...On Fire

Something wasn't right. The air smelled smoky, as if the forest was burning. That was odd; there was still snow and this wasn't the right time for a forest fire at all. It couldn't be, could it? Jacob dropped his backpack by the side of the road, wyrm scales be damned. He took off as fast as he could, his feet sinking through a thin layer of snow as he ran towards Leafburrow.

Smoke was rising from the horizon directly in front of them. It didn't take long before Jacob confirmed what he feared. Leafburrow was burning. Had someone accidentally set their house on fire, leading it to spread? Jacob reached for his magic, aiming to stir some of the snow with his wind towards the flames. A headache warned him away from that action.

Instead, Jacob endeavored to help whoever was putting out the fires in any capacity he could. When he made it to the town, his feet ground to a halt. It wasn't just a few houses on fire. The entire town was blazing. A second wind carried him deep into the town, ignoring all the people he past. A few called after him, but he quickly outpaced them.

The Golden Gizzard was where he remembered it, but it was no longer the building it once was. The wood had all burned away, leaving the stone doorway and the foundation of the inn. The room Jacob had called home for months was but a memory now. Jacob pushed through the debris, careful to avoid a couple of still-burning patches of wood. He had to find Rod.

He heard moans from the far side of the building, near where the kitchen had once stood. Jacob increased his pace, nearly stepping into hot embers on one occasion for his recklessness. Rod lay in a relatively open section of the burnt-down building. There was little ash where he was, but the man did not look good.

Scorch marks marred his skin, turning the man's flesh from a pale white color to that of a lobster. He moaned in pain, though Jacob wasn't quite sure how conscious the man was with the wounds he had. Jacob pulled Rod outside to the backyard, which was untouched. The soft grass was far better than the hard stone of the foundation, and the well provided Jacob a source of cold water to treat Rod's burns with.

Now more than ever he missed Angelica and her million and one poultices and salves. He was sure that the cautious girl had some kind of ointment for burns. Jacob, far less acquainted with the world he found himself in, didn't even know where to even find anything like that. He spurred himself to action, moving on from thinking of what might have been. Jacob tore pieces of his shirt off, making makeshift bandages out of the canvas.

He drew water from the well, dipping the scraps of shirt into the bucket. Laying these strips on Rod's most egregious injuries, Jacob kept splashing water on the suffering man. Not paying attention in health class was coming back to bite him in the rear now. Rod's condition wasn't improving.

In the background, Jacob heard raised voices and screams. He wondered briefly as to how the other villagers were handling the situation, but he knew he had his hands full as it was. A pain-filled moan brought him back to focus. He thought he heard a whisper.

"Rod? Are you awake?" Jacob rushed over to the downed man, leaving the bucket at the well halfway down the shaft.

"K-k…kid," the man choked out. His voice sounded fried; he had probably inhaled too much smoke and hot air. Those kinds of injuries were a lot harder to fix than the burns he had over much of his body. Jacob worried for the man.

"I'm here, Rod. I've got you," Jacob sat beside the old innkeeper, too scared to move or touch the man lest he hurt him. There wasn't a single part of Rod's body that didn't look scorched.

"I… t-t-thank… y-you," Rod said, straining his voice again. Jacob was about to silence him, but Rod gave him one of his customary glares. He wasn't sure how the innkeeper mustered the strength to do that, but he listened nonetheless. "F-for… all… y-you've… g-given me," Rod finished.

"I've given you nothing, Rod. You were the one who took me in when I had nothing. It's you I have to thank, not the other way around," Jacob protested, but the older man shook his head. A line of tears dripped off Rod's face as he lay there on the grass.

"H-hope," Rod's voice scratched out. "H-…h-happiness." The innkeeper's strength was flagging. With every word he spoke, Rod seemed to inch towards oblivion. "Thank... you…"

Rod fell silent, then. Not a breath broke the silence, nor did a rise of the chest destroy the stillness. A moment frozen in time. Wordlessly, Jacob pressed his fingers to Rod's wrist. He found no pulse.

A scream split the air. Raw with emotion, it overtook the chaotic cadence of the town. Jacob's entire world faded to sorrow. He was sure every single individual in town could hear him, but he couldn't care less. Too much had been taken from him in a single hour. His home, he found burnt. His friend, he found on death's door.

Only when his voice had gone hoarse and he had no more left to give did the scream end. The world stilled again, and Jacob gazed one last time upon the visage of the person he owed his life to.

A crunch. The sound of footsteps.

Jacob turned his head, glancing at the new arrival. An armed man entered the backyard, a savage grin marring his otherwise handsome features. He held his sword out, his eager expression giving the man's intentions away.

Was this the bastard who had burnt down the Golden Gizzard? Were there more of them? An inferno raged within him. He had once made a promise, long ago, never to kill another human again. May the Gods smite him down, but this was a promise he would not be able to keep.

Jacob rushed the man, relieved to see a flicker of surprise register on the man's face. It gave him an opportunity to elbow the man in the face, causing him to drop his weapon. With a practiced ease, Jacob hefted the blade, testing its weight. It was terribly balanced, but it had an edge. And that was enough.

Without his weapon, the bandit never stood a chance. Jacob ran him through, the death not sating his desire, his need, for revenge in the slightest. Crossing through the ruins of his home, Jacob found himself in a courtyard populated by corpses and by exultant bandits. Piles of valuables were assembled here and there, clearly the point of the raid.

Jacob's wrath only grew more intense. However, unlike with the wolves, a cold reason remained alive in the back of his mind. It commanded him to appraise the situation. There were dozens of bandits. Even if they were all weaker than Will had been, and there was no guarantee Jacob's luck would hold, he could take down at maximum two or three given his injuries. And then, he would die just as many of the poor people of Leafburrow had.

Without a doubt, these were the bandits all those mercenaries and soldiers had set out to destroy. How had they appeared so close to Leafburrow without any of the warriors noticing?

Emotion and reason warred within Jacob's soul. In the end, reason won out. The longer he stood by the charred remains of the inn, the more chance he had of being spotted. Harnessing some of his recently learned stealth, Jacob snuck back through the inn. As he did so, he remembered an item of note.

He crept passed burning embers, making his way to where Rod's room had once been. None of it stood now. The floorboards remained untouched by some miracle. Jacob scrubbed ash aside, finding a particularly loose board. He pried it open, finding within it a beautiful case. Hugging it to his chest, Jacob shoved his newly acquired sword into his sheath and made to escape the town. When he resurfaced from the rubble, he took one last look at the town square.

A redheaded bandit with a thick beard and only a single eye stood at the center of the square. The other members of his group came to him for his orders. This was the face that would haunt him for the rest of his nights. This was the face of the man that had destroyed Leafburrow. Jacob forced his body forwards and away from the man.

Fully armored and among dozens of his comrades, the bandit leader would barely be troubled to execute the wounded Jacob. Today, it would be a one-sided conflict. That wouldn't always be the case. Jacob would train his skills, and he would return.

Jacob crept out of the burning husk of Leafburrow, assailed by the screams of women and children. His heart trembled at leaving them to their fate, too weak to do anything about it.

"Never again! I'll never let this happen again," Jacob swore as he gazed upon his home one last time, before marching down the path to Steelshade.

He would return, and he would bring justice.