Conflagration

Conflagration

Fire blazed through the Jaunty Traveler as Skrie pushed herself tight into the small, brick-lined cavity in the back of the root cellar. The young halfling lay curled into a fetal position, tears streaming down her face, hands tight against her ears, unable to drown out the roar of the conflagration outside her niche. The hot air burned her lungs, and she remembered the cloth in her pocket.

Her father's last words played through her mind over and over, "get ta safety, lass, the root cellar, like we practiced." With that, he nudged the child toward the stairs. Skrie looked back as she passed the threshold and watched as her father took the two-headed axe off the wall from behind the bar. Two mercenaries stood in the doorway, swords drawn. A third stood behind them, holding a torch.

"This is the end, halfling," said the biggest of the mercs as she threw a vial of lamp oil on the ground at Janna's feet, splashing the halfling with the viscous liquid. At the same time, the wiry man in the back tossed the torch into the puddle. Her parents looked so small as her mother screamed and scrambled out of the way, a fraction too late. Skrie's mind whirled as the scene played through her mind over and over.

The last two days had been a nightmare. First, the handsy and drunken soldiers that had found the quiet tavern. Then, this morning, Delora's mutilated body was discovered in the alley behind the inn. And now this. Skrie's thoughts turned to revenge as the faces of the raiders burned themselves into her brain.

No, the girl thought, as her terror transformed to blazing anger. This is the end of YOU, murderers!