I wake very late. The sun is already high. Our rooster didn't wake me. I dress in a hurry. Eldric is stirring in the corner of the living room. He spent the night beside my door, his back against the wall. I cannot help but laugh - his rough patches really did turn green after the bath.

I go into the kitchen to pour water into the washbasin, but when I glance out of the window, my hand freezes. The chicken coop lies in ruins, and nothing moves outside. No wonder I overslept.

Eldric approaches slowly. I don't remember him having to fold himself through the doorway quite like that yesterday. Yet when he tries to straighten, his forehead scrapes against the beam. He has lost some of his width, yet somehow grown taller. The green moss-beard is something I can't quite make sense of, but we have more pressing matters.

I motion for him to follow and run out into the yard. The morning air is still cold, and I shiver in the mist. My companion closes in behind me. The yard tells me almost nothing, but the Changed one surveys the wreckage with practiced calm, watching the surrounding trees as he moves with quiet alertness.

He follows tracks invisible to me all the way to the fence. I can barely make out a feather or two. Eldric speaks only when he finds the trail again.
"Giant spiders. They crushed the roof from above. I doubt any of the birds are still alive."
"We can't leave them hunting in the village," I reply grimly.
So much for the broody hen.

I go back into the house and this time arm myself properly for the hunt. Instead of climbing across the old boards, I circle toward the gate. The front garden is almost hidden beneath a sea of flowers - my bathwater must have been particularly potent, and Eldric dutifully poured it out once he was finished. I will collect the results later.

Eldric follows the beasts' trail with confidence. Soon I realize where we're heading: an abandoned barn at the edge of the forest, mostly visited by young couples.

When we reach the building, everything falls silent. The spiders hide in the darkness, waiting for their venom to finish its work on their prey. I summon a mist charm around myself. It is far easier to maintain when I am at its centre rather than Eldric.

We slip through the broken doorway and strike at the first hairy abdomen we see. Only then do we discover just how many of them there are. Four. 

We fight back-to-back in the mist, striking whenever one of the shapes emerges from the grey. When a spider comes into view, I cast my spell on it, but the others keep coming. The bites are unpleasant enough for me, but their real effect shows on my thrall. I feel Eldric falter behind me.

Neither of us will endure this for long.

Then one of the creatures collapses with a heavy thud, followed by an angry hiss from somewhere in the fog. That is enough for the others. They scatter.

Eldric charges after them with one final battle cry, but the spiders flee in different directions before he can catch another. I let them go.
"Enough."
He stops.

I walk home slowly so as not to burden my protector any further. The morning fog slowly thins as we head home. I wash first, then tend to Eldric's wounds while he cleans himself as best he can. He is in considerably worse shape than I am. Some of that is because of the spiders. Some of it is because of me.

That is what the pact means.

Once I have done everything I can for him, I knead the bread dough. While it rises, we gather breakfast from the pantry. I no longer save the eggs for anyone else. Eldric's appetite has not diminished along with his bulk - and he needs to heal.

Without a word, he helps clear the table. When I begin washing the dishes, he takes the jar of nails and the hammer from the shelf behind the door and heads into the garden to repair the coop. I would tell him to leave it, but he throws himself into the task with such natural ease that I let him be.

I am just straightening up beside the oven when I see Eldric approaching quickly. Almost as fast as when he first lunged at me among the ruins. He is just opening the back door when I hear three firm knocks at the front. I wait until he reaches the living room before I open it.

His concern makes no sense to me. Frederic, the village headman, stands outside with two men: Raff, the innkeeper, and Artor, the miller.
"Good morning," I say, remaining in the doorway without stepping aside. I want to know which of us required the ceremonial escort.
"Good morning, Morgana," the old man greets me.
Raff quickly steps forward beside him.
"We brought a small gift. We should have given it to you yesterday, but in all the confusion..."
"Yes, we were sure you would return soon," Old Fred adds with a nod.
I accept the covered basket he offers, trying to hide my surprise at its weight. I do not look beneath the cloth.

Reluctantly, I step back into the room.
"Come in. Sit down."
Normally, Virelda would seat them while I served the drinks and they made their request. But Virelda is not here, and I will not place Eldric in a subordinate position - especially not in front of them.

I bring four cups from the kitchen, the last one Eldric's mug. From the pantry, I fetch Virelda's mead and pour it for the men before calling Eldric to the table. As before, he sits on the floor - yet still towers above the company. I settle into Virelda's carved armchair with a cup of herbal tea. It feels almost sacrilegious, but I see them tense at the sight.

This is my house now. My domain. They are only guests. Had they arrived empty- anded, I would have heard them outside. But they came prepared.

Artor, the miller - the strongest of the three - hardly looks at me. He watches Eldric instead. All three are tense, but Artor is the one ready to spring. My thrall notices. For now, he tolerates it.

Old Fred and Raff argue silently, but I let them struggle. I do not open the conversation. At last, the headman breaks.
"We are in great trouble, my dear. After you left, bandits attacked the village. They emptied the storehouse and took the collected tax. The tax collector will arrive within a moon's turn. We will not be able to pay the treasury what we owe... There will be reprisals..."
His hand trembles as he reaches for his cup. Raff continues. Once, long ago, he and Donna hid me from the Inquisition. Perhaps he believes that gives him the right to ask this. He seems to have forgotten that three years ago we saved his family during the plague.
"We need your help. With your abilities, you could bring the gold back."

Artor and Frederic exchange a nervous glance. That is how I know something is wrong. The king has soldiers for dealing with bandits. I am not their last hope. For some reason, they do not want the Crown's men involved - and that has nothing to do with the village witch.

I pour myself another cup of tea.
"How many are there?" I ask, buying time as though I am weighing the odds.
"Eight. Maybe nine," Old Fred answers immediately.
Far too quickly. Artor's grimace betrays him. Even if it did not, I would know Frederic is lying. With only two or three times their number, the villagers would have driven the bandits off, regardless of their weapons. They are trying to send me on a suicide mission.
"Mounted? With wagons?" I continue.
"Yes. Two wagons," Raff says with a nod, and I know at least that much is true.
"They have three days' lead," I say simply. In that time, they could easily have asked Redhill for help.
"Would you do it... for the village?" Frederic leans forward.

All three wait tensely for my answer. The corner of Eldric's mouth twitches. He tries to hide a smile. I cannot tell whether he has seen through their scheme or simply finds their desperation amusing. I still do not know the source of their hidden motive, but I am certain there is one. The gold seems more and more likely.
"Duskhall is my home," I begin slowly. "Of course I will do what I can."
All three relax at once.
"However," I continue more firmly, "I will need a few things. First, the tax ledger, so I know the amount I am searching for."
There is some shifting around the table.
"And I will need a companion who can identify the bandits - whether by their faces or their wagons. We cannot attack every highwayman in the region."
"I cannot go. I cannot leave the village," Old Fred protests.
"The mill cannot stop," Artor adds.
"My family-" Raff begins, but unfortunately for him, his inn runs just as well with him as without him. His wife sees to that.
"I suppose, then, I will go," he says with a shudder. His pleading look does not move me.
"And the ledger?" I ask Frederic.
"I will make a copy and send it over with someone," he replies quickly, already gathering himself to leave.
"Then we depart as soon as it arrives." I nod toward Raff, who looks nearly sick with dread.

Eldric rises from the floor, signalling that the conversation is over. The three men say their farewells quickly.

Surprisingly quickly.

Soon, I close the door behind them.
"They won't be far," Eldric says encouragingly.
"The distance doesn't concern me." I shake my head. "The numbers do. I know these people. The attackers must have numbered at least twenty - unless the villagers handed over the keys willingly."
"Can we do it?" he asks, looming above me as though nothing has yet been decided.
"Of course we can." I smile at him. "They won't even know where we struck from."

The house trembles once again with the thrall's laughter. Only then do I turn my attention to the basket. I unwrap the cloth covering it. A large smoked ham. A bottle of red wine. Fresh, warm bread. Raff - or, more likely, his wife - has outdone himself.

And in that moment, I understand. The tax is not with the bandits. At least not all of it.