Jon watched the sun set from the porch while he waited for what he knew would come next. He leaned back in a wooden rocking chair while he sipped from a crystal tumbler of brandy and enjoyed the fading spectacle that he’d grown to miss in his time underground. The drink was weak and much too sweet for his tastes, but he enjoyed the idea of drinking Lord Burton’s private reserve too much to let the opportunity pass. He just hoped the bastard would accompany the soldiers he was rounding up. A little sputtering and outrage would make the liquor that much better. 

He only saw the men approaching on main street when the reds and oranges of sunset had almost completely given way to the blues and grays of the fast approaching night. Night came quickly this time of year, and he wondered if they had planned on sneaking up on him, or if they thought darkness held some sort of advantage. The torches that everyone but the man riding on horseback carried certainly spoke to the latter. Maybe they thought they looked more imposing this way, Jon thought, smirking at the idea. He counted nine plus the man on horseback, which had to be the former warden.  That might be enough for most problems, but if they really wanted to scare him they probably should have at least doubled that figure. Their numbers and mismatched armaments went a long way towards assuring Jon that he had absolutely nothing to worry about. A few men wore chainmail, but most wore quilted armor or leather, and not one shield matched another in their little formation. 

So Jon let them come, sitting there, and moving only to finish his drink while they marched across town. When they reached the gate of Shaw Manor, the group stopped for a moment while they had some sort of discussion, and then only Lord Burton and one soldier came all the way to the porch. For his part, Jon put his feet up on the railing, and saluted them with his glass before finishing it off in front of the imperious Lord and getting exactly the sort of reaction he was hoping for as the fat man glared at him for daring to drink his booze. 

“The Warden says—” the soldier tried to start the conversation. He was wearing a sword instead of a spear like the rest of them, which probably made him a captain, or at least a sergeant. 

“Lord,” Jon corrected, lifting the medallion of office that hung around his neck. “I don’t recognize anyone as the rightful warden of these lands except my father and his heirs.”

“Be that as it may,” the soldier was obviously trying to be diplomatic, but no military man stationed so far from anywhere had much experience with that sort of thing. “The empire says otherwise, so we’re still going to have to take you into custody, but if you come quietly, then I can promise that no harm will come to you until we’ve had a chance to give you a fair trial.”

“That’s a pretty good deal,” Jon nodded. He’d heard plenty of offers like that before and knew better than most where they led. “How about I offer you an even better one? You and your men clear out of here and leave my property right now and you’ll live to see another day.” 

“Be reasonable,” the soldier said, obviously getting irritated. “There’s no way that you can—” 

“The only reason you’re going along with this as plan A is because you don’t want to see any windows smashed or carpets stained with blood while they gut me, right?” Jon asked, turning his attention to Lord Burton.

“It’s better than a dog like you deserves,” The Lord scowled, “But whether we bring you in alive or dead, we both know what happens to murderers.” Jon stood at those words, making the soldier’s hand move involuntarily to the hilt of his sword. Jon didn’t attack though. He just set down the glass and picked up the jug of lamp oil sitting next to his chair. 

“If I go with you I’m a dead man,” Jon agreed, “But if you come after me you’ll meet the same fate. I promise you that.” With that Jon turned and walked into the house, shutting the door behind him. Once inside he could hear the muffled sound of orders being shouted behind him. Jon didn’t really care what they were saying though - they were coming to kill him, and as he walked to the backdoor he had no illusions that he was about to make a few new widows and orphans tonight. 

Jon didn’t stay in the house. Instead he exited immediately out the back door, leaving it wide open to make sure they knew where he’d gone. He didn’t want the old place damaged any more than the Lord did, but he wanted to give the men that were after him every chance to spread out and open gaps in whatever their plan was supposed to be. So he walked unhurriedly to the first out building that was still standing, which turned out to be the smokehouse, and he waited. While he waited, he concentrated, reaching out to feel the fire in the world around him. It was so much easier to wield fire underground where everything was so hot, but here on the surface he’d discovered long ago that he could use it to see where his enemies were. He’d need snow on the ground to pick them all out by their body heat alone, but the torches made useful beacons to indicate where the soldiers were as they left the house and began to spread out in their search to find him. 

Once the first one got close Jon set down his jug and pulled out his sword. The soldier was walking toward the building, so the intent to search it was obvious. He never had the chance though, because as soon as he stepped through the door, waving his torch around, Jon stabbed him through his throat. The soldier clutched at the blade for a moment before he collapsed, drowning in his own blood without a chance to cry for help. Jon shook his head when he noticed that this one was no older than him. There was no way he was professional - he was probably just a messenger or a stable hand that got paid a pittance to bulk out the numbers for this little charade. That saddened Jon, but it didn’t change anything. There was no reasoning with people like this, and there wouldn’t be until he was in a real position of power. 

Jon picked up the kid’s torch before the blood could extinguish it in the same hand he held his sword. Then he stepped out of the shack with the jug of oil in his other hand, looking for all the world like one of the men searching for him in the gathering dark. He walked towards the Orchard, filling the gap in the line of lights that was the search party. The soldiers had spread out so widely at this point that their numbers were useless. Some still lingered by the house, one was looking through the barn, and the remainder were out here with him. That suited Jon just fine, he thought as he set down his jug near the middle of the orchard, uncorked it, and moved the torch to his free hand. He needed to get them all together for the finale, but that would happen on its own after their numbers dwindled a bit more. 

Jon began edging closer to the soldier that was closest to him on his right side. It was a very slow process that took minutes, and Jon pulled fire from his torch to dim it as he got closer. He wanted the poor bastard to be able to see that he was there so that he didn’t spook him, but he didn’t want him to see well enough to pick out the details that would show him he wasn’t one of the guards. That worked well enough until Jon was within ten paces of the soldier. Then in a single instant he pulled all the fire from both of their torches plunging them into darkness, and he used that heat to light hair of one of the remaining guards off to his left. Jon was rewarded with a sickening scream that succeeded in distracting everyone with the grisly spectacle. Jon didn’t care about distracting everyone though - he just cared about distracting his next target long enough to walk up behind him. This one wasn’t even wearing a helmet, so Jon used the soldier’s lank greasy hair as a hand hold to jerk his head back and sliced into his throat deep enough that he could feel the blade graze the spine before he dropped the dying man on the ground. 

 Orders were being shouted now. “Rally to me,” the Lord called, not completely successful in hiding the fear in his air enhanced voice. It was interesting to Jon that the man was obviously air blooded, but hadn’t seemed to learn any other tricks except to make himself louder. Did that literally make him a blow hard, he wondered, smiling to himself because he already knew the answer. Jon noted that if he wanted to retreat, now would be the right time to do it. Lord Burton had very effectively disassembled his own dragnet as soon as he realized he might be in danger. 

“He’s a fireblood - he has to be, men,” the former Warden called out next. “Extinguish your torches and he’ll have no more tricks to bedevil us with!” This advice was every bit as smart as it was terrible. It was true that without torches Jon would lose a couple of tricks, but the idea of trying to fight someone like him who had spent so long in the darkness of the underground was a terrible idea. Even now with only starlight to guide him, he could see well enough to fight, and he doubted any of the soldiers felt the same way. 

Jon followed the crowd and moved back towards where the soldiers were congregating, but only to get closer to the straggler that was closest to him. Without torches to reveal his location he moved faster, and was on his next victim before they even suspected Jon was there. Jon grabbed him by the collar and stabbed him with a brutal thrust from behind, aiming for his heart. He realized belatedly when his strike was deflected that this was one of the few soldiers wearing chainmail, and lept back as his target tried to behead him with a wild strike that saw him whirl a hundred and eighty degrees. It was only then he realized that this was the leader of the guard he’d spoken to earlier. 

The guard captain smiled, switching from a one handed grip to a two handed one, giving him the advantage in both power and keeping his advantage in reach. “Didn’t you say something about killing me if I came after you?” 

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but only to trigger the other man’s strike. It was a common trick. Ask a question, and then when your opponent was distracted by trying to think of an answer, attack them and catch them off guard. Jon was ready for that though and when the captain lashed out with a heavy overhand blow, Jon brought his sword up for an overhead block, acting like he was going to use both hands to deflect the blow, but as soon as his opponent was committed he stepped forward, dropping his sword, and punched the guard captain in the throat. The chainmail gorget he was wearing would have done a great job at blocking Jon’s sword, but against a crushed windpipe, all it did was bloody Jon’s knuckles. To his credit the captain tried to bring his sword around for a second swing even though he couldn’t breathe, but Jon pushed him to the ground. 

“If you’d listened to the rightful Warden instead of your pay master, you’d still be breathing right now,” Jon said, before he picked up his sword and walked past the suffocating man to where the soldiers were gathering.