(Path of the Dragon Mage: Nomad) 33. Roan (Patreon)

Roan didn't resent being asked to help manage the towners through their own mismanaged evacuation. Even when, according to Gwen, Corvus was going to be holed up in that fancy tower until nightfall when the ratkin were going to strike.

He just wished people weren't so damn ornery about helping themselves.

"Knock it off," he snapped and used his position from on top CloudStrike's back to reach over, grab the ears of two arguing people, and knock their fool heads together.

Both yelled in surprise and looked up at him, paling a little when the saw the huge horse Roan rode, and the size of the war hammer.

With some things, like the war hammer, size counted.

"By order of Prince Corvus, there's to be no fighting in line," Roan said, more than happy to name drop his friend if it benefited him. He'd told the other Horse Warriors to do the same. "And if you keep acting the fools, I'll shove you to the end of the line."

No one wanted that. The evacuation "line" to the noble towers was more like a closely packed together mob. Roan and CloudStrike were wading in the middle of it now. Anyone here had likely been trying to gain access to the towers for hours. They did not want to start all over again from the back.

One of the fighting men scowled. "This man cut in line in front of me!"

"I didn't!" the other squawked.

"I don't care," Roan said. "You'll all get in eventually."

And he hoped that he wasn’t lying through his teeth.

At that moment, CloudStrike silently alerted him of another issue down the street. Roan gave the two men a hard look, and despite having ten years of age over him, they quailed. "Don't make me come back."

Then, he and CloudStrike set off.

The streets in the middle district of Meadow City were packed and chaotic. The crowds milling so thick in places that they had trouble passing through.

It wasn't as if a normal person in their right mind wanted to be in the way of a large horse. It's just, they were all squeezed together so tightly that they had nowhere to go.

Roan scanned his eyes where CloudStrike had indicated and saw a cart trying to trundle its way through the crowd. His guess was that this belonged to a rich family because, unlike most, the cart was not weighed down with supplies. Instead, it was packed almost to the point of toppling with heavy, elaborate furniture.

Roan nudged CloudStrike with a heel, and the mare snorted her distaste as she picked her way forward.

Not only was she large, befitting all of the mountain heavy breed. She was visibly pregnant and could not squeeze in between narrow gaps.

She managed, however, mostly by nosing startled people aside. Shortly, Roan was speaking to the driver of the cart. Recognizing the haggard look of a working man, Roan tried another tactic.

"You'll never get that cart through here, friend," he said. "People and foodstuffs are the only things that will be allowed in the towers."

The driver looked annoyed, but unsurprised. "And who by the first dragon are you?"

"Roan Horseman. Prince Corvus himself charged the Horse Folk with crowd control," Roan said easily. "This isn't your stuff, is it?"

The man frowned at Roan's name dropping but didn't ask further. I was one thing about townies. They were so conditioned to respect those they saw as above them, they didn't question much. "No. My noble Lord wanted his antiques saved. He expects much looting."

"Ratkin don't have use for fancy wood objects, except to cut their teeth on," Roan said. "You want my advice, friend, ditch the cart and get you and your family to safety in the towers." He glanced at the sun, seeing that it had passed its zenith and was starting to sink down. "You got until dark, and serving your noble lord ain’t worth your life."

The man opened his mouth to object, but there was Roan had spotted another tussle between people waiting to get into the tower and moved on.

He wasn't the only one.

Gwen and Nightshade had reached the arguing pair first. By the time Roan arrived, she had them settled and turned to her brother. She had an unhappy look on her face. "The line into the towers have all but stalled."

Roan pursed his lips. "If we don't get people in soon…"

"What's the holdup?" Roan asked.

"I don't know, and when I asked Corvus, he doesn't either."

Not for the first time, Roan envied his sister for the strange way she had of communicating with their friend. That, and her magical powers.

Roan had always been secure as the next heir after their father, but… This "path" system that Gwen and Corvus were always going on about was damn useful.

Gwen shook her head, scowling. "I’ve heard rumors some of the tower guards want to check those coming in – to make sure they aren't letting in criminals in order to ransack the place."

"Ye Gods," Roan muttered. "We got a few hours to sort this out, but tempers are fraying. We're going to have a riot on our hands if people aren't tucked inside the towers safe by the time the ratkin come out."

Gwen bit her lip.

Roan knew that look. She was hiding something. His eyes narrowed at his sister. "What?"

"I... might have a skill to help."

The way she said skill told him that it was a magic Path thing. Roan was still a little – okay, very – fuzzy on how it all worked. As far as he knew, her skills were all archery and horse riding.

"You're going to shoot someone?" he guessed.

"No! It's..." She lowered her voice. "A form of diplomacy. To, um, persuade those of higher rank than me."

Naturally when it came to anything magical, Roan's first instinct was to roll his eyes. Of course Gwen had a ridiculous persuasion skill along with spells to make her horse gallop through the air. If she weren't a girl, he'd be worried about her reaching for his position as heir.

Then another thought occurred to him, cutting right through the sarcasm.

"You haven't used it on me, have you?"

"No! Why do people always ask that?"

His eyes narrowed further, to slits. "What about Dad? You ever use it on him?"

This time she looked cagey. Then she straightened. "You would, too, if he were trying to marry you off."

"Oh for–" Roan cut himself off. His little sister was using persuasion magic on their father. Great. That was just... great.

Also, not a problem he could solve right now.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go bat your eyes at the guards, or whatever."

She scowled. "It's not flirting! Why do men always think that?"

Under her, NightShade danced in place, picking up on her annoyance. CloudStrike nipped at the uppity stallion, backing her ears and telling him in the language of horses to behave himself. There were humans crowded all around. He was risking stepping on someone.

"Gwen," Roan snapped, unconsciously echoing CloudStrike. "Look around! These people need shelter now. If you got the power to move this along – do it. I don’t care how. But we’re going to talk about you putting spells on people, later."

Her annoyed look turned to one of anger and then guilt. Wordlessly, she tangled her fingers in NightShade's mane to hold on. The horse fluidly turned, and they shoved through the thick crowd in the gesture to the towers.

"I should talk to Dad about her," Roan muttered. CloudStrike flicked her ears in agreement. Though what he could say to his dad that wouldn't sound completely insane... he didn't know.

Oh, you know that daughter who’s making you go prematurely gray? She can fly on her horse, but only at night. Don’t get me started on the way she loots her kills…

CloudStrike, with her sharper senses, was the first to spot trouble.

She stilled in place, turning her head toward the source of the noise – people running. Roan couldn't hear them for himself, but the impression he received from his horse was quite clear.

They reached an immediate agreement to check it out. CloudStrike reared, alarming the press of people all around her.

"Out of the way!" Roan snarled. Thankfully, the crowd parted enough for him and CloudStrike to push through.

The edge of the crowd was ragged with latecomers still drifting in. Roan and CloudStrike thundered past them down first one side street and then the other.

A man close to Roan's age of eighteen ran flat out. His backpack clinked so ominously that Roan had little doubt it was filled with valuables. He'd stuck behind, likely looting the rich towner's homes. Good for him, but… Was he running from angry guards or something worse?

Roan called out to the teen, but he didn't turn back to answer – simply kept running as if his life depended on it.

More young men along with a few women had turned the corner and were pelting down the street in the same direction. One made a bee-line to Roan as if he meant to knock Roan off CloudStrike and take her as if she were a common horse.

He changed his mind when he saw Roan rest a hand on his hammer.

"What's going on?" Roan demanded.

The wind changed and CloudStrike jerked at the foul scent in the air.

A moment later, a living carpet of half-blind ratkin flowed around the corner. They were the smallest types – what Gwen and Corvus liked to call level ones and twos – only within seconds there were already uncountable hundreds of them.

And the sun was nowhere near to setting. They were early.

Roan and CloudStrike stood still for a second – feelings and vague images passing back and forth in a silent conversation.

If they turned tail and ran now, they'd overtake the looters and back to the tower district. But they'd have minutes as best before the wave of ratkin hit them, and the rest of the people unlucky enough to get inside.

Or they could make a stand here. Every second they bought was that many more people who got to safety.

That included Gwen and the rest of the Horse Folk who were helping with crowd control.

CloudStrike's ears pinned against her head. Her horsy lips peeled back from blocky teeth. On her back, Roan reached for his hammer and grinned as well – wild and feral.

They plunged forward to meet the oncoming ratkin.