That was where Dani and Thulu found themselves herded once the long work of loading half-smoked sides of mutton onto the endless supply-wagons was done. It had been a long nightmare, filled with blood and smoke, the both of them staggering with laden arms along the stony trails. It seemed impossible that no one should notice them, but amid the horde of toiling madlings, they might as well have been invisible. Back and forth, back and forth, until the work was done and the army departed for the plains below.

And when it was, they were herded into the kitchens under the careless eye of a pair of Fjeltroll guards, who had larger matters on their minds. Darkhaven was buzzing like a hornets’ nest; no one paid heed to a pair of filthblackened Yarru huddled in a corner. The kitchens swarmed with such figures, swarthy with smoke and pitch and dried blood from the long night’s labors.

Madlings.

Dani heard the word without understanding. In the kitchens, he understood. The inhabitants—the human inhabitants—of Darkhaven were mad. They had no way to cope with what transpired. It was clear to him, and to Thulu, that the bulk of Darkhaven’s forces had abandoned the premises. Still, the madlings must cook; must prepare, must tend and be useful.

Pots boiled on stoves. Dishes roasted in ovens. It did not matter that there was no one to eat them. There was a kind of fearful safety amidst the mayhem, but it was not one that could last.

“Where to, lad?” Uncle Thulu whispered.

Dani, who had sunk his head onto pillowed arms, raised it with an effort. “I don’t know,” he said dully. “I would ask … I would ask …” He shook his head. “I’m tired.”

Thulu regarded him. “Would you ask, lad, or do?”

“I don’t know.” Dani raked his hands through his lank black hair. “Before … ah, Uncle! I wanted to ask. What has the Sunderer done to the Yarru that I should seek to destroy him? And yet …” He was still, remembering. Perhaps your people would not have been slain for your actions. “I fear perhaps we have passed such a point, and Malthus the Counselor had the right of it all along.”

“Hey!” A figure shouted at them, glowering, brandishing a ladle in one hand. “What idleness is this? Does it serve his Lordship?” A platter was thrust forward, a silver salver with a dish-dome upon it. “Here,” the figure said roughly. “Take it to her Ladyship. She’s been near forgotten in the uproar. Few enough folk want to take the risk of waiting on her now, but you’ll do in a pinch.”

Dani rose to his feet and took it unthinking, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head; Uncle Thulu was a step behind him.

“Well?” The cook’s figure loomed. “What are you waiting for? Go!”

They went.