Greystone Barony was on fire. The broken bodies of its guards littered the ground outside the massive outer wall. The carriage compartment filled with the acrid smell of smoke. Countess expected screams, but all she heard was the crackle of flames and the occasional collapse of burning timber.

The carriage stopped in front of the barony gatehouse. Countess stepped out, her stomach immediately turning. There was a foul odor of burnt meat, wood smoke, and something worse. It was a kind of piercing, acidic smell she could not identify. She held her forearm to her face, using her sleeve as a rudimentary breathing filter. It wasn’t very effective.

Countess looked back at the carriage. The driver, all of the steam pipes and valves blinked out of sight. She closed her eyes and shook her head. When she looked again, they were back, as if nothing had happened.

“Did you…” she said. Countess looked at Mosley. There was a lot of billowing smoke, she thought. It might have blocked her view for a moment.

“What?” said Mosley.

“I thought—“ She looked at Mosley, puzzled. “—thought I saw something weird.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a lot of something weird happening all around us.”

“No. I mean—“ She shot him a sour look. “Never mind.”

The gatehouse doors had collapsed inward, like they were kicked in by an angry giant. The wood, a foot thick, was warped and twisted. The great hinges that once held the doors in place were pulled out of their stone moorings. The portcullis was partially melted.

Melted, Countess thought. How could it be melted? It would take the heat of a forge to do such a thing.

Countess noticed a body nearby and walked over to examine it. She could tell it was one of the Baron’s personal bodyguards by the uniform. He was not wearing armor, which was normal in daily operations at the Barony. But there was something wrong with the body. The chest seemed distorted, and out of balance. It was caved-in on one side, bulged on the other, like a child might leave a molded clay figure.

Cole Mosley appeared next to her. “Whatever hit them, hit hard and fast. The guards didn’t have time to organize a defense.”

“You ever see wounds like this before?” said Countess.

“Direct hit from a ballista or catapult might do something like that.”

“Maybe,” said Countess. She scanned the horizon. “But If that were true, where are the projectiles? No projectiles and no siege engines anywhere nearby. Well…none outside the Barony, pointing in.”

“Follow me,” said Mosley. “There’s someone you should talk to.”

Countess followed him to a wooden cart with large barrels on it. Someone had parked it next to the outer wall. Two of Mosley’s men were standing by the cart. They were talking to a woman who sat on the ground with her back to the wall. Her eyes were wide and her dirty face was wet, like she had been crying.

“You two,” said Mosley. The two men turned, stood at attention, and saluted. “Go help the others secure the property. Any contact with the enemy, you fall back here. No heroics. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

The two men left, and Countess kneeled in front of the woman and put her hands on top of hers. She was dressed in a dirty servant’s uniform and couldn’t be more than 20 years old.

“Hey, sweetie,” Countess said, putting on her most sympathetic voice. “What happened here? What did you see?”

“Pagans!” the woman said, blurting the words. “Pagans they—“ She composed herself. “They had some kind of magic weapons." The woman’s eyes went even wider, like she was seeing the pagans in her imagination.

“Hold on, sweetie,” said Countess. “Slow down. You’re safe now. How many were there?”
 “Three,” said the woman. “I saw three.”

“Bullshit,” said Mosley. “No way three people did all this.”

“I swear, sir!” said the woman. “I swear on my mother!”

Mosley snorted and crossed his arms.

“You said they had…magic weapons?” said Countess. "Can you tell us more about that?"

“Two. Two had weapons. The third…he carried a small, dark box--like a case with a handle."

“What was in the box? Did he open it? Use it?” said Countess.

“No, ma’am,” said the woman. “He just carried it. Must have been pretty important, too. He carried it like...like a mother carries a child.”

“Tell me about the other two.”

“Another man…and a woman. The box man looked small, weak. But these two were bigger. Fighters for sure.” The woman looked off into space, as if trying to remember more details. “I think the woman was the leader. She yelled things to the other two. And they did what she said.”

“And these magic weapons…?”

The woman squinted. “Special gloves, the woman had. Thick, like for the winter? But they had like...metal on the knuckles…here.” She pointed to the back of her hand.

Mosley chuckled. “So, what did these special gloves do?”

“The pagan woman hit the guards with them. But it hurt them…it hurt them bad. When they went down, they didn’t get back up again.”

“How so?” said Countess.

“It was like…like a rope was tied them.” Said the woman. “And…and you know…the rope was pulling them really hard and fast!”

Mosley furrowed his brow. “So this pagan woman. She used her gloves to hit the guards, and they flew backward?”

“Yes! Yes, sir. They went far...backward.” The woman sounded out the word. “As you say.”
 Countess looked at Mosley.

“Interesting.”

Mosley scratched his chin. “I could use something like that at the front.”

Countess ignored him.

“And the other man,” she said. “What was his weapon?”

“He had like a crossbow,” said the woman. "Held it to his shoulder, like this.” She held her fists out in front of her face, one in front of the other.

“Ranged weapon,” said Mosley. “What did it shoot? Some kind of...magic arrows?” The last part he said with abundant sarcasm.

“Fire,” said the woman.

“Fire?” said Countess. She pointed at one of the still burning fires.

“No." said the woman, "Not like normal fire. It was fire like…like from hell itself. Angry, red and bright! I saw black dots in my eyes for many minutes after the fire came out. And anything it shot would burn. Even stone!”

“Nonsense.” said Mosley. He chuckled. “We’ve been at war with Saug for over twenty years. I’ve seen some fancy weapons and equipment, but never anything like you’re describing. And if the pagans have been developing weapons like this...” He paused, eying Countess. "...our intel people would have told us about them long ago."

Countess stood up. “Look around you, Mosley. These are the Baron’s elite guards. The toughest Yorke Kingdom soldiers. Hell, even your own men would have a hard time taking them down.”

Mosley stared at Countess, then looked at the woman.

”Well, believe what you want," he said. "But I don’t think there are any magical pagans out there.”

“Something caused all this destruction,” said Countess. She looked down at the frightened woman. “Personally, I take her at her word. Thank you, sweetie. Go home and get some rest, ok?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said the woman. She stood up and with a few uncertain steps, departed.

“You know there are things out there,” Countess said, when the woman was out of earshot. “Things from the old world. Things we’re not supposed to see. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” said Mosley. “I’ve turned-in my share of colorful little trinkets to our intel liaison. But nothing I would have called a weapon.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean working things. Important things.”

“Look, uh…” Mosley looked away and started to sweat. “…we’re not supposed to talk about that, and I won’t discuss it now. If you’re trying to trick me into--"

“No,” said Countess. “Nothing like that. I just want you to admit that one could find something out there that has…let’s say…novel properties.”

“Novel?” said Mosley. “Maybe. I don't know. But what I just heard sounds like a fairy tale. And I need more evidence than just one servant woman’s word on the matter. I guess I’ll concede the point. I’m a soldier, not a detective.”

“You’re as solid in the brain as you are on the outside,” said Countess. Then she smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. He was startled, clearly not used to such familiar gestures while in uniform.

“But I understand where you’re coming from.”

Mosley looked away.

“I’m going in,” said Countess. “I have to find the Baron.”

“Unwise,” said Mosley. “You should let us clear the area, first.”

“No time. He could be in trouble.”

“And he could be dead. Those pagans could still be in there. If you go in and get killed, that’s on you. My official report will state that I warned you against such action.”

“Duly noted, Colonel,” said Countess, with a flippant salute. “But I’ve been sneaking around this place a couple of decades now. Got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Mosley crossed his arms. “Obviously. At least take a couple of my men with you.”

“They’d just slow me down,” said Countess. “And they’d give away my position. Plus, you need your men to secure the Barony. Take care, Colonel Mosley. I hope to see you on the other side.”

Mosley stood at attention and saluted. “Countess.”

Countess turned and jogged through the ruined entrance of the gatehouse. Mosley watched her go, then smiled.

“Good girl,” he said. “You’ll get it right this time.”