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An eruption of fire exploded from the roof of the nursing station, and the wooden supports splintered and cracked under growing pressure.
“Everyone up!” shouted Dai.
Ifan awoke to a wood beam collapsing from the ceiling at the edge of his cot, the heat of the flames licking at his face. Smoke and wood splinters filled the air, and Ifan rolled off the cot, coughing and wiping away the sleep from his eyes. A slurry of debris fell after the beam, crashing to the floor and cutting off his route out of the nursing station. Kicking off his blanket, he could feel the warmth on his bare chest, realising he was naked from the waist up. His head whipped back and forth, as he attempted to find some armour or a shirt at the bare minimum. Tucked under his bedside table, Ifan caught a glimpse of his shirt, jerkin, and boots. He slammed his feet into his boots and wriggled his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, before placing his jerkin on. Folded and put away, his clothes had barely dried over the night, the night that he was unsure had even ended yet. Ifan looked upwards and hidden by the dancing flames was the pale blue of the sky, soaked through by the barely risen morning sun.
“Ifan. Ifan!” Someone called for him from the other side of the smouldering rubble, but the rising smoke made it difficult to work out who it was. The voice sounded feminine but was shrouded by a throaty cough.
“I’m alright!” he returned.
“Stay low and follow my voice, we need to get out of here!”
Ifan pulled the cot to one side and assessed the rubble, he could just about make out the shadowy source of the voice a few feet away on the other side, still calling out to him for guidance. A large splintered wooden beam had split in two, from the impact of something; Ifan assumed an explosive projectile of some kind – this kind of damage was common when fights with magicians had found their way indoors. All manner of furnishings from the floor above had collapsed with it, now broken and indistinguishable. The wood smouldered lightly and radiated enough heat to worry Ifan. His instincts kicked in and he began an incantation, causing his eyes to flash their signature white and his skin to glow with a floating shroud of light. With the incantation completed, he clambered over the fiery heap, his magic protecting his person from the heat.
The smoke had now near completely consumed the room, making it increasingly difficult for Ifan to navigate the space. The voice called out once more from his right. A hacking cough reminded Ifan to drop to the floor to protect his lungs, and he continued on his knees, crawling, and inching closer to the voice.
“I see you, grab my hand!” The figure’s hand shot out in front of Ifan’s face, a metre or so ahead. Reaching forwards, he clasped his hands on the unknown helper and was pulled to his feet into the hallway of the town hall. His saviour’s dark skin and tight hair bun put Ifan at ease. Angharad pulled him along, racing through the corridors towards the exit. The building was collapsing around them, and while the smoke was thinner and less pervasive in the corridors, the occasional falling debris required careful navigation from the pair.
“Where are the others?” Ifan shouted over the sounds of cracking wood and crackling flames.
“They went on ahead, I noticed you weren’t with us so told them I’d help you out. Everyone else should already be outside.” Letting go of Ifan’s hand, Angharad scrambled over a pile of smouldering lumber.
Ifan followed close behind, carefully matching her pathway until the rubble cleared as they stepped out into the hall’s foyer. The large doors of the town hall had been propped open with the reception’s bureau, letting the cool morning air rush into the space. The fresh air was a pleasant change from the smoky depths of the still collapsing town hall, and Ifan was happy to escape from the heat pressing against his back.
The hall opened out onto the town’s main street, and floods of panicked trolls sprinted to the east, towards the town docks. Other houses near the town hall had succumbed to the blazes, as errant flames easily lit the thatched roofs of the town’s quaint cottages.
“I guess we know where we’re going,” Angharad said.
“Towards the chaos, where else?” responded Ifan with a bare-faced grin.
As Angharad made her way through the crowds, Ifan caught a glimpse of a woman flying through the air as her foot got caught in the cobblestone of the road. She fell in a heap, and the other fleeing trolls sped away, clutching children and precious belongings as they rushed towards the water.
“Angharad, I’ll catch up! Don’t wait for me, they’ll need your help!” Ifan dodged through the mob, getting buffeted by the oncoming horde of civilians.
Angharad stopped for a moment, and eventually worked out Ifan’s target. She acknowledged him with a loud, “OK!” and made her way west down the main street, wading against the crowd.
A few more feet of struggle and Ifan made it to the downed woman. Her face was bloodied, and she was unresponsive. “Move! Get out of the way!” Ifan grabbed her under her armpits and dragged her to the side of the road, trying his hardest to keep the worried horde from trampling them both.
Settling her down in a quiet side alley, Ifan quickly assessed her wounds. Her nose was clearly broken, and gravel had made its way into a large gash on her forehead. Her small tusks had splintered and damaged her lips and gums. She was wearing a nightdress covered by an old leather coat, which luckily had taken most of the damage from the neck down. Stripping the coat off of her, Ifan confirmed that besides some bruising around the collarbone, wrists, and hands most of the damage was confined to her head.
Ifan quickly recanted a curative prayer, healing her broken nose and sealing the wound on her head. With a couple light slaps to the cheek and some rousing words of encouragement, she eventually came to.
“You took a spill back there on the road. I’ve healed the worst of the damage, but your tusks seem to be damaged. I’ve not got the expertise to put them in good standing order, so you’ll need to ask your town’s doctors for help.” Reaching into his pocket, Ifan pulled out a few scrunched-up paper bills. He opened her hand, placed the bills in her palm and closed it back up, “That should cover any medical bills for work I couldn’t sort here. Go on, get moving.”
The woman nodded hastily, her eyes wide with confusion. She placed the money in her coat and with Ifan’s help, stood up. She took his hand and shook it, her hands trembling with adrenaline. “Thank you.”
Ifan watched her re-join the thinning crowds. The town hall behind her was still ablaze and was on the brink of total collapse. As he stepped out back into the road, the building’s supports gave way and the ceiling collapsed inwards. Debris burst out onto the road, and he shielded his eyes as splinters shot from the subsidence. Screams echoed across the area, and as the dust and black smoke settled, Ifan caught sight of a male troll shouting for help and clawing at a downed wooden beam.
He rushed to the scene and discovered the source of the troll’s worry. A child had become trapped under the debris, his arm crushed by the wood.
“Hey, look at me, look at me,” the troll clutched at the boy’s free hand and tried to keep his attention away from the gnawing hopelessness of the situation. “Help! Please someone! My son is trapped!”
Ifan stepped forward and knelt down besides the man, grabbing the support with both hands. “Step back, I’ve got this.” The troll looked at Ifan, his brow furrowed and eyes full of tears. “I said, step back!”
The troll acquiesced, and stepped away from the debris, placing his hands on his hips and discovering his own wound, a large wood splinter puncturing his side. He grimaced at the blood leaking from the wound but snapped himself out of his own worry at the sound of his child’s cries.
Ifan’s eyes flashed white, and his muscles strained under the heavy load. Letting out a ferocious shout, he hauled the several meters of wood off of the boy’s arm, releasing him from his prison.
The father scrambled to his knees to pluck his son from danger, holding him to his chest; the bloodied arm dangling limply at the child’s side.
With an exasperated grunt, Ifan dropped the support to the floor. His eyes were still burning white as he inspected the boy’s wound. “I’ll be able to stop the wound from killing your son, but I’m afraid he won’t be able to use his arm anymore.”
“You can heal? Please, help him!”
“It’s OK, let’s step away from the burning building quickly and I’ll see to him.” The pair made their way further down the road, and Ifan recanted his curative prayer once more on the child. The arm’s bruising healed, along with the numerous cuts and scrapes that went along with the damage. Its mangled shape remained, but the pain should have subsided, Ifan assured the father.
Careful not to poke the child in the eye with his tusks, the father kissed him repeatedly on the side of the forehead and afterwards thanked Ifan with a deep bow. A stumble betrayed the man’s own wound, as Ifan leant down to ensure he didn’t collapse entirely with the boy in tow.
“I can see to your wound too; it looks bad.” Ifan leaned his head to the left, inspecting the bloody splinter on the man’s side.
“I’ll be fine. Please don’t waste your magic on me too. I can be seen by the town shaman.” The man waved him off, wincing through the pain.
“Are you sure? Can you make it to the docks?”
“I can, I promise you. Please, see to any others that need your help, I’ll survive.”
“Do you have the money to afford treatment? I have some to spare if you’d –”
“Please, sir, you’ve done more than enough.” The man bowed lightly once more, “Thank you.”
“Stay safe. And you stay out of trouble,” Ifan winked at the child and ruffled his hair, eliciting a warm smile from both the parent and his son. “Now get to the docks, you two.”
The man nodded as he turned around and began limping down the road.
