People in dresses and coats were trickling out of their estates and glass domes, shouting at the sight of a centaur knocking General Gobiu’s wife Volette unconscious. General Gobiu roared. In a momentary burst, he slapped Farlain’s glass tanks away from each other and stabbed at the centaur’s chest. Farlain dodged, leaping further from the general’s wife.

We must run, said the silver-eyed girl. Glowering at her, Morin snatched his chain. No! She leapt on him like a spider and clung to his fingers.

“Then why don’t you help them?” Morin could hear the murmurs begin to rise from the crowd.

Their mutters mixed phrases like “first pisses,” “now coalies,” and “we’d be better off without...”

“You’re psychic!” he said, prying her off. “Help us. You said you would.”

Now? I’d empty my reserve!

Morin unclasped his chain, and without watching it tangle in her callused fingers--or the shock of the crowd--felt an ebbing energy fizzle up his spine as he reached toward the waning clouds. “Rain season’s not over yet.” The dark gray tufts seemed to roll back, eating away the sunshine once more.

Shara and the lion-faced woman halted mid-clash, let dip their weapons, and looked up. With an ominous, watery crash, an aerial funnel spiraled down, over Farlain’s head and into Gobiu’s chest, blasting the nomad so far back that few heard the thud he made hitting the grass. There was an angry shriek, and Morin turned to find the lion-faced woman flying at him.

“No!” Shara lunged to grab her leg but missed. Before Farlain could intercede, the woman had raised the butts of her blades and sent his glass tanks flying.

Morin stumbled back and pointed at her. Before the spiral reached her, she had taken Farlain hostage. “You killed him,” she said, tightening the bladed Scorpion Lock on Farlain’s waist. “I never wanted to help you. Why did I listen?”

“Listen to who?” Morin kept her in check with the water spiral, nauseous at the thought of Gobiu’s body.

“Nothing that concerns you, trash!”

Kayno’s shape appeared behind her, applauding. “Well done, Jhèd. No worry; Gobiu breathes.” A wave of talking erupted from the crowd, drawing his attention. Interested, he approached a woman in a green dress. She screamed, and that part of the crowd drew back. When her son rushed forward to shield her, a pang of recognition hit Morin in the chest. Pete? Now a towering man, Pete was guiding his mother behind the crowd and making a dash for the nearest estate.

“The weak run first,” said Kayno. From the moment she had been spotted, Mrs. Cessford was doomed. “Oh, since we’ve been exposed,” he said. He unleashed a deep wheeze of laughter and pointed a gnarled finger at Mrs. Cessford.

At first, Morin thought Mrs. Cessford had tripped. Blue ice was crawling up Mrs. Cessford’s feet and skirt, freezing them to the cobbles. In vain, Pete exhaled on the ice. Mrs. Cessford’s hands grabbed and stuck to the estate’s black iron fence, and Kayno laughed.

“Don’t hurt them,” said Morin. The water spiral, meanwhile, struggled under his knuckles. “Don’t you dare hurt them.”

Jhèd tightened the Scorpion Lock on Farlain, who winced as a trickle of blood escaped across her scimitar. “Put it away,” she said, trying to stare Morin down. “Put it away. Now!” Morin released the water from his grip. The clouds scurried away this time, catching up with schedule. “And you,” she added, glaring at Shara, “Fire-eater. You drop your weapons. Drop them!” Shara, clutching her left shoulder, placed her stilettos on the cobbles.

They know she’s a fire-eater? thought Morin. Did they interrogate her? Torture her? An ice encasement had begun growing over Mrs. Cessford, and Pete was frantic. Pete was frantic. “Stop it,” said Morin. “Stop! Stop! I’ll do anything!”

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A/N: I'm beginning to suspect my total of nine characters needs a little shaving down. What do you think? (Morin, Shara, Farlain, Kayno, and his three nomads and two slaves.) Please please email me if you're having a hard time keeping track!