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The peasants were in council – arguing until they were hoarse. Clan elders and self-defense commanders declared that they had to surrender. But dervish Karamas urged a fight to the last. «Are we pious kuzuns going to feed the vile wicked!» And so confident and assertive was he – that he won the argument.

All that happened after that Lyra tried for a long time to forget. But unsuccessfully. Blood, fire, corpses, guttural screams, orange faces twisted in anger, screams of horror… At the very beginning of the battle, the apt peasant had fired an arrow from his crossbow and struck down the Chief’s brother. That same «beloved shaman», who was not helped by the most powerful talismans and bodyguards… The Chief roared like a storm, and the rage of the savages knew no bounds. Children were kicked, old men and women were cut down. Less than a hundred villagers out of a thousand were left alive, and even they were almost all beaten and dishonored. The savages created a real pogrom, ruined and looted everything, and burned what they could not carry away. Even the gardens were cut down.