any of his guards noticing.

"Everyone here okay?" he asked quietly.

"As good as possible considering we're all about to die," replied a gaunt Lancer.

"Come on, Frank, lift that chin up. The Freeglade forces are on their way." Rook's troubled face belied the hope and lightheartedness in his words.

"The one thing that I really would want above all else right now is to see Rastan again. Have I told you all about my wedding yet?"

"Rook." It was a whisper, barely audible.

"Yes?" he asked, scanning the prisoners in the cage for the mystery voice. "Did someone say my name? You! It was you, wasn't it lad? Wasn't it…" Rook's voice trailed off as his brain raced to process what his eyes were telling him.

"Rastan?" he mouthed, unable to speak through his consternation.

"Rook." She said simply, stepping forward.

"What…doing here…you…"

"I came to save you and the others," said Rastan with a small laugh. "Fine job I did, too. We're all going to die."

She was unable to continue because Rook had grabbed her and was kissing her fiercely through the bars of the cage. Their happiness was suddenly interrupted by an enormous goblin guard.

"Roger Kilogre," he said in his gravelly voice, "the time has come."

"The time? Roger? What is he talking about, Rastan?" cried Rook desperately, unwilling to believe the truth that was staring him in the face.

"I had to have a pseudonym for my trial," said Rastan sadly, "and since I was the first tried I am the first to be executed. Oh my love, kiss me one more time, just once for an eternity."

Rook obliged but their kiss was rudly interrupted by the goblin. "None of that, now," he said, yanking them apart. "The time has come, make your final goodbyes from here."

Rastan wished farewell to all her companions, barely holding back tears.

"This is only a temporary farewell," she said turning finally to Rook, who was beside himself with grief and despair.

"NO! RASTAN!"

Rastan kept her chin high and her eyes dry, despite Rook's broken sobbing behind her. She walked towards the center of the arena slowly and with great dignity.

"Roger Kilogre," read a skypirate in a tattered red greatcoat, "Your sentence is to be carried out at this time and place. The first punishment that you shall suffer is the severing of the ears, nose and lips. Please be seated in the chair."

Rastan did not do so immediately. She turned for a last look at Rook and then turned back to the pirate.

"May I have my last words?" she asked him icily. He nodded curtly and Rastan turned back towards the bloodthirsty crowd and her friends.

"I just wanted to ask the citizens of the place formerly known as 'WindSpinner Village' one question. Why and how could you let it get this far? Have you been inside the prison pens? It's worth than a battlefield in there. What have the Freegladers done to inspire so much fear and hatred? I ask you neighbor to neighbor, WindSpinnerite to WindSpinnerite, to stop this madness."

"How can you claim that you are a WindSpinnerite?" asked the skypirate looking at her suspiciously. "There has never been anyone called Roger Kilogre in our village."

"That's because my name is not Roger Kilogre. I am Rastan Thenxis. I was captured from the village by slavers five years ago and it was the best thing that ever happened to me. In the Freeglades I found true happiness for the first time. I'm telling you, comrades, the Freeglades are not a place of wanton destruction and hate as we had been raised to think. The Freeglades are a beacon of hope in the Deepwoods, a place where everyone can be free and ha…"

"Your last words are over," interrupted the sky pirate loudly. "Please take a seat, the execution must go on."

Rastan stood for one moment longer before finally sitting down in the hard, uncomfortable chair. A group of figures in long black cloaks and masks approached her bearing a chest which, when it was opened, revealed a great store of knives, corkscrews, and other instruments of torture. Rastan shuddered but held firm.

She closed her eyes as the executioner brought the razor-sharp knife to her face. The coldness of the steel blade seemed to numb her skin as more pressure was applied to the knife. Rastan gritted her teeth but the pain didn't come right away.

She opened her eyes. Everyone was staring towards the treeline behind her. Rastan herself could not turn to see what it was because of the knife pressed against her cheek. Her gaze turned to Rook and his men. They were staring in disbelief at something behind her.

Suddenly, the screaming began. Everyone in the audience stood up as one and began to run as fast as possible towards the town and its defenses. Even the executioner dropped all of his tools and ran. In doing so, though, the blade he was holding flew into the air and back down Rastan's cheek, leaving an enormous angry cut that was pouring out blood.

Rook and the Lancers wasted no time in getting free, but Rook was like a wild animal. He had seen the executioners run and the knife cut deep into Rastan's cheek. Even now he could see her, collapsed on the ground, her breathing irregular.

Breaking the ironwood lock with his bare hands, he leapt from the cage and sprinted towards the little bundle laying on the ground. He took her in his arms and ripped a piece of cloth from his tunic. He lovingly pressed it against the gash on her face and, lifting her up, carried her towards the trees.

Above his head, the librarians' attacks were crippling the settlement's defenses. Rook knew that just behind the treeline, hidden by the dense foliage, he would find a dozen field medics who could treat Rastan's injury.

Sure enough, as he staggered through the woods, four librarians suddenly lighted next to him and began unpacking their kits. In less than ten minutes the wound was disinfected, staunched, and stitched up.

Rook thanked the librarians profusely and then turned to his own inner struggles. Should he go back to the village and help the librarians? Or should he stay here and watch over Rastan until she awoke? Torn between his family and his career, Rook teetered on the edge of indecision for a moment before making up his mind.

"Watch her for me until I get back!" he called to the medics as he ran to the village.