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	The horse and carriage were nowhere in sight. The children and the two men from up the road could not be seen either. 

A little ways up the road from the bridge, standing tall and sturdy next to his hearth, Torn was serving as a human shield; his wife had her hands gripping to his thick arm as she looked out from behind him. 

Across the road at the Inn, one eye peeking out from behind the almost closed door, was Theolan.  

Then there was the guard. He was dead. His sword was in many pieced, the steel of which had been shattered like glass, each shard steaming like chunks of dry ice and sprawled across the dirt and cobble road. The handle of the sword, however, was still held in both hands with a white-knuckle grip. But his hands were no longer attached to his arms, they were over near the bottom step of the Inn, while his arms were in two different locations, one down near the bridge, one on the landing of Amber's porch. The rest of his body; both legs, his torso and head, were still one piece, laid on its back several feet from Amber's porch. It, like the rest of its detached members, were pale and frozen like the shards of his sword, steaming like chunks dry ice. Not surprising, in a way, there was practically no blood, since the man had been frozen before being dismembered. Broken apart, not torn. 

Far as Jack could see, the Chilli was unharmed. She was on Amber's front porch railing like she had never left her perch. She ruffled her feathers as if dispelling a cool breeze. The scales on her belly seemed to shimmer from shade to shade of fluorescent blues. She turned her face and heavy gaze to Jack.