“We were so close!”

  Tiller’s cry rang out across the farm. The others were silent. They were all gathered around the dejected-looking Cutter and Stone Robot.

  No face present failed to express the gravity of the news. Reader was unashamedly queasy-looking, pale and drawn. Grim stood, vibrating in frustration at his inability to access the appropriate profanities for the moment. Maeve seemed on the verge of fainting, and Pod was pawing his clothes in search of a drink. Norris looked settled, his eyes slitted and brow set in a fearful kind of determination. Even Bean sat trembling, his pipkin face a folded mask of terror.

  Cutter said, “I’m… well, dammit, I’m sorry. We should have had him. That damn yak is a goddamned iron band! We’re lucky it didn’t take us out.”

  Tiller said, “You did what you could, Cutter. There was no getting over that.”

  Cutter blinked, surprised. “Really? I thought you’d chew me out.”

  Tiller put a hand on the bigger man’s shoulder. “Hey, we’ve got our differences, but we’re in this thing together. You think I doubt for a second that you didn’t give it my all?”

  Cutter inspected the other man’s face and nodded slowly. “No. I don’t.”

  Tiller smiled, a thin, strained smile. “There’s nothing to do about what happened. We did everything we could. We sacrificed for that composter. You nearly got yourself murdered chasing after Tonk. But for a rub of luck this thing would be over. If only he hadn’t been there.”

  Grim said, “He can’t have fupping seen fupping anything! I was standing right the ship in front of that composter and I barely saw anything.”

  Tiller sighed. “It doesn’t matter what he saw. What matters is what he reports. He’s going back there to tell them all he saw the body going into the composter, plain as day. He probably didn’t see it but he can guess what we did. It doesn’t make me feel any better that he’s right.”

  Pod spat on the ground, his hands at his side after failing in their quest for a flask of booze. “They must have thirty or more ogres over there. Only a couple of fighters, but it hardly matters. Dead is dead if it comes at the end of a sword or a pitchfork. We need to get the hell out of here.”

  Tiller turned on him. “And go where?”

  Pod paled. “Medley? Another realm? It hardly fucking matters, boyo. If we stay here we’re dead.”

  Tiller looked around at the other faces arrayed about him. “Do the rest of you feel like that?”

  The answer to his question was mostly awkward shuffling and uncertainty.

  Tiller said, “I don’t know if I’d give up so fast. I’ve crops in the ground here. I’ve got a composter that’s worth a thousand gold. This is my place. Wherever we go we’re going to meet trouble while we build this big thing we’re building. We have to be ready to defend it. Why not now?”

  Maeve answered, her voice in a tremor, “Because, love, it’s a fight you can’t win.”

  Tiller raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it? We’re the defenders. That’s a big advantage. And we’ve got three actual fighters, all three of them stone class. We don’t need to kill them all, we just need to make it hurt too much to keep coming. And we’ve got time. From what I saw of how the ogres do things, it will take Tonk a while to rally support. There’s going to be arguing and debating. Old Cronk planted his flag on the side of peace, he’s not going to let Tonk rally the troops that easily. So they have thirty ogres or so? I don’t think they’ll all come marching over with Tonk. Not half! We don’t have to give this up so easy.”

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  Cutter mused, “We’d get a lot of XP for our bands if we won a fight like that. Not only that, there’d be loot! And materials for the composter.”

  Reader grimaced. “That’s gross. They’re people.”

  Both Tiller and Cutter shot him quieting glances. Cutter said, “Best get used to that idea, pal. Bodies are soil and soil is money.”

  Reader quieted but looked no more pleased with the idea than he had a moment before.

  Tiller said, “If we put this down we’ll be announcing ourselves as serious business. There must be other groups and factions out there that know about us. If we can stop the ogres from running us over it will make anyone else a lot slower to try us.”

  Silence ensued. Reader looked stunned, a rabbit caught by a lamp. Grim glowered. Pod scowled at his own feet. Maeve glanced from face to face, her blue skin paled to the shade of a misty sky. Bean’s tail twitched anxiously.

  It was Norris who spoke. “My dear fellows, dare I say I have faith in our ragtag assembly and don’t doubt that we can—what is it you fellows are so fond of saying? Um, git some? Well, I for one am wholeheartedly in favor of getting some. Tiller is most certainly correct, every effort that could have been made to avoid this distasteful situation was undoubtedly made, and yet the cruel hands of fate have thrust this situation upon us. What are we to do? Abandon this little patch of Eden we call home? I say nay! It is to arms, and nothing but to arms!”

  Pod’s jaw dropped open. “You’re not even… you could leave easier than anyone!”

  “Ah, but I shan’t! My dear brother rests in this hallowed ground, and this is the family I found in the absence he left! I will stand and fight if even one of you chooses to do so. I would be proud to do it!”

  Cutter found that awful evil grin of his. It bloomed on his face like a blossom in the thaw. “Well, I’m sure as shit not walking away from a fight!”

  Stone Robot’s eyes became mean thin lines. “DUDES! Let’s GIT SOME!”

  Tiller spun the shovel in his hand like a quarterstaff. “That’s more like it!”

  Reader looked about. “Well… I’ve been working on a weave… There’s a lot of open space they have to cross to get here…”

  Pod looked about. “Are you lot serious? You can’t be… Well fuck it! This is my best shot, a ticket to something better.”

  Tiller said, “Excellent. Alright, we’ve got some time. What can we do? Cutter, you couldn’t summon another army of mercenaries?”

  Cutter shook his head. “We’ve got no cash. We spent it all on the composter and those seeds. We should probably be more worried that the ogres will hire ’em. But I don’t expect that either. This is personal, and they’ve got the overwhelming weight of numbers. In short, no, we can’t hire a bunch of mercenaries on promises without the cash to back it up.”

  Tiller said, “Well I can make fortifications. I can use my shovel and my earth sigil to give us some walls.”

  Pod snapped, “That yak will run right through them. It’s an iron band. It’ll make a hole in the walls and the rest will follow right in.”

  Reader said, “I think I can do something about that. Don’t ask me for details just yet. I’m still working on the idea. But I think I can take the yak out of the equation.”

  Tiller nodded sharply. “Okay. Well let’s say you do. The yak’s out of the situation, and we can have some fortifications. The biggest advantage is that they have to cross the white with no cover when they come. Can we do anything about that?”

  Norris said, “I can throw. If I have things to throw, my boy, I can do some damage when they draw closer.”

  Reader said, “And I might be able to get some ranged attacks ready.”

  Maeve had been silent for a while. Her eyes had drifted away to a point in the distance. As the others shifted their attitudes from despair to pragmatism, she stalked towards the edge of the island and looked distant.

  Absently, quietly, she said, “What’s that?”

  None of them heard her. The conversation had become a buzz of planning. The talk was suddenly a heated debate of the best ways to build fortifications, the ideal improvised projectiles for Norris, probing questions as to the capabilities Reader alluded to.

  She said it again, “What’s that?” She spoke louder this time, but again none heard her and no heads turned in her direction.

  Angry at being ignored, and maybe a little panicked, Maeve shrieked, “My loves! What’s that?”

  They stopped then and looked to her, then followed the line of her gaze. She was looking towards the ogres’ ranch.

  Pod said, “That’s smoke is what it is.”

  A tall dark pillar was sprouting on the horizon, leaning to the side as the wind pulled it gently away.

  Tiller narrowed his eyes. “Looks like there’s trouble at the ranch.”

  Reader mumbled, “Is that a good thing or a bad thing for us?”

  Tiller stared at the plume of smoke as it rose. He thought of the old ogre who had been so earnest and kind to him. Softly, barely audibly, he said, “I don’t know…”