Dreamlands

Dreamlands: Introduction

The concept of the Dreamlands fascinated me when I first encountered it some time in the late 1960s, although I’d already run into similar ideas from a vast range of other fantasy authors. Like so many Cthulhu Mythos readers I immediately began plotting stories set there, or set in the broader Mythos background. Some of the oldest stories are found in this volume, and were pretty much plotted out by the end of that decade. It was followed by many other ideas, most of which have mercifully been lost to time.

My original intent was just to have fun writing fiction, but after I'd written an awful lot I realized that while I was indeed writing stories I was really just describing a world. I hope that you will feel free to write your own fiction in that world, or role-play in it. Please read the Legal information (see footer) before you do, though.

The Prologue to Chapter 3 of the Book of Richard was written by David Farnell as part of the never-completed Kurotokage sourcebook project for the Call of Cthulhu RPG, and he owns full copyright.

Like the Dreamlands themselves, these Chronicles are in flux. They may morph at any time, minor or major, and an event occuring in a new story may trigger changes in past stories, or the fabric of the Dreamlands themselves.

Posts in the Dreamlands section are broken down into several books and a glossary, tagged appropriately. The Book of Richard should be read first, and the Book of Celephaïs after the Jake books. Notes, explanations and other information are tagged under Notes.

  • The Book of Richard
  • The Book of Jake, Vols. I and II
  • The Book of Donn
  • The Book of Chabra
  • The Book of Celephaïs
  • Notes

These Chronicles are based on the map of Dreamland created by Jason Thompson, and used with permission. My Dreamlands is completely different from his, but I had always intended these stories to take place in the Dreamlands, and when I saw his map I asked him if I could reference it instead of laboriously creating my own (far poorer) version of the same lands. While I have included more detail and a wider area than Jason, everything on his map is still valid in my Dreamlands. Much of his map can be viewed online, and a truly wonderful poster is available from Jason via his Shopify site:

https://tinyurl.com/2l39easp

 

Richard: Introduction

The first story in the Book of Richard, "Fleeting Dreams," started the whole thing. The original idea came to me decades ago, probably in the mid-1970s when I was doing a lot of RPG stuff (playing and writing), but it took half a century to get it down on paper.

I can't post that part yet because I signed away first publication rights to Wildside's Weirdbook magazine. publication has been delayed several times, but the current plan in 2025. Once they publish, i can post the latest version (quite a bit changed) here.

The Book of Richard was the first one I wrote, and as a result it introduces a number of characters that show up elsewhere on this website, sometimes in their own books. It also introduces some key concepts, and really has to be read first to get some background. There are still a number of hooks in this book that I hope to flesh out, especially the role of Ryūzō-ji Temple and the involvement of Kurotokage.

Chabra: Introduction

I introducted the Chabra surname in the Book of Jake, although Ridhi Chabra does not appear in the Book of Chabra itself. I wanted to expand the region around the Night Ocean, in the far east of the base map, and decided that a Chabra family would do nicely to bind that area together.

It became clear fairly quickly that I needed more room, so I added more territory to the eastern edge, and ended up changing Jason's map into a roughly rectangular world with no absolute edges. I'll discuss the map and world elsewhere.

Speaking of surnames, many (most?) inhabitants of the Dreamlands have only one name. A lot of people call themselves, for example, Ridhi Chabra or Britomartis of Celephaïs, but the second name usually indicates that person's allegiance, family, birthplace, current home, etc. For Ridhi Chabra the Chabra part is a surname, but also a marker that she's part of the enormous and powerful Chabra clan (which was the whole point of surnames in the first place). Commander Britomartis, on the other hand, is simply showing that she has pledged allegiance to the city.

The Book of Chabra consists of the following stories, which should be read in this order:

  1. The Amulet
  2. The Picnic
  3. Journey to Karida
  4. The Unpaid Ransom
  5. Betrayals
  6. The Falls of Kra
  7. The Lone Tower
  8. Vows
  9. The Sculptor
  10. Agdistis, Goddess of Love
  11. Dawn in the Athraminaurians

Donn: Introduction

Donn first appeared in the Book of Richard, where so many of my stories canbe traced back to.

His early years are mentioned in passing, but the first story (so far) takes place when he is already an independent merchant, traveling the Western Continent,

The stories are all tagged with "Book of Donn" and have the following internal order:

  1. The Iranon
  2. The Search for Princessa
  3. The Grim Tower
  4. Fate
  5. Laundry Day
  6. Arthit and the Shadow
  7. Sadiki
  8. Dylath-Leen

Jake: Introduction

Jake was a side character in the Book of Richard, and I had always intended to use him somehow. I had a lot of ideas about tying in various Australian (and maybe other) agencies and groups interested in the Dreamlands for one reason or another.

As it turned out he totally ignored my wishes and moved to the Dreamlands to write his own story. There are two full books of material on Jake, but I think it will take one more to get him through the current arc. He has some big plans and has mentioned them in passing now and then, but they haven't been written down anywhere yet.

The Book of Jake consists of the following stories:

  1. Thace
  2. Fort Campbell
  3. Fort Danryce
  4. Bleth

Celephaïs: Introduction

Celephaïs, the royal city of King Kuranes, features in the periphery of many of my stories, but as so many important people and things are found there it obviously deserves a book of its own. These stories help explain how some things work in the Dreamlands, flesh out the city and a few nearby places, and further extend the story arc developed in the Book of Jake.


Districts, walls, and major ways


City elevation


Rivermarket areas

Richard: Part II

“Is the King in today?”

The doors were massive, apparently carved of single slabs of rose crystal, every inch covered with carvings of heroes and monsters and more, cavorting across their polished faces. I could not identify the legends they illustrated, although I recognized several of the nightmarish creatures depicted there, fortunately not rendered in full detail.

At my query, the guards on either side, two rather statuesque women dressed in leather and bronze plates, just looked at me. As far as I could tell, the only thing that moved was their eyes, which flashed over me in a second and away again to return to scanning the plaza.

“Yeah, I know you’re on duty and all that, but could you tell the gatekeeper that Master Richard is here?”

One of the guards, the black-haired one on the right with the double-bladed axe standing at her side, casually reached out to a rose-crystal door with a mailed fist and thumped once. The peephole door popped open at once, and she announced in a soft but remarkably flat voice, “Master Richard.”

There was a flurry of bolts slamming and metal clanging behind the enormous double doors, the right half swinging open wide enough to allow me to enter.

A small Asian man stood there, beckoning me inside.

“Welcome, Master Richard,” he smiled, inclining his head slightly in respect. “Please, come in. The Palace of the Seventy Delights awaits!”

“Master Chuang! How good to see you again!” I said, stepping forward into the relative gloom of the hall. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and just as the massive door slammed shut behind him, the room began to emerge from the darkness into visibility. The enormous hall stretched off into the distance, surely farther than the relatively modest dimensions of the palace could allow, the intricate mosaics of the floor tantalizingly visible as they were revealed in bits and pieces in the cracks between the many carpets scattered about. Colorful tapestries hung from the walls, decorated with fanciful beasts and knights and more.

The marble columns flanking the central walk led the eye straight to the Opal Throne, illuminated by the shaft of brilliant sunlight from above. The King stood on the dais in front of it, obviously listening to the group of rough-clad men gathered at its base. Dressed in brown and green, they looked to be men of the forest. I saw arrows in their quivers but no bows. Or swords. Which made sense, as they were within striking distance of the King. Probably left them at the door somewhere.

I stopped, unwilling to intrude, and allowed Master Chuang to guide me over to a convenient pile of cushions. He sprawled out on the carpet—it looked like a Shindand, except that a few of the creatures depicted were obviously nothing I’d even seen or heard of before, elongated or not: eight legs, scales, and an elephant’s trunk!? Hardly.

Chuang plopped down next to me, reaching out for the decanter and shell-cups that had mysteriously appeared on the low table.

“We have a slight problem, Richard,” he said, neatly pouring the ruby-red wine into the Mother-of-Pearl cups with a clever twist. He handed me one. “Unfortunately, the King has not met you yet.”

“He hasn’t...? What? I mean, we took care of that island thing together years ago!”

To hide my confusion I took a big slug of wine. Bad move... it had the kick of vodka, even if it was as delicious as it looked. After my coughing subsided, I tried again.

“Is this another one of those reality-twisting things you keep tormenting me with?”

“Well, yes and no,” Chuang smiled.

“Dammit, Chuang!”

“Relax, Master Richard. I know it is a bit confusing, but the Dreamlands and your world are not synchronized very well, or even at all. You may recall that the two of you were involved in events taking place in 1925, and possibly some six hundred and forty light years away...” He took another sip. His wine seemed to be a pale green, even though I was sure I’d seen him pour both cups together.

“But you remember me...?”

“Of course! With gratitude, considering that you have saved our lives and probably the realms. But that was then, this is now.”

“If you remember that, why doesn’t he?”

“We move in different circles, I am afraid. These things happen,” he said. “But not to worry; he is used to this sort of difficulty and will take it in stride, I am sure.”

“I guess... Who are all those people he’s talking to?”

“Foresters from the Enchanted Wood, across the Celephaïs Strait. They say that all of the Zoog tribes are gathering. Apparently the Council of Sages has called Zoogmoot, and something is brewing that has them all very excited—and even more dangerous than usual.”

I glanced over toward King Kuranes. It looked like the audience was over: the King grasped the wrist of the group’s leader, a huge man with biceps the size of my thighs, as the other grasped the King’s wrist in turn. I’d never seen one before, but it was obviously an extra-strength handshake.

Chuang stood, and as he stood a cloud of tiny particles fell around him, glittering in the dimness.

“You’re pretty dusty for an old Chinese gentlemen, Chuang,” I admonished, pointing.

“Oh, drat. It is so hard to keep those scales off everything,” he tutted, swatting his robes as he walked toward the throne.

* * *

“Your Majesty? I would like to present Master Richard, a counselor and savior,” said Chuang, inclining his head and simultaneously waving an arm at me.

The King looked up. It was the same King Kuranes, but he looked at me blankly.

“Master Richard... I do not believe I’ve made your acquaintance, but Master Chuang tells me you are a savior of the realms.”

I bowed my head slightly, unsure of how to handle this.

“You brought me here years ago, and together we rode a byakhee to defeat Cthulhu... or at least give him good dreams.”

“I am afraid this is another kink, my King,” interjected Chuang. “It should work itself out in a bit. You two did indeed alter the positions of the stars and ensure that Cthulhu continues its slumbers, or very shortly will have.”

Kuranes, who had been leaning forward to see me better, visibly relaxed, sitting deeper in the throne and simultaneously letting his shoulders sag ever so slightly.

“I see,” the King said quietly. “Most confusing, like so much else that has been happening of late... And why have you come, Master Richard?”

“No reason at all, King. I had put the grandchildren to bed and was sitting on the porch....”

“Grandchildren!? But you are a university student, are you not?”

He jumped off his throne, and stepped down off the dais to face me directly.

“Oh... of course. The rise of R’lyeh, and the death of Betelgeuse... Finally we are in time with each other. The Elder Gods and poor Betelgeuse exploding... I’m not sure that was the best thing to do, given that they are the ones who imprisoned Cthulhu in R’lyeh in the first place, but it seemed the right thing to do at the time, and goodness knows we had little time to consider our options....”

The King chewed on his knuckle as he considered the problem.

“Do the Elder Gods exist, King Kuranes?” I wondered aloud. “There’s so much discussion about what Derleth wrote, and whether it is part of the Mythos or not...”

“As well ask if Cthulhu exists!” laughed the King. “We know that it doesn’t, of course, except in our imaginations, but then again, we only exist as its merest dreams! It would not be unreasonable to assume Nodens and the rest exist as well, and if so they might be rather unhappy with our rash action.”

“In my realm, however, it has been almost a century since R’lyeh sank again, though... surely they would have acted by now if they were going to?”

“Very unreasonable assumption, Master Richard,” broke in Chuang. “After all, while you had become a grandfather since you and the King sank R’lyeh, the King had not yet met you when you arrived.”

I sighed.

“I’m really not used to time being as fluid and impermanent as thought. Although I suppose its malleability is at the same time our greatest weapon.”

“Indeed,” agreed the King. “But I suspect your sudden visit is due to something other than happenstance, considering the coincidence of the affair of the Zoogs. The Council of Sages does not meet often, and I haven’t heard of them calling a moot for all the tribes since the dholes emerged unexpectedly on Mt. Lerion and threatened Kiran so long ago.”

I struggled to recall where Kiran might be... I knew the dholes were found in the depths of Pnath, half a world away from Celephaïs, but geography was never my strong point.

“Shingan Oshō of Ryūzō-ji Temple aided me in forcing them back to their pits, then. I must contact him and inquire about the Zoogs.”

“Ryūzō-ji Temple!? That’s it! That’s what I’ve searched for all these years!”

The King raised an eyebrow as he waited for me to continue.

“I first came to the Dreamlands after a dream involving you, and a temple. I couldn’t recall the exact name after I awoke, and thought it was ‘Rujoji.’ It must be the same!”

“It is a Buddhist temple founded here by the Japanese monk, Shingan. I believe that would have been in about the ninth century. As Buddhists they are a fairly quiet bunch, but I have heard tales of phenomenal martial prowess. And when it came to stopping a dhole in its tracks, Shingan impressed me greatly!”

“And you say you must contact this Shingan... he is still alive, from the ninth century!?”

“Surely the eddies of time don’t surprise you anymore, Master Richard... Remember our own convoluted history, and travels!”

I had to agree... Kuranes must have been born in 19th century, at the latest, and we had worked together in 1925, but also in the present day, and... ah, screw it. Yeah, I thought. Time eddies. Works for me.

* * *

“Britomartis!” called out the King, and a woman stepped forward out of the shadows behind the throne. My God she was beautiful! With the whitest skin and red-tinged cheeks, she looked the very model of an Elizabethan painter’s subject. Her clothing was quite a bit different, though: a rough tunic, mostly hidden behind a leather vest sewn with bronze plates of armor; a leather skirt, of sorts, comprising flaps of leather that twisted and flared to match her every move; a dagger or two joining various pouches and other things on leather straps crossing her chest. She wore two curved scimitars on her back, their hilts protruding up behind her shoulders on either side. I noted that both hilts were well-worn.

“The galleon is waiting, My Lord,” she said, tilting her head slightly in deference to the King. “The ship-master advises that night-gaunts have been seen en masse over the Celephaïs Strait recently—highly unusual to see night-gaunts at all and survive, let alone over the Sea—and it would be best to avoid flight entirely, instead crossing by sea to Hlanith, thence up the Oukranos past Thran and Kiran, until the river is too shallow to allow further travel by ship. It should only be a two-day travel from there, Zoogs permitting.”

“So be it. Provisions are loaded?”

“Yes, my Lord, as you commanded last week, all preparations are complete. The foresters are on their way to the ship now, and are ready to depart at any time.”

She inclined her head once more, and took a step back, removing herself from the immediate presence of the King.

“Last week, King? You said you had never met me, but you began preparations last week?”

“Apparently so!” he laughed. “There are times when living in the Dreamlands can be most convenient!”

He slapped me on the back, and strode toward the entrance, which was conveniently opening as he approached. He paused, looking back at me.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

* * *

The three of us walked down the streets cobbled in jade and chalcedony: the King first, of course, with Chuang and myself just a pace behind. His bodyguards—eight in all, I believe—kept their distance, but were usually visible before, behind and to the sides as we descended the slope toward the harbor.

We crossed the great stone bridge at the mouth of the river Naraxa, and through the enormous bronze gates, and the cobblestones of the city proper gave way to the onyx pavements of the harbor, its markets bustling with the wares and shouts of merchants from a thousand lands.

As always, the spice-fragrant harbor was thronged with ships: a flying galley from the marble cloud-city of Serannian in the sky; one of the ill-favored black triremes that bring their peculiar rubies to the gem merchants of far Dylath-Leen; a few of the long, thin ships of Inganok who brought their loads of onyx and stranger stones; a tall-masted clipper of Ilek-Vad, bold in its brilliant silver and green livery, with a winking mermaid, arms outstretched, revealing her charms on the prow; and of course a galleon from Thalarion, the City of a Thousand Wonders, its rose-wood hull resplendent in the sun.

Closer at hand, our own ship awaited us, her sleek lines telling of an eagerness to speed over the waves, restrained only by the hawsers yet tying it to the wharf paved with swirled turquoise studded with ammonites.

“A tall ship!” I drank in her lines… tall, long, a greyhound of the sea indeed. “I’ve never seen one with my own eyes before.”

“Normally I would fly, of course, but with the night-gaunts all stirred up of late, the clipper is surely the safer option, though it take nigh on two days to cross the Cerenerian Sea,” responded the King as he strode up the gangplank.

Britomartis welcomed him aboard—how had she gotten here before us, I wondered briefly, then put the thought out of my mind as another useless question. As well ask if I were awake or dreaming!

A great bustle of shouting and men running about, and already we were in motion, the sails booming and cracking as they billowed into life, catching the wind and pushing us powerfully offshore. Within minutes the ship was moving at a good clip, slicing through the waves toward the harbor mouth.

“What is she named, Chuang?”

“The ship? Tuscarora, of course,” he laughed. “And here is Captain Stormalong himself!”

A giant of a man—quite literally; he must have been close to seven feet tall—strode over to meet us, blue eyes blazing above a gray-bearded face.

“Master Richard! I’ve heard much about you from Master Chuang! Welcome aboard! And call me Bulltop, Bulltop of the Sea!”

The Captain spoke loudly enough to be heard back to the castle, each utterance a blast of vitality and confidence.

“Thank you, Captain. I do believe I’ve heard of your ship before... something about a kraken, wasn’t it?”

He bellowed in laughter.

“That kraken was almost the death of me! I chased him halfway ’round the world! Turns out he’s not dead after all, though... that maelstrom brought him here, and our fight continues now and again, though somewhat mellowed by age!”

“Are you, then, a Dreamer?”

“Goodness, no, man! I’m not that sort! Hurricane brought me here, and I’m here to stay! Enough room here for a man to breathe!”

He turned his face to the sky, arms outstretched wide, and laughed again under the watching eyes of the harbor’s bronzes.

“Now off with you! The King awaits in the stern cabin!”

* * *

The ship was enormous.

The many sails were furled, tied up neatly under the outstretched yardarms, letting the sharp lines of the hull stand out. Her bowsprit extended several meters ahead of the prow and seemed to quiver in the wind. Or perhaps the small figurehead I spotted at its base was merely shivering with eagerness to set sail?

The deck was bustling with crew, too, although it was curiously bare of cargo—the ship was transporting passengers this time, and in a hurry, and cargo would have to wait. I noticed all the crew were armed, although mostly with daggers: relatively short weapons that didn’t get in the way. Here and there I noticed pikes and longer swords mounted inside the bulwarks for quick use.

I was surprised at how huge it was when I boarded, seeing the vast expanse of deck and the three soaring masts, already swarming with sailors, but like the King’s castle, this ship seemed even vaster on the inside. The corridor to the stern cabin was wide enough for six men to walk abreast—surely far too wide even for a ship of the size this one seemed—and it had doors opening into rooms on both sides!

The hallway was carpeted with something soft and reddish; perhaps a carpet of some sort? I stooped for a closer look... no, it looked more like moss, upon closer inspection. Bizarre...

Pictures decorated the walls, and the deck prisms mounted in the ceiling every so often provided ample illumination to enjoy them. Most were scenery, I saw, with scattered portraits. They was no rhyme or reason that I could see, but they were all done in a most precise hand.

One in particular caught my eye, and I approached for a closer look—why, yes! It was indeed a painting of the house I was born in, in upstate New York!

The porch with the ripped screen, the gabled roof next to the attic window I used to keep lookout at for pirates and dragons, the nearby stream with its glorious willow tree dangling its fingertips in the cool water so full of fish and frogs... How!? Why!?

“It is not really a painting.”

Master Chuang patted me on the shoulder, peering at it.

“A special place for you? The frame is empty, and merely shows random memories from passers-by. Apparently this frame was especially sensitive to this memory of yours.”

“Yes, it’s where I was born... the house must be gone by now, that was over half a century ago!” I replied, bemused. “Oh! It’s moving!”

The porch door opened, and my mother stepped out. She was as beautiful as I remembered her, face still youthful and unravaged by the cancer that killed her years later. I hadn’t thought of her for so many years, and to see her now, after so many years... I sobbed.

“It always hurts to remember the good things, Master Richard,” came the King’s voice. “The pain of deep love, and deep loss, and memories you hold dear.”

They all stood for a moment, and when I looked up, the King and Master Chuang were smiling, waiting. I grinned in embarrassment.

“Come,” said the King. “There are things we need to discuss.”

* * *

The stern cabin was most certainly not. It was rather, pleasant, in fact, with thick carpets on the floor and tapestries hanging. The windows making up one wall of the room were open, looking back on the streets of Celephaïs as it receded behind us, Mt. Aran thrusting up into the clouds behind it. An inquisitive serpent seemed to be following us, fascinated by the ship’s wake.

A wood table stood to the side, surrounded by benches, and King Kuranes promptly plopped down on one. I noticed Britomartis standing off to the side, silent and still as before.

“Sit!”

He took three cups and began pouring wine into each from the flagon. It was a silvery metal, delicately chased, and inset with gems. The cup he handed me was full of red wine, as always, while Chuang’s was a bright green, and the King’s his usual amber.

“Master Chuang, may I ask what you drink?” I asked.

“Why, green tea, of course. Clearly the superior beverage for superior men,” he smiled. “The King, as you have noticed, seems to prefer whisky of all things, although I cannot fathom why.”

The King poured a fourth cup, a second full of red wine, and held it up.

“Britomartis? Will you join us, milady?”

I heard a muffled giggle from behind the King.

“Surely not ‘milady,’ sire,” she said, stepping forward. “Thank you; I do so love all this man-talk!”

She turned to me, giving me a nod, and announced herself as Britomartis of Celephaïs, before sitting on the fourth side of the table, opposite the King.

The King smiled, and lifted his cup.

“To the Dreamlands,” he toasted.

“The Dreamlands!” we echoed, and drank.

* * *

The King spread a vellum map across the tabletop. Hand-drawn (of course!) by artists, it depicted the Dreamlands I knew and more, with the Celephaïs Strait smack in the center.

“The Captain says it will take about two days to cross the Sea, Ech-Pi-El willing,” explained the King, “which gives us ample time to discuss the situation.” He pointed to the map.

“We plan to sail to Hlanith, almost directly across the Sea from Celephaïs, thence up the Okranos to Thran. We’ll have to continue on land from there to reach Mt. Thurai, and Ryūzō-ji.”

“So after all these years, I will finally reach Ryūzō-ji Temple. I had come to believe it was merely a real dream, and did not exist at all,” I mused.

“There are dreams, and dreams,” smiled Chuang. “This one, however, is at least as real as you are. I have been there, and it is quite an enjoyable place... many buildings in the Japanese style, with a centuries-old main temple building, a well-provided library, and a truly glorious seven-story pagoda.”

His eyes narrowed as he recalled his memories.

“Not quite in the Chinese style, but excellent nonetheless. I have sent some monks there myself for polishing. And tempering... Shingan is not a gentle teacher. Godsworn Senryū is a much kinder master, but ‘the carrot and the stick’ applies in Buddhism as well.”

“I found Shingan to be a brilliant man of faith,” broke in the King. “And concentration, unlike you two.”

He tapped the Enchanted Wood on the map, just south of Mt. Thurai.

“Something is brewing here, and I don’t like it at all. The fact that Master Richard has suddenly returned to the Dreamlands merely strengthens my unease. And there are other things you must know.”

He paused, and turned to look behind himself.

“Britomartis? Would you...?”

She hadn’t said a word thus far, merely watching and sipping her wine. Still holding the cup in her right hand, she stood, drew a dagger with her left, and pointed to a city on the northern edge of the Sea.

“I was here, in Sarkomand, several months ago, on another errand. I had little choice but to pass through that accursed city, unfortunately, but the trail led through the outskirts and well away from the twin lions guarding that gate to the Great Abyss. Empty for a million years, the city should have been silent but for the whispering of solitary leaves blowing in the cold wind from the sea, but it was full of a chittering and a low murmur, the sound of distant, guttural chanting.

“While I could not tarry long, as my, um, duty called me onward, I left the trail to investigate this unexpected situation. I climbed the ruins of an ancient palace, still encrusted with gems and inlays of orichalc, from the top of which I could see the entrance to that famous stairway. The steps, and indeed the entire plaza stretching in front of them, was packed with dholes. In daylight!”

She took a hearty drink from her cup, lost in thought. Absent-mindedly, eyes still focused on her memories, she flipped the dagger in her left hand, casually catching it again without ever really noticing it. And again. And thrice.

“There were too many to count, I’m afraid.”

“Did they seem to be organized in any way? And was there any sort of leader or speaker visible?”

“They weren’t arrayed in any sort of pattern that I could see; no obvious indication of status or leaders, as one might expect. Rather they were scattered at random, but closely packed, all looking toward those steps and murmuring... something... They seemed to be waiting.”

She suddenly stood up straight, slamming the dagger home into its sheath, strapped along her left thigh, with a bang, and sat. Her cup didn’t spill a drop, I saw... a skill born of long practice, I thought.

“Thank you, Britomartis,” said the King, with a small tilt of the head toward her. “And where is Belphoebe? I thought she’d be with you…”

“She awaits us in Thran, sire, and will lead us to Mt. Thurai.”

He nodded. “Master Chuang?”

Chuang, still seated, took a leisurely sip of tea, and sighed. Eyes closed, holding his cup with both hands as if seeking warmth, he began to speak.

“I had need to visit Ilarnek, south of distant Mnar. I boarded a merchanter to Thraa, and traveled by horseback from there inland to Ilarnek. In spite of unseasonable rains and some trouble in the marshlands of Chaldaea, we reached our destination without serious problem.”

He took another sip.

“The city was in an uproar. It seems that some time ago the jade mines, the source of the fine cups and other works the city is so famed for, had become unapproachable. The mining camps in the region had all been destroyed in the space of a single night, and two expeditions had failed to find any survivors, or determine what had happened. A third expedition failed to return at all, and vanished as completely as the miners.

“I determined to make my own reconnaissance, by means you are familiar with, and was able to explore the area in depth. A Wurm has risen from the earth below, bringing with it a massive flood of molten rock. I do not know if it lingers in the area yet or not; surely it cannot abide the light of day and rose to the surface without realizing where it was, but nonetheless the jade mines are sorely damaged.”

He carefully placed the empty cup on the table, with the merest clink.

“Even if it has returned to the darkness below, it will take years of hard work to restore them, I fear. A younger Wurm is bad enough; if somehow the Great Wurm is able to travel to this realm from Master Richard’s, I cannot imagine the devastation it would cause...”

“There are tales that the Great Wurm itself once appeared in the Dreamlands, burrowing up from deep below, or from a different realm... I always thought them old wives’ tales!” The King’s brow furrowed as he looked at the map. “Sarkomand to the north, Ilarnek, and now something has the Zoogs stirred up. By Ech Pi El, something is happening to the Dreamlands, and I have not heard the faintest whisper of impending change, or doom!”

Britomartis lifted her eyes to meet mine.

“And you, Master Richard? What brought you here so unexpectedly?”

“I... I really don’t know... I thought I had come on a whim...”

Caught off-guard, I tried to think of why it had suddenly occurred to me to visit the Dreamlands after all this time. I couldn’t recall anything in particular...

“Strange indeed,” mused the King. “Master Richard’s sudden whim saved us all in 1925, and I suspect there is something deeper at work here. Let us dine, and talk of pleasant things. It may reveal itself to us.”

“My King? Have you not forgotten someone?” broke in Chuang, with a grin. “I believe you mentioned other things we must know…”

“I… Um, yes… you mean me, of course…”

He hesitated.... most unusual for Kuranes. He looked down at the map for a few moments, then up and looked around the table slowly, spearing each of us with his attention in turn.

“What I have to say is perhaps the most disturbing, and the most difficult to understand…” he began, choosing his words with obvious care. “For some weeks now I have seen the same dream, and it has been gradually becoming clearer and clearer. It’s impossible to tell if it is just a dream, of course or... something more.”

He took a deep breath.

“I am floating in The Churn, and am looking down upon the realms. I can clearly see the Dreamlands, Master Richard’s realm, all the others... and I can see them being pressed together, closer and closer to each other, spreading their areas of contact. There is something outside them, something even larger, pressing inward, but I cannot see it clearly.

“As we all know, soap bubbles can often combine into a single, larger bubble,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

There was a silent pause, broken finally by Chuang.

“True. And often they both pop into nothingness...”

“What is The Churn?” I asked.

“Chaos. Undefined quantum foam, the raw essence of existence that gives birth to atoms and galaxies,” explained Chuang. “We do not really know what it is, to be honest, but it underlies and probably constitutes everything.”

“No doubt she knows,” said the King, pointing upwards.

I had no idea who he was talking about.

“You think this is Azathoth?”

Chuang and the King shrugged simultaneously.

“Who knows?” Chuang laughed. “Your science claims that the Big Bang created everything, but The Churn underlies even that. Nuclear chaos? Or something even deeper, relegating atoms to a mere single method of expression.”

“Azathoth is as good a name as any,” added the King.

“...soap bubbles...” I murmured to myself. It reminded me of something, some faint memory hovering at the edge of my consciousness. What was it?

“Master Richard?”

At the King’s query I quickly returned to myself.

“I’m sorry, King Kuranes. Something you said about soap bubbles has tickled my memory but I cannot recall why. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“I suspect, Master Richard,” he replied, “it is exactly what brought you back to us in the first place. But one cannot force memories to float to the surface; they come when they’re ready.”

“I recommend watching the sun set while sipping wine on deck and waiting for our meal to be prepared,” suggested Britomartis. “We have shared our concerns, but there is little else we can do for now.”

“Agreed!” decreed the King, and the meeting ended.

As we walked toward the stairs to the topdeck, I asked Chuang what the King had meant by “all the other” realms.

“I forget that you are a relative newcomer to the Dreamlands, Master Richard,” he smiled. “We are probably the crystallized dreams of long centuries, even millennia, of thinking beings. But not all people dream the same dreams, and surely there are other creatures that dream... there are many realms, and sometimes new realms come into existence, or several realms merge to create a single fusion, or realms just vanish as the dreams that make them possible fade.”

“So the King’s dream of a realm pressing against our own could be a vision of the future...”

“Yes. Or merely a dream.”

“Hmm... What sorts of other realms are there?”

“What would you say the most prevalent dreams in your realm are, Master Richard?”

“I’ve never really thought about it. Umm, hmm.... Disney? Star Wars?”

“Star Wars? What in the world...? No, never mind... I do not want to know. In any case, those are very recent, are they not? Yes, they may have attracted enormous followings and may well exist somewhere, but there are older, even more powerful dreams. Religions, Master Richard. All of them.”

“My God!” I sputtered, then burst out laughing. “And of course I react to it all with that phrase, of all things!”

“Yes, your God, exactly. And everybody else’s gods. I believe that they have all had Dreamlands, at one time or another. Many of them still do.”

“So you mean.... Christianity... Wow! Heaven and hell and everything?”

“And everything. Some of the older religions were truly hideous. Huitzilopochtli, for example... thank goodness that one has faded!”

I walked in silence, trying to wrap my head around all that. So Christ and Buddha and whatnot were all real. Or at least as real as Lovecraft’s creations. Which meant they were inventions... but here I was, walking in the Dreamlands invented by Lovecraft, and... I gave up.

* * *

The sun was approaching the horizon ahead of us, tingeing the dabs of cloud with orange. There was a good wind blowing, and the Tuscarora skimmed along, slicing neatly through the wavetops. I tried to see if the little sea serpent was still riding our wake, but couldn’t spot it.

We must be a long ways from Celephaïs by now.

I saw the King and Chuang discussing something, and noticed Britomartis standing off to the side, shielding her eyes and looking up.

I looked up myself, but could see nothing...

“To arms! Night-gaunts! To arms!”

The shout from the crow’s nest startled the crew into action: they leapt for their weapons, most of them reaching for swords. A few instead picked up one of the harpoons or axes the ship carried.

“Get the King inside!” roared Bulltop, rushing toward them holding a huge blubber hook that only a giant could swing. His was the only voice: the crew were silent, a few sailors quickly tearing off their boots to stand in bare feet. They readied their weapons, took advantageous positions, and waited for the winged attackers to approach. The night-gaunts were blind, and relied on their hearing most of all… our advantage lay in remaining silent, or hiding in cacophony.

One young lad undid the rope securing the noise-maker, a bizarre contraption driven by the passage of the ship through the waves. It was festooned with gongs and rattles, and began making horrendous noise. It we hadn’t already been silent it certainly would have made conversation impossible, and I’m sure it bothered the night-gaunts far more than it bothered me.

I glanced up just in time to see a night-gaunt grab the hapless sailor from the crow’s nest, snatched into the sky by a skeletally thin night-gaunt, its bat wings and thrashing barbed tail pitch-black against the darkening sky, dagger plunging into the hapless lad’s chest.

I was knocked off my feet suddenly by Britomartis, who leapt over me to skewer a black shape with one scimitar, maintaining precarious balance with the other sword stretched behind her. She stepped forward, planting her boot on the black whale-skin of the fallen night-gaunt, keeping it pinned with one scimitar while slashing down with the other to send its head flying.

The barbed tail gave one last lash and collapsed.

“Britomartis!”

She was already gone, leaping away toward the King without a backward glance, swords flashing and dancing in the dusk, a trail of dark blood and twitching bodies behind her.

The King had his own sword out, a long, straight sword of brilliant steel now stained by black ichor. Next to him stood Bulltop, his fearsome whale hook swinging through the air with enough ferocity to kill on impact, and send the shattered bodies of his victims back into the sky they came from. Chuang was standing in front of the doorway to the ship’s interior, swinging an iron-shod staff expertly. A growing pile of twitching bodies on either side proved his skill with the weapon.

And I was not only unarmed, but unskilled... and ignored.

A wail came from above, and the poor lookout came crashing to the deck. I glanced up to see a swarm of black bodies in the rigging and the crow’s nest, hacking and pulling... bits of sail and rigging came falling, then suddenly a terrible crack sounded, and the mast itself slowly split from top to bottom, half falling to the side and overboard, taking a swarm of the foul black beasts and two crewmen with it. As the tangled rigging crashed to the deck it entangled another crewman and a clutch of night-gaunts. The night-gaunts quickly began to free themselves with their daggers, but the crew leapt to finish them off before they had the chance.

I turned to see Britomartis lifted bodily from the deck by two of the monsters. She twisted and kicked, hacking the arm off of one night-gaunt only to have her weapon caught and yanked from her grasp by three more. They pulled her away over the dark wavetops, cursing and fighting.

Britomartis! Beautiful Britomartis! They were taking her!

I knew I only had seconds… but the fear of losing my Britomartis filled me with a terrible anger I knew I could use to solve this problem!

I collapsed to the deck and summoned my strength, birthing a new dream. I dreamt of my time in the Army, riding a chopper over the desert sands...If they were going to fly, I was going to fly better... and deadlier! I concentrated, willing my dream to immediate reality with the fear and anger that consumed me.

The sound of chopper blades came to me faintly, then more strongly. I opened my eyes and could see the familiar lines of an Apache zipping toward us from the darkness. I couldn’t see the crew, but I knew they’d be wearing that familiar uniform, and smiling as they pressed that switch.

“Richard, no! Stop!”

Chuang’s voice came from behind me, and I glanced back... the King was standing in the doorway, looking past Bulltop to view the fighting from safety. Most of the night-gaunts had pulled back, apparently satisfied with Britomartis and unsettled by the unexpected appearance of a giant machine.

Chuang’s staff swung through the air, and I just watched in disbelief as it smacked into my head.

Things got very quiet and blurry... I was lying down on something hard and wet... the deck! And through the taffrail I could see Britomartis hanging from her captors, still twisting in vain, trying to free herself. And I could see the Apache firing and twisting in the air, swarmed by a roiling black cloud of night-gaunts.

I could see Chuang’s sandals next to me. I tried to look upward, but couldn’t seem to move my head... he was chanting something in Chinese.

The sea under the chopper bulged. It gradually rose higher and higher, until it blew open and a monstrous mouth appeared, gaping wide enough to swallow half the horizon. That giant maw closed with a boom, and suddenly the sky was empty of helicopter and most of the night-gaunts... swallowed by that monstrous manta-shaped thing in the blink of an eye.

It slipped beneath the waves almost silently, and suddenly the tumult of battle stilled.

Britomartis was held by only a single night-gaunt, and while she had lost her scimitars she used her now-free hand to pull her dagger and put it savagely to work. The night-gaunt, its faceless visage twisted with pain, released her to fall to the sea, flying erratically away into the night.

“Man overboard! Furl the sails! Get the longboat in the water now!” came Bulltop’s roar, and the bloodied crew leapt to work. “And get these ugly carcasses off my ship!”

He crushed the head of another night-gaunt, silencing its struggles, and kicked the corpse off the deck himself.

Chuang knelt down beside me.

“Forgive me, Master Richard, there was no other choice.”

“You damn near killed me!”

“Yes. And you nearly killed us all,” he replied, calm as ever. “There are reasons we do not use modern technology here, and that noisy flying machine had to be destroyed immediately before something else happened.”

“Something else...?”

“Look up, Master Richard. Here, let me help you.”

He slipped one arm behind my back, helping me sit up. My head was still spinning, but I could still see that something was very wrong with the sky... there was no star, no moon, only one vast eye looking down. A perfectly human-looking eye, with brown iris and black pupil, looking down directly at... me?

“What in God’s name...?”

“No, not in god’s name, at least, not yet. With luck, not ever,” whispered Chuang, more in awe than fear. “We call her Reed when we speak of her, and that as little as possible.”

The eye gradually faded away, leaving the night sky and a scattering of clouds behind.

He waved to a passing sailor, and asked her to bring something to drink.

“What was that? And what happened to the helicopter?”

“A helicopter, you call it? It looked remarkably useless, and noisy, too. But no matter... it was swallowed by the god of the depths, Uruk-Uru. I suspect someone in your realm has had a most distressing dream this night.” He paused for a moment. “Still, it is quite a surprise to find night-gaunts flying over the ocean in this way. They usually avoid it entirely, and rarely attack travelers unless they stray too close to places they should not visit.”

“I’ve never heard of Uruk-Uru...” I moaned, clutching my head. “And you didn’t answer my first question.”

“Uruk-Uru is a rather new addition to our roster of gods and godlets, I believe, and a very convenient one,” replied Chuang. “Ah, and here is something to drink.”

He held a cup to my lips, and I sipped.

Brandy!

I felt better already.

Chuang stood, and turned.

“Accursed night-gaunts! I loved those scimitars, damn them!” Britomartis was in a fury. “It’ll take me ages to make a new set and get it properly balanced!”

The longboat was back, and Britomartis was safe!

I grasped the taffrail and stood on wobbly feet, one hand to my head to keep it from falling off. There was a good-sized bump there... hurt like the dickens, and it was wet...? I looked at my fingers. Blood!?

“Chuang! You hit me so hard I’m bleeding! I might have a concussion!”

“Better a concussion than being noticed by Reed, Master Richard,” he replied quietly. “My apologies, but there was no time to explain things.”

“You’re avoiding the issue, Chuang. Who or what is Reed?”

“Yes, I am avoiding the issue. This is not the time or place to go into it. I have to ask you to please trust us.”

“Us?”

“The King and I. She may be involved in all this, but we cannot discuss it here. That is one reason we travel to Ryūzō-ji Temple.”

“And you’ll tell me there?”

“Yes. It will be safe there.”

He took my arm and led me back toward the doorway.

The crew was clearing the deck now: littered with ugly black corpses, glistening with an oily sheen in the moonlight, half festooned with scraps of sailcloth. The deck was slick with black ichor in places, but buckets of clean seawater rinsed it clean. There were only a few injured sailors, and only one death, although Chuang mentioned another might not make it to dawn. The man from the crow’s-nest was nowhere to be found: lost at sea, or dead.

Britomartis was stomping across the deck, hefting black bodies over the rail with abandon and astonishing energy.

“The battle seems to have been very one-sided...” I looked at Chuang.

“They have to fly, after all... light bones, light bodies. They are pretty miserable at fighting armed human beings,” he explained. “Which makes it all the stranger...”

“Dear Iphis, at last I’ve found you!” shrieked Britomartis, pushing a body aside and grasping a half-hidden sword from underneath.

She swung the scimitar in an arc, delighted to have recovered an old friend she thought gone forever. She whacked through an outstretched bat-wing and kicked it overboard with glee.

“Poor Ianthe is lost forever in the sea, but at least I still have you! And you shall be a pair once again, my love!”

Chuang guided me through the doorway inside the cabin.

“I think our meal will be somewhat delayed tonight,” he said quietly. “The crew will be busy for some time cleaning up and repairing the ship. And you would be advised to lie down.”

He was certainly right about lying down. I took his advice and fell asleep immediately.

* * *

I awoke with a bang.

Literally.

Chuang had opened the shutters on the windows, and the crack of wooden slats slamming into the hull of the ship was enough to wake the dead. Or at least to wake me.

And my headache was gone! Not the bump, unfortunately, but at least my head didn’t threaten to split in half anymore.

“And good morning to you, Master Chuang.”

“Good morning, Master Richard! Time to rise! It is well past dawn and the King awaits!”

It seemed someone had undressed me, and dressed my head, while I slept. I felt almost human again, and although I sorely missed the luxury of a hot shower, I dressed and washed my face in the basin.

“Any chance of grabbing a bite to eat first? Dinner last night didn’t work out too well.”

“It will be a working breakfast, never fear.”

* * *

The room was a little more crowded this time. The four of us—me, the King, Chuang, and Britomartis—were there, along with the Captain, his first mate (a muscle-packed dynamo named Cher, of all things, and woe to the sailor who tried to sass her), and a few of the crewmembers serving bacon-and-eggs with coffee and apparently fresh-baked bread.

The aroma itself was good enough to eat, but fortunately after I sat down a plate appeared in front of me stacked with everything good. And a mug of steaming-hot coffee. I kept one ear open and dug in.

“But why over the sea, of all places, and why take Britomartis at all?” repeated Kuranes. He did not look happy. “How could they even find us?”

“I can’t fathom why the night-gaunts would be involved at all!” said Bulltop. “Blind as they are they’re pretty useless in a fight, and they didn’t even bother to wait until it was dark! Of course we cut them to ribbons!”

“Even blind, they could have heard the booming of our sails quite a distance downwind, and found us that way” mused Chuang, “but the sea is vast. They must have known where to look for us, and whoever asked them must have had a very convincing reason or they wouldn’t venture out over the sea at all.”

“They should know better than to bother me on my own ship!” bellowed Bulltop in a growl that rattled the plates. I guessed that was his usual voice after all. “Close to three dozen of the night-spawn left fouling my deck and for what? Britomartis is certainly a worthy warrior, but what makes her so important that it’s worth three dozen of them?”

“Are we certain that was their purpose?”

“You think differently, Master Chuang?” probed the King. “They attacked everyone on the deck, but only tried to take her.”

“I find it strange that they were able to identify and snatch her, my Lord. After all, they have no eyes in their blank visages, relying on touch and sound. And although she sprang to your defense, she spoke not a single word.” Chuang was leaning back, seemingly examining the grain of the ceiling as he spoke.

“That is true, sire,” she agreed. “When they attacked I was standing silent and still at the rail, and I don’t believe I spoke a single word until they picked me up.”

I swallowed the last chunk of bacon, and raised my hand.

“I spoke.”

All of a sudden everyone was looking at me.

“She saved my life with her first stroke, before she jumped to protect you, and I tried to thank her. I doubt she heard me, but surely the night-gaunts did.”

“So they may have been after you!” The King’s fist pounded the table, coffee sloshing and knives jumping all about. “I’ve been on the road quite a bit lately and not once have these creatures even approached me, but as soon as you arrive...”

“I can’t imagine why. I have no idea why I’m here in the first place, and considering how useless I was during the fight last night I can’t believe I’m much of a threat to anyone.”

“Yes, why weren’t you armed?” asked Bulltop, frowning. “Not even a dagger!?”

“I... I’m an old man, and wouldn’t know how to use a sword in the first place...” I stammered, only to be cut off by Chuang.

“Master Richard, I think you have forgotten where you are.” He waggled his fingers to call one of the crewmen in closer. “Bring a mirror, young man.”

My face in the mirror was not the wrinkled, white-stubbled, balding man I saw every morning... it was me, the me of half a century ago, when I first visited the Dreamlands... Hardly the physique of a warrior, but a healthy, slim, broad-shouldered young man you might expect to see at university, or—as was my pleasure at the time—swimming.

“...My goodness... I had no idea... That’s...”

“I think Master Richard needs a sword, my King,” spoke up Britomartis. “I will take it upon myself to arm and train him.”

“Not even a dagger!” The King laughed, and speared the last chunk of bacon from his plate with his own bejeweled dagger. “Incredible!”

He wiped the dagger off on his napkin (he was, after all, a proper Cornwall man) and returned it to its sheath. “Are we all finished?”

A chorus of ayes, with a grunt or two mixed in, answered him, and breakfast was cleared away, leaving the table bare. Bulltop promptly slammed a roll of parchment onto it with a bang, spreading it out to reveal a map of the Celephaïs Strait and surrounding regions. He pointed.

“We are roughly here, due north of Lhosk. We should reach Hlanith tomorrow morning, if all goes well. The question is, do we expect things to go well?”

Chuang pursed his lips, staring at the map as if he expected it to reply.

The King spoke first: “I cannot fathom why the night-gaunts should attack that way, and have to admit it may happen again today. Or tonight.”

“Your sea-monster is unavailable?” asked Britomartis.

“Uruk-Ulu? It is a god, and while I was able to bend things to my will once, I cannot be sure it will be possible a second time. Even in dreams it is oft difficult to do as one wills.”

He turned to Chuang.

“You’ve been very quiet, Master Chuang. What are your thoughts?”

“Unclear. I have to admit the thought of another attack by dozens of night-gaunts is an unpleasant thought, but if we land at Lhosk we will have to trek west along the coast, cross the Zuro River and through the Karthian Hills to reach Hlanith. From the Hills we could also strike due west to the Oukranos, and upstream to Mt. Thurai, but that would take us very close, or even through, the Enchanted Wood... and the Zoogs are already on edge about something.”

“The Zoogs and I were once on very good terms indeed,” said the King, “and as far as I know are yet. Still, the Council has called Zoogmoot for something. We really need to talk to Shingan, but if we can meet with the Council on the way...”

He tapped the map with his forefinger, thinking.

“Captain Stormalong? What are your thoughts?”

“I’ll never run from night-gaunts, and don’t fear their faceless gibbers! But they have splintered my foremast and torn my canvas to ribbons, and I’m running on half sail now. I would rather refit in Lhosk, whether you leave me there or not.”

“Anyone else?” The King looked around the room, each person shaking their head in turn. “So be it. Captain, to Lhosk!”

“Aye, sir!” The Captain stood and stomped out of the room, bellowing orders as he left.

“And you, Master Richard! You must accompany Britomartis and equip yourself!”

“With pleasure, King Kuranes,” I said, bowing, and followed her out of the room. I heard Chuang and the King talking quietly behind me but could not make out their words.

“Your scimitar is a work of art, Britomartis,” I said, falling into step next to her. “Where can I get one?”

She laughed: a beautiful paean that could have launched a thousand ships.

“Oh, Master Richard, you are so funny sometimes!” She covered her mouth with a hand as she giggled once again, dimples showing. “You don’t buy good swords, you have them made to fit you. And unless you are either very talented or very silly, you want a sword you can actually use, not one that looks pretty!”

“Oh... um, sorry...”

I wasn’t doing a very good job of impressing her. I fell silent, trying to think of something intelligent to say.

“I think you’d best start with a simple straight blade, light enough to wield easily,” she mused. “Maybe a broadsword, or a rapier... after you get familiar with using a sword and build up some strength maybe we can try to find something that suits you better... I learned on a Castillon myself, but for many years used mostly a lance from horseback... Here, I later adopted the longsword for the greater reach. And now I use this pair of... Oh, damn! And now lovely Ianthe is lost!”

“A lance...? That sounds like something out of King Arthur!” I laughed.

“My goodness, Master Richard, have you never read The Faerie Queene!? Outside the Queene Herself, King Arthur is one of the most important personages of all!”

“...The Faerie Queene? Edmund Spenser?” I struggled for a moment. “Of course! Britomartis! That’s why your name is so familiar! I had to wade through that book in high school! And Belphoebe, too!”

“Dear Belphoebe, my beloved wife. I cannot wait to see her once again...”

“Your... wife...? You’re married?”

“Oh, of course. Knights in those days were not quite as chivalrous as the literature suggests, Spenser not withstanding... The two of us were hardly the sort of demure princesses he imagined, and as it turned out we had quite a bit in common with each other. Such as defeating overly boastful men in combat!”

She laughed again, and slapped her thigh.

I slapped myself, mentally. Of course she was married! And of course to Belphoebe! And of course I had been an idiot for trying to pick her up! She must think me just another sexist man...

“My apologies, you’re not wearing a ring,” I mumbled, trying to avoid looking even more the fool.

“We certainly couldn’t have been married in a Christian ceremony, and we are hardly in a Christian land... And even ‘Leap rogue, and jump whore, And married be forevermore’ doesn’t quite apply. Fortunately, there are many alternatives here in the Dreamlands! Sappho says using rings to mark women as property is silly and insulting, and I must say I agree with her.”

“Sappho is here, too?”

“Oh, yes. In fact, she has been visiting more frequently of late. Things must be quite interesting back in your realm!”

“Gender is no longer as important as it once was, or even defined as stringently. And the concept of marriage is quite inclusive, in places.”

“How many centuries has it taken, I wonder!” She shook her head, and took a key from her vest. “Here we are.”

She unlocked the door, and pushed it open to reveal... an arena!?

“Wait a minute. Where’s the ship!?”

“Oh, don’t be silly. Of course we’re on the ship. This is just for practice!” She giggled again. “Stand up straight for a minute.”

She looked me up and down, like a butcher deciding where to cut. It suddenly dawned on me that she was estimating how big a sword I’d be able to use.

“Yes... I think about a one-meter broadsword would be good...” She selected a sword from the rack on the wall, and turned.

“How’s this one, Master Richard? I think it’s a good length and weight for you.”

She thrust the sword forward, hilt first, and instinctively I grabbed it.

It fit perfectly. And I couldn’t recall ever having held a sword before...

“That’s... weird!” I said, hefting the sword, and moving it back and forth to judge its weight. On a sudden impulse, I spun it in the air, hilt and blade spinning and flashing in the torchlight, and suddenly snatched it back, grasping the hilt flawlessly.

I didn’t need to even think about it.

I knew swords.

And I knew, without even wondering how I knew, that what I really wanted was a sword even longer than this: “I need a longsword,” I said, flipping the broadsword in the air and catching it by the blade before handing it back to her hilt-first.

Britomartis laughed again.

“I do so love the Dreamlands, Master Richard!”

She pointed to a rack on the other side of the door, and sure enough, it held three.

I tried all three, finally settling on the one with Sol Invictus inscribed onto the blade.

Since I also needed a shorter weapon for close-in work, I selected a nice dagger with a solid cross, about thirty centimeters long. It felt good in my left, and partially balanced the heavier longsword.

I bowed, one arm outstretched toward the waiting arena.

“Mi’lady? Shall we?”

And we did.

* * *

The Tuscarora limped into Lhosk late that afternoon.

There had been no sign of the night-gaunts all day, and the crew had largely cleaned up the damage—and mess—of the previous night by the time we drifted into the harbor on a weak wind.

It was raining, of course, as it often does in Lhosk, but there was still light enough to make out the twin towers guarding the entrance. The Captain took the wheel himself, shouting orders in quick succession to guide the massive ship to a smooth, bump-free stop next to a particular dock.

As the hawsers flew through the air to the men waiting on the dock, an enormously broad man in flowing, embroidered robes strode up to greet us.

“Captain Stormalong! Welcome back!” he called, bowing deeply. “You haven’t called here for quite some time!”

“Chóng Lán, you old scoundrel! You’ve nothing better to do but walk the docks in search of honest merchants to defraud?”

“I am an honest merchant myself, Bulltop! Why, I cannot recall a single instance of a customer complaining of a deal that was not exactly as agreed upon in advance!”

“Aye, the ones likely to complain no doubt had their throats cut before the words were out of their mouths!” Bulltop roared with laughter, and leapt over the railing to the dock, landing with a boom that sent the gulls flapping and squawking in alarm.

“You damage my teak dock and I’ll be charging your account a princely sum, Bulltop!”

“Nonsense! Any dock that cannot hold a healthy man’s weight is rotten, and no fault of mine!” He reached out with one giant paw to slap Chóng Lán on the back, drawing him in close for a hug. Given the size of both men—Bulltop a giant, Chóng more spherical—it was unmistakably a bearhug.

“How have you been, Chóng?” he asked, in a slightly quieter, almost conspiratorial voice that couldn’t have carried more than several hundred meters. “Strange things are happening.”

“Aye, here as well, Bulltop,” responded Chóng, his brow furrowed. “Two ships lost without a trace this season, and on well-known routes thought safe.”

“The crews?”

“Gone, all of them. Not a single plank found since.” Chóng shook his head. “I fear the Bad Times are coming back.... and Reed appeared in the sky last night, at sea.”

“Ahem... yes, we must talk of that, and other things,” said Bulltop, looking almost embarrassed. “I’m afraid we had somewhat to do with that...”

“Why do interesting events always seem to happen when you’re around, Bulltop?”

Chóng shouted some instructions to the men on the dock, speaking some language I didn’t know, and they began talking to the ship’s crew about something—probably dickering for repairs, I figured.

Chóng and Bulltop began walking down the dock toward the city proper. Chóng looked Asian, maybe Chinese, I thought. He was wearing some sort of flowing robe, covered with extremely detailed embroidery of bird and flowers. At Bulltop’s gesture, Britomartis and I fell in behind them, but the King and Chuang were nowhere to be seen. I noticed three very quiet, well-armed guards—two men, one woman—were spaced out around Chóng, trying to watch everyone and everything on the docks while also keeping an eye on us.

Chóng was a most cautious man, it seemed.

The dock was made of teak, and that much teak alone would be worth an enormous sum, but in addition it was covered with minute carvings of every sort. It seemed almost sacrilege to walk over it, but I noticed that somehow the muck from our boots seemed to sort of scuttle off into the sea instead of merely being crushed into crevices and holes. The dock was keeping itself clean!

Suddenly the rain stopped—we had entered the market. The drumbeats of the drizzle on the crimson tarpaulins overhead reverberated through the space, but underneath their rumble came the dynamic buzz of merchants hawking their wares, geese honking, cattle lowing, dogs barking, cartwheels rattling, and the sights and sounds of goods of every description.

And the scents!

I could immediately identify ginger and garlic and cinnamon and turmeric, but as we walked they assaulted my nose one after another, a flood of aromas so fast and powerful I lost track and merely enjoyed the fragrant feast... and I was getting hungry, now that I noticed.

Chóng noticed me eyeing a skewer of lamb and apples, and nudged Bulltop.

“Don’t fool with that slop from the market, lad! There’s a proper spread awaiting us!”

I turned to ask a question and noticed a middle-aged woman cutting across in front of us. Dressed in a long robe and veil, only her eyes could be seen.

“Radishes! Delicious fresh radishes!” she shouted, pulling a small cart festooned with radishes of all sizes and colors, from tiny red jewels the size of my thumbnail to pale white monstrosities the size of my head. Just at that instant I happened to notice her fingers flash through a complicated gesture as she walked, and as I was wondering what it might have been, Britomartis suddenly announced “I think I’ll buy a radish, Master Richard.”

She waved me to keep walking and stopped to talk to the women. She did indeed buy a few radishes, but I couldn’t imagine why she would want to.

“What was that all about?” I asked as she took her place by my side once again, a handful of radishes drooping down from her hand.

“You saw her hand signal, too, I think,” she said.

I nodded.

“She’s a Kingfisher.”

“A what?”

“A Kingfisher... she works for Mistress Mochizuki, collecting information for the King from throughout the many realms of the Dreamlands. The Mistress herself once invited me to become one of her Kingfishers, but skulking in the bedroom is not one of my favorite pastimes...”

She giggled again.

“Why Kingfisher?”

“They watch for ripples in the water, which can reveal things hidden before they emerge into the light. And they work for the King, of course.”

“What did she tell you?”

“Nothing. She just asked if we needed to meet with the Mistress. And yes, we do.”

There was some tall, official-looking building ahead, with a cluster of guards in front. Chóng ignored them, but I noticed that they all inclined their heads as he passed.

Ahead of us rose a stone wall. A massive gate, made of enormous beams of some pitch-black wood, slowly creaked open as Chóng approached, and several armed guards—again, very Asian in appearance—stepped forward, bowing to welcome Chóng back to what we obviously his home.

It was almost quiet inside the wall; the hubbub of the marketplace was dampened to a low background murmur, and the sounds of singing birds and the small stream flowing nearby were a welcome relief. Half a dozen men and women stood waiting in front of a wooden building, apparently servants of some kind; none were armed or armored. I noted that while there was no apparent roof above us, not even the red tarpaulins of the marketplace, it was not raining. I couldn’t tell if I could see the sky or not, but that blurry mass above my head certainly had the right color for rainclouds. Magic?

It was a simple, one-story building, the lower half of the walls covered with vertical boards, and the upper halves done in an off-white stucco of some sort. I could see most of the building as I walked, and it was certainly not that big—perhaps not even big enough for all those servants and us as well!

The servants all bowed as Chóng passed and entered, and stayed in that position as we followed. Bulltop, not surprisingly, had to duck to enter, and as I passed I felt my hair brush the doorframe.

We were in a narrow corridor built entirely of stone. I glanced up and saw that there was apparently an overlooking balcony above Ahead of me the corridor turned sharply, but directly in front of me was a stone wall with cross-shaped holes cut into it… exactly the sort of arrow slits one would see in castle defenses, allowing arrows to be shot at invading troops from a protected position. Which meant, it occurred to me, that we were in a killing zone…

We turned the corner and there was another small door, open to allow us to pass.

My ears popped; a sudden change in air pressure. I stopped in shock.

Britomartis, right behind me, almost bumped into me, but somehow managed to step to the side with a rustle of leather.

In front of us was a lush forest, with a river flowing to our right, and a road of reddish interlocked blocks leading from the doorway toward a huge pavilion ahead. It stood three stories tall, multicolored tiles on the flaring several rooves shining brilliantly in the... sun? Why was the sun shining?

Hell, what is all this? We’re in some little house in Lhosk, aren’t we? And a river!?

“Surely you’re not surprised by this sort of thing anymore, Master Richard!” came a laugh from my side, as Britomartis pushed me to start walking. “This is Factor Chóng’s humble residence, one of several I know of in the Dreamlands.”

I felt like I’d stumbled into Oz.

* * *

The palace was a piece of art. Not only was it itself a work of beauty, a design modelled after ancient Chinese architecture of the finest quality, but it had been executed with materials the Chinese Emperors of old would have drooled at. Exotic woods, marbled floors of swirling pastel shades, shimmering tapestries that would not have been out of place in the National Gallery of Art.

There were servants everywhere, and what looked like off-duty men-at-arms. None of them had swords or bows, but daggers were evident. I guessed a dagger was just an implement of daily life, though, not really a weapon.

As we proceeded down the way, I noticed a small farm on the other side of the river, with a tier of rice paddies climbing up the slopes of the steep hills behind. A stone bridge arched over the river up ahead.

My eyes busy trying to capture everything, I turned my head slightly to ask Britomartis “Where are we?”

“This is his personal realm in Lhosk.”

“But it’s huge!”

She giggled.

“Well, of course! He has a lot of men to care for, and their families, and he really needed the space to build his palace. Pretty, isn’t it?”

“But... I mean... it can’t all fit!

“It takes quite a lot of energy to birth a personal realm,” she explained. “I suspect he actually found this, or bought it, or stole it, and has just kept it since.” She paused, then continued contemplatively, “I once thought I wanted one myself, to remind me of my England, but I realized that I’m no longer that person. Malecasta awoke many things in me, and once I realized why I felt the need to run around dressed as a man flaunting my huge lance...”

Still in awe of the magnificence in front of me, I managed to avoid saying anything silly in response to her comment.

“So that corridor was just protecting the entrance…”

“Yes. Portals can be created, at a tremendous cost in energy, or destroyed rather more easily, but they cannot be opened or closed like normal doors. Once open, they remain open.” She smiled. “And Factor Chóng takes his safety quite seriously!”

Factor Chóng stood awaiting us in a spacious room floored with the same beautifully carved teak as the docks, walls decorated with hanging scrolls of Chinese calligraphy, some of only a handful of characters sprawling across the paper like slops of a painter’s brush, other solid blocks of tiny, precisely drawn glyphs aligned as neatly as an Excel spreadsheet. Small birds flitted about, tweeting and singing, and the large, low table in the center was festooned with flowers. Chóng bowed graciously, announcing himself: “Chóng of Lhosk.”

There was a silence, until a sharp elbow from Britomartis suggested that I needed to announce myself. Everyone else had already met…

“Uh, Richard, of uh, Celephaïs.”

He motioned to us to sit; Bulltop at once crashed his bulk onto the pillows at the head of the table, under the enormous scroll on the wall, and waved us forward.

“Sit, Master Richard. Britomartis, you too! Take a seat anywhere!”

I was at a loss as to where I should sit, until I noticed Chóng moving to sit on the right, leaving us only the left end and directly in front of Bulltop.

Britomartis sat opposite Bulltop, and I opposite Chóng. I noticed she knelt on her knees, and copied suit.

Chóng clapped, and a bevy of women came rustling out, robes of all the colors of the rainbow swirling and flashing as they adorned the table with an array of dishes of food, flagons and cups, chopsticks and more. They spoke not a word, completing their work with dazzling speed and grace and total silence.

“I welcome you to Penglai,” said Chóng, voice echoing in the near-silence. “I welcome you to my home. I welcome you to my heart.”

It sounded like some sort of ritual.

He picked up a small silver goblet and looked to us expectantly.

Bulltop immediately snatched his up, the tiny goblet almost invisible beneath his sausage fingers.

I picked up my own, noticing it was filled with a blue liquid.

Chóng raised his goblet high: “To the Dreamlands!”

“To the Dreamlands!”

It was delicious, and after burning a way down my throat set my appetite aflame.

“And now we eat!” roared Bulltop with a laugh, stabbing an enormous chunk of meat from one of the plates with his dagger and cramming it into his mouth. “Where’s my ale, Chóng!?”

Nobody mentioned the night-gaunts, or Reed, the King, or anything else of import as we ate, which was wonderful as it made it possible for us to enjoy an amazing feast of largely unrecognizable foods, lubricated with a never-ending succession of wines and other drinks of every description. Obviously used to playing the host, Chóng regaled us with a succession of tales of the Dreamlands, and some of his adventures along the Silk Road: a wonderful mix of stories that covered the whole spectrum from eerie to humorous and even downright pornographic.

Bulltop roared with delight when one of the servants showed up with a small keg stamped “BURTON ALE.” He grabbed it from her and demanded a “man-sized mug, for grog’s sake!” which she held out silently. It could hold a liter at least, I was sure. He sloshed it full and drank it down in a single breath, then, holding it still in the air near his mouth, gave a china-rattling sigh of contentment, and slammed it down on the table.

“Ah, that was mighty fine, Chóng, mighty fine indeed. Now that my thirst has been properly quenched I can finally do some serious eating!”

After the banquet, when even Bulltop admitted he had had enough “to last me for a few hours, at least, until I can find a proper meal,” trays of fruit and cups of a hot, bitter blue tea appeared. I noticed that Chóng had also begun smoking from a long, very thin pipe, and though I couldn’t see what was in the tiny bowl, it didn’t smell like any tobacco I had ever encountered.

Chóng broke the contemplative silence.

“I had word from the King as to your goal, and will provide you with transport and a proper escort in the morn. I would very much like to hear the details of your encounter with the night-gaunts, however... it troubles me that they should attack a ship at sea for any reason, let alone for no apparent reason.”

We provided him with a complete description of the attack, adding my theory that they had actually been after me and not Britomartis.

“As I mentioned earlier, a number of ships have vanished of late, whether to night-gaunts or other causes. I’d venture that yours was destined to join their number, except for your spirited defense,” mused Chóng. “I think the time has come to add archers to my crews... and a healthy supply of arrows.”

He sipped again, lost in thought.

“Ah, Britomartis,” he suddenly called, “there is a visitor here to see you. She arrived only shortly after your party.”

He reached out one long, neatly manicured finger and tapped a tiny silver bell on the table before him. One of the servants immediately slid open the door to our room just wide enough to peer inside and he motioned with his hand, waving him—or someone—inside.

With a rustle of robes, an Asian woman slipped in, promptly kneeling just inside the door. She bowed her head to Chóng, hands crossed on the floor in front of her. It all looked very Japanese to me...

“Rise, Mochizuki-sama, and join us,” invited Chóng, gesturing to a vacant spot at the table next to Bulltop. She rose, and drifted—I couldn’t actually see her feet, and her motion was so smooth and silent it looked more like floating than walking—over. She was wearing either a long robe or wide, flowing pants; it was impossible to tell. They were a dark blue with some gray pattern woven into the design, but I couldn’t make it out clearly.

“Saké!” called out Chóng, and a servant promptly appeared holding a tray with a small ceramic pitcher and two tiny cups. He set it down in front of Chóng, who lifted one cup and waited for him to pour it full of crystal-clear saké. Chóng held the brimming cup delicately in the fingertips of both hands, leaning forward to hand it to the new woman, who accepted it with a bow.

The servant then filled Chóng’s own cup, and he raised his cup in a silent toast to the woman, who bowed again. They drank it down together, quite slowly in spite of the relatively small size of the cups.

Another ceremony I didn’t understand.

Their cups clinked faintly as they were set down onto the table.

She turned to me, bowed gracefully although seated, and announced herself as “Mochizuki of Shinano.” I announced myself to her in turn.

“Mistress Mochizuki, it is a pleasure to meet you once again. I was unaware you would come,” said Britomartis, as if ceremony were over and it was time to talk again. “Have you met with the King, then?”

“Commander Britomartis,” she nodded in recognition. “Yes, I spoke with him earlier, and am aware of your mission. I relayed to him some information of my own which bears upon it. And your own tale is most intriguing.”

Chóng nodded, and pointed at me with his chin.

“You heard Master Richard’s tale?”

“Yes, Factor Chóng, thank you for allowing me to listen in.” She laughed. “I would have heard it all later anyway, but second-hand...”

She turned to face me, her eyes burning directly into my own.

“Master Richard. May the Force be with you.”

I burst out laughing; I couldn’t restrain myself.

“Where in the world did you pick that phrase up!?” I asked, smiling. “Surely that’s not used here in the Dreamlands, is it?”

“Is it not appropriate for you, then?” she smiled. “My apologies... it is so difficult keeping track of all these changes.”

Britomartis looked at her, then me, then back at her, obviously at a loss.

“It’s a common phrase in his realm, Britomartis,” said Mochizuki, noticing his confusion. “And surprisingly enough it seems to have spawned a new, and quite energetic, shadow realm here in the Dreamlands. Fortunately not interconnected to this one, but that was part of what I spoke with the King about.”

“The melting?” asked Chóng.

“Yes. The realms are beginning to run together where once boundaries were impassable. Kingfishers report a rising number of sightings of things that should not be here at all... the situation is accelerating, and may well be linked to your journey. And Master Richard.”

All of a sudden Luke and Leia seemed rather trivial.

Britomartis leaned over to speak to me quietly.

“Mistress Mochizuki and I have worked together many times over the years. We have a number of... interests... in common.”

Mochizuki bared her teeth at Britomartis in a smile that suggested they shared private memories. Britomartis smiled back quite warmly.

“She worked for some Japanese warlord about the same time I was toppling knights in England... and she was good enough at her job that she’s kept right at it here. And elsewhere.”

Britomartis accented her comment by raising her glass to Mochizuki, who merely nodded her head a few millimeters in acknowledgement, and commented dryly, “We hardly ever skulk, though.”

Britomartis laughed. “Is there nothing you do not hear!? Well, skulk or not, do you bring word from the King?” asked Britomartis.

“Not a message, but a request. He urges you to depart Lhosk as soon as preparations are complete, and head for Hlanith, where he will join you.” She turned to Chóng. “Factor Chóng?”

He nodded.

“All is ready. I received word from the King yesterday. It will take a month to reach Hlanith by land, but the Tuscarora demands a new mast. If the seas are unsafe—and they seem to be—then by land would seem the lesser of two evils.” He nodded to himself. “The deinos are ready, you will be accompanied by a packmaster and a score of raptors.”

“Deinos? Raptors?” I wondered aloud. I had no idea what they were talking about.

“Dinosaurs, lad, dinosaurs!” bellowed Bulltop, punctuating his comment with a thunderous belch.

“The deinos are large riding animals, and the nest will protect us from unwelcome guests. As well as hunting fresh game and an occasional foot,” explained Britomartis.

Chóng laughed.

“My raptors are very well trained, Master Richard, I assure you. The packmaster can dance them through hoops of fire, need be.”

“Hopefully we can avoid that, at least,” smiled Mochizuki. “I will accompany you as far as the Zuro River. I must travel upstream a bit from there before I can join you once again.”

“Will you also need transport, Mistress?”

“Thank you, Chóng, but no. We will ride our horses, and leave the marshes under the Karthian Hills to your scaly mounts.”

Chóng stood, and waved his hand toward a set of doors to the side, which kneeling women promptly slid open.

“Tomorrow will be a long day, I suspect, and the start of a longer journey. It is seven grand dozen kilometers to the River Zuro, and another dozen dozen after crossing. Tonight, rest. I have prepared baths and sleeping quarters for you.”

I calculated in my head, since they calculated most things in twelves. A grand dozen was one forty-four, so seven grand dozen would be... almost exactly one thousand kilometers!

We stood and thanked him for the banquet, and followed the women down the hallway.

As we walked, more women joined us, until there was one next to each of us, guiding us individually to our own rooms. Mistress Mochizuki was nowhere to be seen, but Britomartis and Bulltop seemed quite at ease. Especially Bulltop, who had somehow gotten his hand tangled in his guide’s robe.

I decided it was none of my business, and walked through the curtain my own guide held open for me. Britomartis had already entered her own room, her guide following after.

It was a simple room with reed flooring and sleeping mat already laid out. My pack was standing to the side, apparently untouched, but a low table held a basket of fruit and a bottle of something. I sniffed. Wine!

“The bath is through there,” my guide said, pointing to a hanging curtain at the back. A robe was hanging on the wall next to it. “I am at your service,” she said, kneeling, hands crossed over her lap.

I had a pretty good idea what kind of service she had in mind, and Bulltop had made it abundantly clear that it wasn’t uncommon, but I wasn’t much in the mood. It had been a long day, I had already had a huge meal with drink, and that nugget on my head still throbbed.

I thanked her and said I could manage to bathe and sleep all by myself.

I changed into the robe and stepped through the curtain to find a huge stone bath, probably the size of an Olympic swimming pool, but with ornate dragons spouting (hot!) water. Bulltop and Britomartis were already there, with a number of other people. I recognized one man from a scar across the bridge of his nose: one of the guards at the front gate.

The bath was stunningly beautiful but not ostentatious... it was framed, so to speak, in very dark granite that turned almost black when wet, and the rest done mostly in some smooth, polished stone that might have been marble. It was mostly creamy white with streaks of brown, and contrasted with the black stone edging the baths perfectly.

The walls of the room were done in mosaics, with a fantastic underwater scene on one wall, and a mountain and forest masterpiece on the other.

There were several baths, all with steady streams of water flowing through... I tried a few, and discovered that there was a selection from quite cold to quite hot, although the largest bath—a pool, really—was comfortably hot. Not surprisingly, it was also where most of the people gathered.

Steps ran the entire length on the bath on one side, making it easy to enter or leave. Or sit, as it turned out, because the majority of people relaxing in the bath were sitting on the step that best suited their mood: some only dangled their legs in the water, others sat so deep only their heads protruded.

Because of the way the water flowed into the bath, it was quite hot at one end, cooling down gradually toward the other. Most people seemed to prefer the hot end.

People talked quietly, soaked, drank cold tea, and generally relaxed after a hard day. Except Bulltop, of course... he put on quite an exhibition, splashing a few women, arm-wrestling with guards, roaring with laughter, once throwing a man into the bath after a noisy but apparently quite friendly argument then jumping in to hug him, and of course still drinking liters at a gulp. Fortunately the bath was big enough for him to stake out his own domain without unduly bothering the rest of us.

The hot bath and my general fatigue soon had me drifting, until someone tapped my shoulder.

“Master Richard?”

Britomartis’ smiling face looked down on me from the edge of the bath.

“I suspect that is not the most comfortable place to sleep... or the safest, unless you are perhaps a potamoi in disguise...”

I laughed.

“No, no river god, I’m afraid. Just plain tired.”

I heaved myself out of the bath and waited for my head to stop spinning. I’d been in too long. Britomartis reached out a hand and helped me up, pointing to the snake symbol marking my doorway.

“Thank you for rousing me,” I said. “I think my sleeping mat is calling.”

“And will you be sleeping alone, Master Richard?” she asked, with an overly serious expression.

I glanced at her, wondering what she really wanted to ask.

She laughed, and shook her damp hair side to side with a smile. “No, Master Richard. I’d have no qualms about sharing your bed, were it winter, but no man since Artegall has shared my body, and none shall.”

I stumbled off to my room, and found the sleeping mat warm, soft, and quite lonely.

* * *

I woke with a start, the clangs of an ear-shattering bell shuddering through the building.

People were running down the hall, shouting, banging weapons.

I hurriedly laced my boots, grabbed my sword and looked out to see everyone rushing toward the back of the building, arms at ready. The damned bell was still clanging away somewhere above.

Britomartis burst forth from her own room; our eyes met, and she nodded. I joined her and we raced toward the commotion.

The hallway opened up into a broad patio partially enclosed by a waist-high stucco wall, with a pair of carved dragons flanking the entrance. Between the dragons, dancing in the light of the flaring torches, lay a body. One of the guards ran toward it, sword drawn and searching for an enemy, feeling with a pulse.

A shot rang out!

Here!? A shot?

Even as I gaped, the guard collapsed, hand to chest in astonishment, then folding down onto the ground without a sound.

I grabbed Britomartis and pulled her down, hopefully out of sight of any marksman behind the low wall.

“What was that?”

“A gun of some kind. Why is there a gun here?”

“A gun!? Here? In Chóng’s personal realm!?” Even in the unreliable torchlight I could tell she paled. “We must destroy it quickly, or else...”

I was about to ask ‘or else what?’ when another shot rang out, followed by a bellow of rage.

“Show your face, you scum!”

Bulltop!

I looked up to see Bulltop standing in the doorway, half in shadow, but lit from behind by the torches flaring in the hallway. Dressed only in a loincloth and a sword, he looked the very wargod.

He twisted and toppled sideways as another shot sounded, and the sword clanged to the paving stones. He slumped against the wall, right hand pressed to his other shoulder, trying in vain to stop the blood welling out from under his fingers, black in the dimness.

A dark figure rushed to him, bent low, and dragged him behind the protecting wall. He huddled over Bulltop, some sort of long cloth in hand. Bulltop breathed heavily, grunting with pain as the other man cinched the cloth tight.

He’d have to wait until it was safe before he could get any better treatment... I hoped they had the bleeding under control, because if that shot had opened an artery in his shoulder he wouldn’t have long.

Suddenly, someone grasped my arm from behind and a voice spoke into my ear.

“Master Richard? Do you know what range his weapon has?”

It was Chóng.

“There’s no way of telling without seeing it. It’s impossible to tell from the sound alone, I’m afraid, and my knowledge of weapons is limited to one very specific war.”

“Damn.”

He thought for a moment.

“That’s five of my people down already. And now Bulltop. Even in the darkness it will be difficult to get close enough.”

“Shall I take care of it, Factor Chóng?”

It was Mochizuki. I had no idea where she had come from or how long she had been there, but there she was, right next to me on the other side.

“Mistress, can you? We have to clean this up quickly.”

“Of course.”

“Alive if possible, but at any rate quickly!”

She whistled a few notes at nobody in particular, and then just lay there with the rest of us.

Chóng motioned to the rest of his people to just wait, and then the sputtering and cracking of the torches was the only thing we could hear.

Suddenly three shots rang out in the woods in the darkness, and something fell through the branches to the ground with a crash. A few more crashes, a few unintelligible shouts, and silence returned.

A short whistle echoed from the woods, and Mochizuki stood up, straightening her long robe. How did she manage to move around so quietly in that thing, I wondered.

“It’s safe now. See to your injured!”

Chóng shouted, and all of a sudden the patio was full of men and women, some with torches and many with arms, spilling out into the surrounding woods.

Bulltop actually stood, throwing off the supporting arm of the guardsman at his side, and walked back into the building. I guess it hadn’t hit an artery after all, but a bullet in the shoulder can do an awful lot of damage.

Other people ran to the two fallen at the entrance; one still lived, and a monk came running from inside to staunch the wound.

I wanted to watch what he was doing, because I’d never seen a bullet wound treated with magic and herbs before, but suddenly I noticed that everyone was quiet, watching a black-garbed woman with an unconscious, uniformed man draped across her shoulders trotting towards us. A second, similarly clothed woman trotted alongside carrying what looked like an automatic rifle, and a some sort of backpack.

They stepped onto the patio, and in the torchlight I could see that the woman carrying the rifle—her eyes looked vaguely Asian, although most of her face was hidden in a scarf-like wrapping—was bleeding from a wound in her thigh. Another bullet wound.

Mochizuki motioned her to sit, and called for the monk.

I stepped forward to see if my experience with bullet wounds might help... it was a through-and-through, missing bones and arteries. She’d need time to recover, and depending what muscles the bullet had torn through she might be crippled, but judging from the way she’d trotted up here I guessed it was more messy than dangerous.

I explained as much to Mochizuki, who nodded.

“I thought as much. Not much different than a clean arrow wound, then.” She turned to the wounded woman and said something I didn’t understand. “Zhen-Yue was very lucky this time. We are not used to your guns.”

The soldier—I could see now that he was dressed like a Chinese PLA soldier, but had lost his cap somewhere—was dropped on the ground like a sack of potatoes. He didn’t seem to be wounded, but he was definitely unconscious. I suspected he’d have a heck of a headache when he woke up, too, judging by the sound his skull made hitting the flagstones.

Chóng had opened the backpack and was pulling everything out. He gave each item a quick glance, and either dropped it on the ground in front of him or tossed it to a man standing nearby with a huge metal hammer. The man caught each item—radio, watch, flashlight, and more—and smashed them into tiny fragments that could never be reused, let along identified.

He picked up the pistol and was about to toss it over when I stopped him.

“Let me see it first, Factor Chóng.”

I held out my hand.

He hesitated for only a moment, then handed it over. It was an automatic pistol not much different from what I’d used myself, but of some unfamiliar make. It had Chinese characters stamped on it.

“Chinese Army, I believe.”

I popped out the magazine and checked the chamber—it was empty—before handing it back.

“This man appears to be from my realm, and my time. But why here?”

“We will find out, Master Richard.” He tossed me the rifle as well, which I also cleared, then handed both weapons over to be smashed, and continued rooting through the man’s belongings. “Mistress Mochizuki, thank you for your assistance. I’ve lost three of my people to his man, and more injured, and I need some answers. When will he awaken?”

“I can awaken him at any time, Factor Chóng. Or he will awaken naturally in another six or eight hours. The problem, though, is whether or not we can talk to him... If he is indeed from Master Richard’s realm and time, and judging from his gear, then he speaks Chinese.”

“I am Chinese, Mistress,” Chóng interjected.

“Of course, Factor Chóng. But your Chinese is twenty centuries older than his.”

“Wake him. We must know.”

She tilted her head slightly, sort of cross between a bow and a nod, and took something from her sleeve. She grasped the man’s hair, pulling his head back and touched a tiny vial to his lips. He swallowed, took a huge breath, and his eyes flew open. With his arms tied behind his back there was little he could do to escape, but he tried to kick Mochizuki nonetheless. She effortlessly deflected the kick with the back of her hand, and speared the fingertips of her other hand into his thigh.

He gave a short scream of pain, then clamped his mouth shut and glared.

“He won’t use that leg again for a while, Factor Chóng,” she said, standing and putting whatever she had in her hand back into her sleeve. I realized that you could hide a great many things in a loose robe.

Chóng squatted down in front of the man, speaking quietly. I couldn’t understand a word of it and guessed it was Chinese. And it must have been ancient Chinese, because the captive didn’t seem to understand a word of it either. He rattled off something, and again. I assumed it was the standard “name, rank, and serial number,” or whatever the PLA equivalent was.

“What unit are you with?” asked Mochizuki, in English.

He just sat there, and repeated his identification. I’d guess he didn’t speak English, either.

Mochizuki spoke again, and I could tell she was speaking in Japanese this time. I didn’t know the language, but I’d heard it enough to recognize it.

His eyes shifted to her, his chin lifting slightly.

He understood Japanese.

“Let me see if I can get your answers, Factor Chóng,” she said. “We have a tongue in common after all.”

“Strip him,” commanded Chóng. “Then let Mistress Mochizuki have him.”

He stood up, eyes looking off into the forest, the struggling soldier seemingly forgotten on the ground next to him.

“Captain Gonville!”

A large man sporting a most impressive set of muttonchops stepped closer, holding something that looked very much like a saber.

“Take your men and make sure no one else has come through that portal. Kill or capture, I leave it up to you. Who was on duty last night as guard at the portal?”

“That would be Smythe,” replied Gonville.

“Bring him to me immediately. I need to find out how the soldier got here so easily, and managed to kill my people! Put a triple guard on the portal at once, with orders to kill.”

“Yessir, we’ll take care of it.”

Cockney! He was speaking with a Cockney accent!

Chóng turned back to watch Mochizuki’s captive as Gonville left.

She stood stock-still, eyes fixed on the nearly naked prisoner, watching as her black-clad team skillfully held him helpless and stripped him down.

One of them held out a small object.

“It was in his pants, in the small of his back,” he explained.

Mochizuki took it, studying it as she turned it over.

“Master Richard, do you know what this is? It appears to be a glass tile of some sort...”

Yes, I knew what it was.

It was a smartphone, screen black.

“It’s a smartphone, Mistress.”

“A smart what?”

“Um... a tiny radio, like.”

She smashed it to the paving stones, and gestured to the man with the hammer to crush it, which he did very thoroughly. Apple repair was not going to have much left to work with.

“Radios can be that small now?” she asked.

“Yes, and smaller. That is a new type of telephone, and radio, and many other things. It may also have been broadcasting its location to other smartphones.”

Chóng’s head snapped up.

“Its location? Somebody else may know where the portal is?”

“Yes, it’s possible, if the signal is strong enough to...”

I was talking to his shadow: Chóng was gone, racing back into the building.

Mochizuki smiled.

“Forgive him. He has to close the portal at once. A pity, considering how difficult it is to create them, but there’s no help for it. Fortunately he has more than one back door.”

She gestured to her minions once more, and they effortlessly hoisted the prisoner up and followed her back into the building. He was in for some unpleasant questioning, I realized, and decided I’d go check on Bulltop instead.

* * *

He was not a happy man.

Judging from the way he was cursing he wasn’t on the verge of death; I figured he was just expressing himself in his eloquent fashion. A few of the words were even new to me, and the Army had graced me with an extensive vocabulary over the years.

He was lying on a mat on the floor, the doctor kneeling next to him, face close to his shoulder. There was blood everywhere, but it looked more messy than arterial.

I wondered off-hand just what sort of doctor I was dealing with here; was this a physician, a witch doctor, an herbal doctor, a faith healer—and for that matter, here in the Dreamlands what exactly would “faith healer” mean, anyway?

The doctor sat up, a long, narrow set of chopsticks in this hand. He examined whatever he was holding closely, then dropped it only a pile of bloody rags next to him. It was the bullet, or at least a fragment, of course. That much was obvious, and since the man who shot it had been Chinese military, it was a safe assumption it packed one hell of a wallop. I was amazed that Bulltop hadn’t been toppled backwards instead of just collapsing the way he did.

“What did it hit?” I asked.

The doctor—a thin, elderly man wearing an Arab kaftan—didn’t look up from probing the wound again. I was astonished at how little blood was flowing... he must have blocked the flow somehow, although I couldn’t imagine what sort of tourniquet could be used on a shoulder.

“Seems to have just grazed his scapula, and then out the back... I don’t think there are any more fragments in there, but there’s nothing I can do about the bone damage right now.” He tilted his head and wiggled one of the chopsticks a little.

“Damn you, Ibn Sina! Must you torture me like that?” Bulltop exploded, but I noticed that he didn’t flinch away from the probe. “Just sew me up and be done with it!”

“Hush, child, or you’ll wet yourself fretting,” admonished the doctor, smiling. “Just a bit more and I’ll leave you to get back to your toys.”

“Oh, get on with your silliness. Wake me when you’re done.” Bulltop closed his eyes and gave a great sigh. I could see his teeth were clenched, though.

Ibn Sina finally sat back, and laid the chopsticks down. He picked up a soggy cloth bag, and pressed it tightly against the wound, wrapping Bulltop’s shoulder in a long bandage and cinching it tight.

“That will prevent any infection and hasten healing, Bulltop, but I’m afraid your shoulder may never recover completely. You were very lucky it only grazed the bone and didn’t shatter it, but any remaining bone fragments will probably hurt quite a bit.”

“For how long?” grumbled Bulltop, wincing as he tried moving his arm.

“Until it heals, Bulltop. And I’m afraid it may never heal.”

Bulltop grunted, content to sit where he was. Someone handed him a cup of water, which he sloshed down in a single gulp. He held out the cup for a refill.

“Have you no decent drinks here!? How can you expect me to feel any better when all you offer me to drink is this thin water?”

“Too bad the bullet didn’t graze that thick skull of yours, Bulltop, and knock some sense into you,” grinned Ibn Sina.

“Away with you, you bone-fondler! And you! Bring me some wine!” He waved the cup at one of the servants, who vanished into the hall post-haste.

The doctor turned to me. “And you must be Master Richard. Ibn Sina of Lhosk. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Salam alaykum.”

He held out his hand, which I shook.

“Richard of Celephaïs. Wa alaykum as-salam. And may Peace be upon us all,” I replied. My time in the Middle East finally paid off, and I was unreasonably proud of his look of surprise at my response.

“You speak Arabic!?”

“No, I’m afraid not. But I did learn a few courtesies while I was in the Middle East,” I smiled. “It seems somewhat strange to find an Arab physician here...”

He nodded.

“I was a physician to Ala al-Dawla of Isfahan, and a philosopher... and after a rash visit to Irem which ended rather badly, I found myself here. My Arabic name is rather long, but you may call me ibn Sina, as does everyone else.”

“I am, or possibly was, Richard Saxton, an American student of astronomy.”

“I studied the stars myself for many years, but never did find any trace of our fates written in the heavens. Certainly not my own!”

“I’m afraid astrology has been relegated to the status of a child’s fantasy in my era, ibn Sina. Science holds sway, explaining the movements and the actions of the stars in detail. We—most of us, at any rate—do not believe in there is any guiding purpose.”

“Interesting!” nodded, the doctor. “I would dearly love to be able to...”

“Would you two take your starry selves elsewhere?” boomed Bulltop. “I have some serious drinking to do.”

He turned his head toward the hallway “Sara!”

The walls shook with his shout, and before the echoes had completely died a red-headed woman several centimeters tall than myself, and with an astonishing figure only partially concealed by an extra-large tee-shirt reading “GO YANKEES” on her voluminous chest, came strolling into the room.

Bulltop smiled, and reached up to pull her down.

“Sara! Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted...?”

Ibn Sina and I left, followed by the remaining servants. The last one out closed the door.

* * *

Mochizuki and Chóng were standing in the hallway; through the doorway I could glimpse the Chinese prisoner, stripped and bound to one of the wooden beams in the room. His head was hanging down, his face hidden, but I could see his hair was matted with blood.

He looked unconscious.

“He wandered into the cave in search of bats, of all things,” said Mochizuki. “Apparently he fancies himself a photographer, and captures images of animals when he has the chance.”

“And he just somehow happened to get past the glamour?” asked Chóng in disbelief. “That’s worked very well until now, convincing visitors the cave is just smelly, dark, and dangerous.”

“In search of bats, he was expecting the cave to be that way, and ignored his own fears,” she shrugged. “He seems honest, and never had the chance to tell anyone exactly where he was going or what he was doing. Apparently the guard was sleeping, and the boy shot him first. It’s a pity, really... he’s so young.”

“No help for it, I’m afraid,” said Chóng. “Take care of it, would you?”

She inclined her head as Chóng turned and strode back into the depths of the building.

“Take care of what, Mistress?”

“Kill him, of course,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “He thinks he’s discovered a secret Tibetan rebel hideout, and can’t wait to tell his superiors. He’s wrong, of course, but they’d search as hard just the same.”

“But... kill him? Is that really necessary? Can’t you just let him go? Surely they’d just figure he was having hallucinations or something...”

“Officially, perhaps, but unofficially I doubt there is any nation in your realm that isn’t already aware of the Dreamlands to some extent, and trying to find a way to control them.” She signed. “It really is unfortunate, but this isn’t something we can overlook.”

She nodded to one of her black-clad warriors, and something very long and thin flashed into the prisoner’s chest, and instantly back again into its sheath.

It was over in an instant.

He was dead.

I just stood there in shock as she walked down the hallway, her warriors following behind. One of them had the corpse draped over his shoulder.

They didn’t make a sound, and when they were gone I was all alone in the dimness with my thoughts.

* * *

There wasn’t much point I trying to get back to sleep.

Realizing there was always a chance I could be picked off by some Chinese soldier at any time, I still sat on the patio wall, and watched the sun come up over the surrounding mountains. I wondered why there was a sun, and how there could be mountains, even though we were inside a tiny “personal realm.” It didn’t really matter, I supposed... everything I thought I knew about astrophysics was probably only applicable within the narrow constraints of Cthulhu’s dreams... and Cthulhu only existed in the dreamscapes of humanity’s nightmares... a Moebius strip of reality with no connection to an objective universe.

But that man had died. He been tortured, he screamed and bled and talked and killed and was killed. That certainly seemed real enough, and fatally real for him. Perhaps he suddenly collapsed of “unknown causes” back in the Tibetan mountains? Or had he been transported here physically, expunged entirely from that existence?

This wasn’t astrophysics or cosmology: it was metaphysics. And far outside my comfort zone at that.

But it was a beautiful sunrise nonetheless, and about the time that last traces of orange disappeared from the sky and the morning chill began to heat up, Britomartis came looking for me.

“Good morn to you, Master Richard,” she smiled, absurdly bright and happy as always. “’Twas a beautiful dawn, was it not?”

She handed me a small bag.

“Good morning, Britomartis. And this is...?”

I glanced inside... it was breakfast, with half a load of warm, dark bread, two chunks of cheese, and an apple. “Looks delicious!”

“And some of Chóng’s best tea to wash it down with,” she added, setting down a large jug of tea and a cup. “I assumed you’d prefer a proper English breakfast to his rice, but the tea is really so delicious I just had to bring it along.”

“Thank you, this is wonderful.” I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. “Join me?”

“I’ve already eaten, thank you. Up early to prepare the deinos for the journey.”

“Even after all this, we’re still leaving?”

“Chóng and Mochizuki have scoured this realm, and that portal is closed... there’s no need to delay our journey, and the King stressed the need. We leave in an hour.”

I chewed silently.

After a few moments of uneasy silence, I said almost to myself “I’ve never ridden a dinosaur before. I’ve never even seen one!”

Her teeth flashed in the sun as she laughed aloud, head swinging upwards and hair dancing.

“You’ll love it! Have you ever ridden an elephant?”

“No, but how about a horse? Or a camel?”

“I love horses. Olde England and all that, of course. But horses and camels both bounce too much. An elephant is massive, and as long as they aren’t in a hurry almost anybody can ride one. Deinos are as big, and sometimes drag their tails for even more stability.” She laughed again. “And there are not many animals that will argue with one!”

I stood, slapping my hands together to brush off the crumbs.

“What should I do with the tea?”

“Just leave it. They’ll take care of it.”

She strode to the edge of the patio, and glanced back at me, head tilted elegantly.

“Coming?”

I picked up my longsword and pack, and hurried to catch up.

To the right of the patio, a flight of rough stairs led off into the woods. The treads closest to the patio were stone, giving way to hard-packed earth after a few meters. The woods were quiet, wind rustling the trees and an occasional birdsong to keep us company. It was only a few minutes until the path led out of the woods again, to a large paddock.

To the right was a wood building, I guessed the stables, judging by the size of the doorway. The paddock itself was inclined, and the lower half was swampy.

And standing in the muck were the biggest goddamned ostriches I ever saw.

I stood gaping for a minute until it occurred to me that these were dinosaurs, not ostriches... They stood on their hind legs and were covered in feathers—especially that huge crimson fan of feathers at the end of their tails—but instead of wings they had feathered, mitten-like arms sticking out, which they used quite effectively to root through the waterweeds and find food.

One snaked its head up to examine us better, looking down at me from at least four meters high. There was a rounded hump in the middle of its back, not as abrupt as a camel’s hump, but enormous nonetheless.

It stared at me, a long strand of weed dangling from its mouth as it chomped away. Apparently deciding I was harmless, it lowered its head again, searching for more frogs or whatever was in there.

Britomartis suddenly grasped my arm and pulled me back from the fence, snapping me out of my gaping amazement.

“Careful, Master Richard. The raptors can be quite nasty.”

A dozen smaller dinosaurs, maybe the size of a desk or a Newfoundland dog, came trotting over. They also stood on two legs but were much more graceful and agile than the deinos. Their teeth and claws were a lot more obvious, too, perhaps because they all seemed to be focused on me. They were covered in short feathers, in a range of green and brown hues. Good camo, I thought.

“Properly trained, they can follow simple directions and serve much like large dogs, but the stress of battle—especially the smell of blood—can make them forget their training and revert to their feral selves. Even then they rarely attack their masters, but it’s a good idea to treat them with respect and hope they return the favor.”

“I... see...” I replied, noting how they crowded the fence much like farm animals seeking a handout from visitors, but also how their serrated fangs shone brilliantly in the sun.

“We’ll be taking a nest of them with us for protection,” explained Britomartis. “Not these; these are still in training, as you can see from the red collars.”

I’d noticed the collars, and now I knew what they meant.

“Red for danger?”

“Yes. The color of blood,” she confirmed, smiling wryly. “I have a painful memory with matching scar to remind me.” She patted her thigh, high on her leg and under the leather plates of her skirt.

“His first taste of human flesh was his last, though... and I ate rather more of him than he of me!”

Laughing again, she led the way toward the stable.

As we approached I could hear voices mixed in with various thumps and snorts. We turned the corner of the building, away from the paddock, and I stopped in amazement once again.

Our deinos were snorting in their harnesses. There were six in all: four fitted with riding saddles and the remaining two carrying enormous panniers.

“Why are the riding deinos a different color?”

“The reddish deinos are the females, and it’s usually safer to ride them. They’re a little larger and a lot less excitable than the purplish males,” explained Britomartis. “And the males, of course, will follow them anywhere.”

She turned to face me.

“Can you use a bow?”

I thought for a moment and realized I really didn’t know—things changed unexpectedly here—then looked at my hands. Sure enough, the three string fingers had hard calluses on them. I smiled. Dreamlands!

“Yes, I think so.”

“Let’s get you a bow and guard, then, and make sure... it would be somewhat awkward to discover you can’t shoot after all with a dragolet swooping down at you.”

She beckoned one of the men over.

“Fetch a bow and a quiver-full for Master Richard.”

He nodded, and trotted up the path we’d just come down.

“I think Chóng only uses those double-curved bows from Zar. I haven’t ever seen an honest longbow here.”

“Let’s try it and see. The Dreamlands have always been amazingly helpful so far!”

The man came trotting back after only a few minutes carrying a bow and fully stocked quiver. The bow was a beauty... The recurve was hand-made, of course, but it looked to have been crafted by a master, at least to my unpracticed eye. I could see the multiple layers making it up—looked like two kinds of wood, and bone, with some sort of cover. When I touched it I realized it was sharkskin.

My left hand automatically settled into a comfortable grip, and my right pulled on the string. I could manage it, but it must have been at least seventy kilograms draw, I guessed. A serious weapon, and it might be too much for me to shoot a dozen arrows in a row.

I decided to find out, and looked up to see Britomartis smiling and pointing off to my left.

Sure enough, in the open field running alongside the paddock, there were a few bales of straw with pieces of red cloth hanging on them. Targets.

There wasn’t much any wind, and it looked like maybe two hundred meters of so.

I nocked and pulled, testing the bow and my arm. My hand and fingers knew exactly what to do, but my upper arm was complaining that this was a hard draw. I aimed and released, and watched my arrow peg into the ground a dozen or so meters before the target.

Yup, this was too much for me to handle effectively.

The man who had fetched the bow nodded, and picked up a second bow that I hadn’t noticed, handing it to me.

It looked much the same, except that it had a leather cover instead of sharkskin, and was a tad shorter.

It was also a hell of a lot easier to pull, maybe about fifty kilograms? I could handle this easily, and proceeded to prove it by shooting all nineteen arrows left in the quiver into the same bale downrange. Seventeen hit the bale, ten pierced the red “bull’s eye.”

Not bad for the first time I’d shot a bow since cub scouts!

“I guess I know how to shoot after all,” I said to Britomartis.

“I was sure you did,” she replied. “Chóng said the bow’s yours, and we’ll pick up a good supply of arrows.”

“What will I need it for?”

“With luck, nothing, because the raptors should take care of almost everything at ground level. The problem is what might be hiding in the trees, or in the sky. Our recent encounter with the night-gaunts makes me think this may be an interesting journey.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” came an unfamiliar voice. “but I’m afraid you’re right. I’ve been over this route dozens of times and it’s always an interesting trip.”

He was about my height, but maybe twenty years older than my current age of thirty-something. And a lot skinnier. He looked vaguely Middle Eastern, wearing only a ragged loincloth and leather sandals.

“Good day to you, Donn,” said Britomartis, nodding slightly. “Donn of Dylath-Leen is our guide, and knows the route very well. He’s been traveling it for... for how long, Donn?”

The other man nodded to me, and we announced ourselves.

“Since long before Chóng got here,” he chuckled. “I know every nook and cranny of the Karthian Hills, and where to cross the Zuro River without being noticed or losing a horse.”

“And just totally by coincidence, one of his wives happens to be the daughter of one of the most powerful warlords of the area,” Britomartis added.

“There’s always room for you as my fourth, my lovely, should you change your mind.”

She laughed.

“Hardly. I stand in no woman’s shadow!”

“I see you are the same as always, Donn,” came a woman’s voice from behind me.

Mistress Mochizuki had appeared, from somewhere... the path we had taken down from the house was on the other side, and I would have seen her had she come that way. But there didn’t seem to be any opening in the thick greenery she stood in front of—trees and bushes festooned with thick, flowering vines that I knew from personal experience could be the devil to get through. Or even cut through!

“Mistress Mochizuki, a pleasure to see you again!”

Donn bowed deeply, but I noticed he never took his eyes off her.

“I hope you’ve reconsidered my offer and have come to join my House? I was just discussing arrangements with Commander Britomartis here about her becoming my fourth wife, but I’d be more than happy to begin negotiations on joining our Houses with you as my fifth!”

“Britomartis? Your fourth wife? Really?” Mochizuki smiled. “I suspect you will find negotiations difficult. As far as myself I’m sure you’re well aware I could never consider anything but first, and your first wife Pensri would object rather strenuously to that, no?”

Britomartis giggled.

“Pensri is a dear friend, and you seem to be confused about exactly whose House it is... I’m afraid you shall have to abandon your fantasy.”

“Ah, Britomartis, ’tis a shame indeed. But never fear! I shall hold my love for you forever, and await that blessed day when you may join me.”

I couldn’t tell if this was some sort of extended joke or they were responding lightly to a serious proposal. I figured it didn’t really matter that much either way, though... we were all adults and as long as they (clearly!) trusted the man, so what?

I glanced over toward the stables, and saw that Mochizuki’s team—two women, one man—was ready to go.

They’d swapped their usual black for clothing of an unusual, blotchy pattern. Standing in front of the wood stables I didn’t recognize it as first, but it was a pretty good camo pattern for the sort of jungle we were heading into.

Not much you could do to hide a horse, but once they dismounted I suspected they’d be damn close to invisible. Especially if they were trained at it. And they most assuredly were.

There were four horses; one each for her team and the fourth for Mochizuki herself. They all had saddlebags, but it was clear Mochizuki valued speed and mobility over load.

Our deinos, on the other, could carry just about anything without it affecting their speed. I wondered how fast that might be.

“How speedy are those deinos?”

“The deinos can push through almost anything,” answered Donn. “but they won’t win any races with those horses. In an emergency they can gallop faster than any man can run, but they can’t keep it up for more than half a dozen minutes at a time. They don’t have to run away much, though, at that size.”

“They aren’t carnivores, but their teeth aren’t any laughing matter even if they aren’t all pointed,” added Britomartis. “And their jaws can snap a good-sized tree trunk, if they’re in the mood.”

“The raptors, on the other hand, can run with the horses all day. Given the chance, the whole nest would probably chase, hamstring, and eat the horses, but this pack is very well trained. And very well fed. I raised most of them myself from hatchlings.” Donn grinned. “More proof that I’d make a wonderful father for our children, Britomartis!”

“I’ll let you know, Donn, if I decide I’d like to raise a nest of carnivores.”

She turned to me, and pointed toward the waiting caravan with her chin.

“Shall we?”

* * *

Donn took the largest of the rusty deinos, explaining that she—her name was Celebrant, he said—was the leader of the nest and the rest would follow her anywhere. The saddlery consisted of a broad leather band encircling the hump, holding the driver’s seat on the front slope and various bags and things elsewhere. Two similar bands ran under the deino’s belly, one in front and one behind the legs, with a strap at the very bottom holding them to each other.

The halter and reins looked much the same as those of Mochizuki’s horses.

I noticed there were no stirrups, though...it had a seatbelt instead!

We mounted up. Donn’s beast took the lead, of course, followed by Britomartis, then the two pack animals, me, and the other guide—a silent man named Hakim—bringing up the rear. Mochizuki and her people waited off to the side. apparently travelling essentially independent of our caravan.

“That one’s yours,” said Donn, pointing. “Sho is a nice quiet girl. Let her sniff your hand... don’t worry, she rarely bites!”

“Thanks for the reassurance, Donn,” I replied, walking over to the beast slowly, and holding out my hand. Looking down at me, she tilted her head quizzically, then suddenly her head came shooting down for a closer look.

Unexpectedly face-to-face with a gigantic toothy face, I jumped back in surprise, but Sho was just looking at me. And although those teeth were quite impressive, her jaws were closed... I decided she probably wasn’t going to eat me after all, and stepped back, hand outstretched.

She examined it, sniffed it, licked it once, and decided I wasn’t a threat (or maybe wasn’t edible?), and lifted her head up again to look around at the rest of the caravan.

Britomartis and Donn were already mounted, and Hakim was cinching the belly belts on my deino just to be sure. Sho seemed amused by the whole thing, snaking her head down to see what he was doing and getting in his way.

He smacked her on the nose, and she whuffed and left him alone.

I secured my bow and quiver where I could reach them quickly, and my longsword. I didn’t have much other baggage, but Donn had handed me a large skin of water. Always a good idea to have water at hand, although as far as I knew we weren’t headed for desert country. I tried it to one of the pegs on the saddle, behind me where it wouldn’t get in the way.

Mochizuki’s group had been ready to go for some time. They were already mounted, just watching us and letting their horses graze.

Everyone seemed relaxed... I figured this was a pretty quiet route and they didn’t expect to run into much of anything.

“We’ll ride along the coast to the Zuro,” explained Donn. “It’s mostly passable at the water’s edge, but there are a few places we’ll have to cut inland for rivers, marches, and one section where there’s a sheer drop-off to the sea.”

“It’s over a thousand kilometers to the Zuro, but Chóng’s portal will let take care of a lot of that,” added Britomartis.

“I wondered how you were planning to get these enormous dinosaurs out of here... the door we came in through is far too small!”

“Portals can be created and destroyed, but they can’t be closed,” she continued. “And since they are always open, you have to take care that unwanted guests—like that poor boy last night—don’t come stumbling in. Or worse, an enemy.”

“Any portal big enough to handle a deino, though...”

Donn led us toward a broad path leading away from the stables.

Hakim used a long switch and whistles to control the deinos, but they were already watching what Celebrant was doing, and when she starting plodding toward the path, they perked up and moved to follow. Hakim just stopped them from bunching up where the path entered the trees.

The smaller raptors swarmed underfoot, incredibly managing to avoid being crushed by a massive deino foot. They circulated around the party, constantly peering into the surrounding forest, or scouting out the road ahead, to be sure there were no enemies lurking.

I pitied anyone discovered by those scouts.

Just on the other side of the bend in the path was a stone wall, I’d guess about three meters high. The outer gate was open, and easily large enough for a deino to pass through even with me sitting atop it.

Just inside the gate was another massive wall of gray stone, and the path led to the left.

I noticed one of Chóng’s men looking down at us from the top of the wall, and realized we were in another kill zone. Anyone trying to enter through this portal would have to traverse this path while Chóng’s men attacked them from above!

The road steadily sloped downward, and after another couple turns there was another gate, this one a huge structure of wood and reinforcing iron bars. It looked like it weighed a few tons. A guard was looking through the peephole, I’d guess to be sure there was no-one in sight on the other side, and finally signaled with his hand that it was OK.

I heard a creaking and the gate slowly lifted, revealing another stone arch full of darkness.

“Why is it so dark in there?”

“Oh, Master Richard, you are so silly at times,” Britomartis giggled. “Because it’s night, of course!”

We passed through, one at a time, followed by Mochizuki’s horses, and the gate slammed shut behind us.

My ears popped. We were back in the Dreamlands.

Donn signaled for a stop, and whistled the raptors on ahead. They chuk-chukked off into the darkness, fanning out. Donn’s hand was still up, and we remained quiet, waiting. We were in a small cul-de-sac, surrounded by high cliffs. Another cliff no different than the rest was behind me: we’d ridden through it.

After a few minutes the first few raptors returned, still chuk-chukking quietly, and collected next to Donn’s deino. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a handful of pemmican, tossing chunks to eagerly waiting raptors, and as he tossed, more and more raptors appeared until it looked to me like they’d all returned.

He must have been able to tell them apart somehow, though they all looked about the same to me, because he put the pemmican away and waved them back.

Donn whistled again, a short, up-and-down signal, and the raptors scattered off in various directions, taking up positions around the caravan. I couldn’t tell if they thought Mochizuki was part of our group or not, since we were all packed together in the narrow gorge.

Donn motioned us forward, and booted his deino into a slow walk.

“Where are we, exactly?” I asked Britomartis while we were still bunched up.

“In the middle of nowhere, but far closer to the Zuro River than Lhosk,” she replied. “It is only a few days from here.”

The cul-de-sac twisted a little, and opened up on the sea.

The sun was just rising from the water, almost directly ahead of us, streaking the sky with scarlet clouds.

It was glorious.

* * *

After sunrise, we trotted along the coast, over shallow dunes of rough, gritty sand, and outcroppings of some dark rock. Donn did indeed seem to know his way around, leading us over, around, or through them all without a single backtrack.

I rarely saw any of the raptors, but occasionally I could spot one in the distance when the beach was relatively clear of boulders and scrub. More often I caught something moving quickly just at the edge of my field of vision, and knew a raptor had just passed. The size of dogs, and splotched in a range of brown and green hues, they were almost impossible to see unless the sand was clear.

We had excellent visibility, and the raptors fanned out ahead of us to detect hidden surprises provided even more security. The deinos maintained their line anyway, though, and I was stuck at the tail end with silent Hakim, separated from Britomartis by the two pack beasts. I tried various conversation starters with Hakim and got (at best) only a nod in response.

Falling silent, I spent several hours just watching the scenery flow by... until Hakim woke me out of my ponderings with a sharp whistle.

There was a distant rumble in the sky... it sounded like aircraft!

Here? That was impossible!

I looked up where Hakim was pointing, and could just make out four or five black dots against the clouds.

They were flying this way, growing larger by the minute, and they looked older—the wings jutted out straight from the sides, not swept back like fighters. Five together sure sounded like a military flight, though.

Suddenly two of the aircraft disappeared in a soundless blip of twisted light, leaving only a few bits fluttering down from the sky.

The thunderclap came a moment later, as I watched the remaining three aircraft swept up like dry leaves in a summer storm, righting to regain control. One lost a wing and spiraled into the sea. The other two somehow recovered, much closer to the sea now, and flying in different directions.

Another thunderclap, much closer, as one of the remaining aircraft vanished. The waves shot up from the sea under, as if a waterfall in reverse, then collapsed again with a crash of white foam.

The last plane was headed almost for us, just a kilometer or so down the shore behind us. The pilot tried to land it on the beach, dropping down lower, lower, wheels touching, bouncing, tail skidding left...

...and the wingtip slammed into a projecting rock, cartwheeling it over to smash, headfirst, into the sandy beach at water’s edge. It creaked, snapped, and then sat quiet, tail sticking up like a tombstone.

There might be survivors!

I pulled on the reins to stop, and hopped off my deino. I could run back there about as quickly.

Hakim grabbed my arm as I tried to run past, leaping from his own deino to knock me over, and straddling me to stop me from getting up.

He shook his head. No.

“Master Richard!” came Britomartis’ voice. “Stop! You can’t!”

“Reed will be here any second. We have to go.” shouted Donn, running to help Hakim pull me back to my deino.

“No! There might be survivors! We have to help them!”

“No, we have to leave! Now!”

Donn and Hakim dragged me along, pulling me with them into the woods. The deinos followed.

I stopped struggling, and looked back at the aircraft.

It wasn’t anything I’d seen during my tours in the Middle East. It was mostly dark blue, with a big “28” stenciled on the side in white. This must be another sign of the “melting realities” Mochizuki had been talking about.

It exploded into flames as I watched. Nobody tried to get out.

Hakim began waving his hands, obviously upset about something.

“What’s with Hakim?” I whispered to Britomartis. “I haven’t heard him speak a single word.”

“His tongue was cut out.”

I fell silent. And I’d been miffed because he wouldn’t talk to me.

“Oh... I didn’t know.”

She smiled sadly.

“He lost his tongue, his family, and his city all on the same day.”

She stood, brushing sand from her skirt.

“Hakim wants to keep moving,” Donn broke in. “He is very worried about what She may do if She spots this wreckage. And I agree.”

“Yes. Are you done now?”

“Yes...”

I wanted to go check for a pistol or something in the wreckage, but after watching that one-sided battle I abandoned the idea. And they were dead serious about leaving immediately.

We climbed back on our rides, and set forth once more.

* * *

A few minutes later, as we trudged along the shore near the treeline, the ground shook and a distant peal of thunder rolled.

Donn merely looked up and said “Reed” and kept riding.

Later that day, as the shadows lengthened, Donn signaled we’d stop for the night near a small grove. He dismounted, and tied his deino to a tree on a few meters of rope. We followed suit, but Donn commented that as long as the matriarch was here the others wouldn’t stray.

Hakim went to her with a huge sack, feeding her large chunks of some kind of dried meat.

“They’re on short rations for the trip, but have more than enough food in their humps for this kind of trip,” explained Britomartis. “We’d need a much larger packtrain if we had to feed them all the way! Besides, they’ll hunt for themselves all night, and for much fresher meat.”

“And the raptors?”

“They’ve been eating all day, haven’t you noticed?”

Now that she mentioned it I did recall seeing raptors chasing birds and small animals, or stopping to tear something to pieces.

“They love the treats we give them, but they eat everything, all day every day,” she laughed.

“Is it OK to start a fire, Donn?”

“Yes, it should be safe here, especially with the raptors on guard.”

I knew how to do that much, at least, and quickly gathered enough rocks to build a firepit. There was ample driftwood on the coast, and lots more wood up the slope, where the forest began.

Apparently matches were OK here, although I was a little unsure about lighters... I’d picked up a box of “strike-on-anything” matches at Chóng’s before we left, and they worked just fine.

I had a good fire going by the time the others had the deinos settled down and the necessary panniers unpacked.

Looks like we’d be having sun-dried meat and boiled rice, I thought to myself, and just as I sighed in resignation I saw Hakim walk up holding a fresh-killed rabbit.

I started sharpening a long spit immediately, a smile back on my face.

One of the raptors, a medium-sized specimen with a big splotch of green across his eyes like a mask, came and set next to Donn, waiting for tidbits of rabbit no doubt. It didn’t seem to trust me, which was fine with me—I didn’t trust it, either, not after seeing those fangs and talons up close!

Later, watching the phosphorescent waves roll in after a fine meal, and wondering what the raptors were squealing and grunting about in the darkness, Donn stood and walked over to his deino. He rummaged in one of the panniers and pulled out a long, heavy sack. Looked like a waterskin, but I had a suspicion...

Yes!

It was a wineskin!

He took a swig and passed it to me.

No cups, then.

I was quick study, taking a swig myself and passing it to Britomartis, who followed suit and on to Hakim, and around again.

The warm, heady wine was the perfect way to enjoy the beauty of the moment.

When it reached Donn after the second time around, he hammered the cork back in with his fist and set it down.

“We enter the grasslands tomorrow and will need to be alert, raptors or no. And if we’re unlucky we may need our wits about us this night as well.”

I banked the fire, and we lay down on our bedrolls, roughly encircling the fire pit. Donn was closest to the deinos; I to the sea.

Donn’s raptor sidekick, realizing that there was no more rabbit forthcoming, stalked off into the night. I was delighted it felt the need to stand watch, and even more delighted that it wasn’t standing watch next to me. Damn thing scared me, no doubt because of all those Jurassic Park movies. They sure acted intelligent at times, and they were clearly very carnivorous... and hungry.

I made sure my longsword and bow were close at hand, and lay staring at the unfamiliar constellations until sleep overtook me.

* * *

Fortunately, Donn’s warning about night visitors proved unnecessary, and I slept until the sun rose flaming from the sea to open a new day.

Donn and Hakim were already up and tending to the deinos. I noticed that the same green-masked raptor from last night was trailing Donn like a shadow, no doubt hoping for another handout.

Britomartis was nowhere to be seen; I was the last one up.

“Does that fellow have a name?” I asked Donn, pointing at the raptor. “He seems to like you.”

“I raised most of this brood myself,” Donn answered. “but for some reason this one seems to have taken to me. He is sort of cute...”

Donn reached into his pocket and flipped the beast a piece of food.

“I call him Snarly, which seems to fit his general vocabulary. He’s actually pretty smart for a raptor, and knows a couple dozen commands.”

He faced Snarly and spoke clearly, “Snarly, sit!”

The raptor promptly squatted, lower legs flat on the ground and tail outstretched, neck straight and head high. Its eyes were focused on Donn’s hands, though, and that snaky tongue flicked in and out incessantly.

“Good boy!” He tossed another piece of food, which Snarly snatched out of the air with a sudden dart of its head.

“All done,” said Donn, waving his hands. “Go! Go on, away with you!”

Snarly cocked its head, studying Donn for a moment, then rose and stalked off into the dunes, eyes searching left and right for something new to eat.

“Are they really safe?”

“For the most part... they can get excited easily is there’s blood around, and when they’re excited they sometimes make mistakes. It’s a good idea to get them headed in the right direction and stand back, if you can. I tried raising the youngest brood—Snarly’s brood—differently this time, and they seem to be much more attentive to command. This is the first time I’ve taken them on a long journey, though...”

“How old is he?”

“This brood was hatched two years ago, but the oldest member of the nest here—the matriarch—is eight. I think they pay her more attention than me, and I’d hate to have to force them to decide between us.”

I figured there were about four dozen raptors in our caravan, but had no idea how many might be in Snarly’s brood.

“They seem to take care of themselves just fine, don’t they?”

“Usually. They hunt and feed themselves when they can, but of course if food or water is scarce they come running. And Snarly prefers people food to fresh meat, it seems. His broodmates prefer the hunt.”

He finished loading his gear into the pannier, and slapped the dust from his hands against his pants.

“It’s a pity Snarly’s a male—I would have liked to try raising a new nest with a matriarch who could understand as much as he can.”

“The deinos follow a female, too... It’s impossible with a male, then?”

“It’s just the way they are, it seems. People have tried, but it’s not something we can change, try as we will.”

“Good morning, Donn, Master Richard!”

Britomartis had returned from wherever she had been—which reminded me, I really needed to go to the bathroom myself.

I excused myself and walked off behind a convenient rock.

* * *

After a quick breakfast of dried meat and rice gruel, washed down with ice-cold water from a nearby stream (which also conveniently refilled our waterskins), Donn whistled the raptors back from hunting, and we were off again.

Yesterday had been largely flat coastline, consisting of rolling dunes punctuated with scattered outcroppings and scrub, but the terrain slowly changed to grassy hills as we began to climb away from the sea. Apparently the beach ended some kilometers ahead, giving way to sheer cliffs, and we had to cut inland to get past.

The trail was quite overgrown with weeds, but Hakim showed me the camouflaged markers on scattered tree trunks—no longer broadleaves, now mostly pine—here and there. Once you knew what to look for the markers were quite easy to spot, and follow. The deinos seemed to know the route even without being guided.

It was a beautiful day, with scattered clouds scudding about, flowers blooming in abundance everywhere I looked, and birdsong... wait a minute, the birds have gone silent!

I looked toward the front of the caravan, and Donn had his hand up, signaling halt. Britomartis already had her bow out and nocked. I heard Hakim pull up beside me, as he gave a long, low whistle to the raptors.

Immediately about half of them pulled back to within a dozen meters of the deinos, while the rest vanished into the woods on the landward side. There were plenty of trees on the seaward side as well, but they weren’t packed tightly enough to hide much of anything. Whatever had the birds spooked was in the forest uphill of us.

Donn motioned us forward, arranging the deinos into a half-circle facing the woods. In front of us were the raptors, increasingly agitated... they sprinted, stopped, craned their necks toward the woods, and sprinted off to new vantage points, trying to locate whatever they smelled.

Hakim wiggled his fingers again, and Donn frowned.

“Whatever it is, it’s big... might be a bear, or even a gug, if we’re unlucky. The raptors will give us warning if it...”

A huge crash in the woods drowned out his words. Something enormous had toppled, and the raptors surged forward like a flood of fangs and talons, vanishing into the trees in a flash. Their usual dilatory chuk-chukking was gone, replaced by a ferocious, hissing scream. Dozens of them screamed in unison as they leapt to the attack... on what?

I undid my seatbelt and made sure my feet were free in case I needed to jump off. My bow was ready and nocked, and my longsword by my side within easy reach. The deino was shifting uneasily under me, snuffling and craning its neck here and there.

Hakim had produced a massive crossbow from somewhere, and was pulling the string taut against his outstretched foot, still seated on his deino.

The raptors were screaming in rage now, piercing shrieks that ended in meaty, tearing noises or squeals of pain.

A raptor came flying through the brush, torn almost in half, but something bloody still clamped between its jaws. It thumped to the ground, writhing as it struggled to return to the fight.

Another crash, and a monstrous black shape burst into view. About the size of a small horse, it was covered with patches of hair and ugly blotches that looked like lichen or fungus. Or scabs. It stood on two hind legs like a kangaroo, but all four limbs ended in sharp hooves.

The raptors were attacking it from all directions, festooned upon its body like leeches, tearing huge gobbets of flesh off with talons and jaws, but the beast fought back with its razor-sharp hooves and long muzzle crammed with multiple rows of fangs. A foreleg rose, three raptors hanging off it like burrs, and threw another raptor into the air. It cartwheeled, shrieking in rage all the while, and slammed into tree trunk, to slide down and lie motionless on the ground.

“A ghast!” shouted Britomartis.

“But they cannot withstand the sun!”

“Tell that to the ghast!” she cried, and leapt off her deino. She released her first arrow before she even touched the ground, missing one of the creature’s eyes by only a hair. She landed facing it, archer’s stance, and the tension snapped. We all began firing as we saw our chances, trying to avoid hitting the raptors.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mochizuki’s horses rearing. She had joined the defense together with her three guards.

While Britomartis aimed for the eyes, Donn and I fired arrow after arrow into the thing’s enormous chest. One of Mochizuki’s women ran in front of my deino, throwing something small and black at the ghast, but I couldn’t spare the time to look. Hitting it was not a problem; hurting it seemed impossible. It ignored us, concentrating on the pack of raptors attacking from all sides.

Hakim’s crossbow made a loud thump and a thick bolt flew past me into the ghast’s skull, knocking its head back with the impact.

One of the raptors took advantage of the lapse to leap up and clamp its jaws onto the beast’s throat. Roaring in agony, the ghast smashed its front hooves together, mashing the raptor horribly... but even in death its jaws stayed clamped shut, and the ghast’s own efforts to dislodge it gradually weakened as its lifeblood drained away, painting the dead raptor that had killed it crimson.

It toppled, finally, and the raptors went berserk, slashing it to bloody ribbons. Even drenched in blood and bloodlust, they yielded when the matriarch approached, shuffling back a fraction but holding on tightly to whatever gobbets of flesh they had already grabbed.

She walked up to the carcass, head tilted slightly as she surveyed her prey, and finally leaned forward and sniffed around the ghast’s abdomen. She hesitated for a moment, then dove at it with fangs and talons, ripping it open to reveal the beast’s inner organs. She gorged herself, and as she gorged, her nest returned to feeding, content to grant her the choicest parts.

“My God! What in the world was that thing?” I asked, finally remembering to breathe and wondering just how rapid my pulse was.

“A ghast,” explained Donn. “They live underground, and never come out in the sun. It kills them.”

“But this one did...”

“...but this one did...” he agreed, dismounting to offer his deino some food and help her calm down. “I think we need to move the deinos away from the raptors for a while, until their bloodlust is gone.”

“Doesn’t look like we’ll be able to recover our arrows now, does it?” said Britomartis ruefully, looking at the feasting raptors.”

“Perhaps the heads, later,” said Donn, “but I doubt there’ll be much left...”

He led the way, pulling on the reins of his deino—the matriarch— and guiding her up the path. We followed, stepping around the casualties. I saw Hakim dispatch one terribly wounded raptor with a quick sword thrust to the chest, but there were a number of “walking wounded” about.

“That was a very impressive shot, Britomartis my love,” said Donn as he worked. “Our sons will learn much from your training!”

“We have no sons, Donn, and never shall, try as you might,” she countered. “But I would be happy to teach your daughters how to deal with men!”

Donn snorted and fell silent.

The deinos were snuffling and hooting, still excited by the flurry of action and the smell of blood. Donn advised me to walk to the side of the animals, not in front, to avoid “mishaps” from a clawed foot suddenly thrust forward in all the excitement. Those claws could eviscerate me in an instant; I decided it was probably an excellent idea, much as I trusted my deino to play nice.

A few dozen meters up the path was enough to hide the carnage, and the breeze took care of the smell. The deinos settled down, their snorts of indignation gradually giving way to inquisitive grunts as they returned to their usual pursuit, looking about for snacks. Donn gave them some, then left them to their own devices.

“So what was a ghast doing on a mountainside in daylight!?” questioned Britomartis. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“Hakim says he’s never heard of it before, either,” added Donn, pointing at Hakim’s signing fingers. “And until today, I would have said it was impossible... sunlight kills them!”

“It’s dead now—thank goodness—but it took quite a bit of killing,” I grumbled. “There must be a cave opening around here somewhere leading to the highlands, or Mount Sidrak. Um... Is there any point in examining what’s left of it?”

“I have no interest in approaching that stench any closer than I have to,” sniffed Britomartis. “Ghasts look hideous, and if anything smell even worse.”

“And probably not much left to look at by the time they get done with anyway,” laughed Donn, sitting down on a convenient rock. “It looks like a good time to take a rest, much as I’d rather not. Until the raptors cool down and finish gorging, they won’t listen to a word I say.”

“I think I saw some water earlier,” said Britomartis. “I’m heading back to see if I can find a clean spring to top up our waterskins.”

“I’ll tag along, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, Master Richard. By all means!”

Since we’d be on foot and probably in the woods, I left the bow and arrows—severely depleted—and strapped on my longsword. It would be hard to swing it in the trees and it might not stop a ghast, but it would work just fine against bears—or brigands.

I hung my waterskins from my left shoulder—one half-full, one almost empty—and Britomartis followed suit. There were certainly no worries about running out here on the mountainside, but I had to admit that an ice-cold mountain spring sounded a lot more tasty than the lukewarm water in the skin!

We walked back down the path, past the raptors. About half of them had eaten to their heart’s content, and were sitting or standing peacefully, tongues snaking out every so often to check for one more tasty gobbet perhaps hiding on their snout.

The last few raptors were tearing at the ghast now.

“Those are the runts of the brood, at the bottom of the nest hierarchy,” she explained. “They always eat last, and get bitten or even killed if they try to butt ahead.”

“The omegas... but that one there is pretty big for a runt,” I suggested, pointing at a rather large, mostly brown specimen in a furious tug-of-war with another, smaller raptor. The prize was a bloody section of ghast intestines.

“Mmm, yes. That’s Cornelius. He’s sort of the leader of the runts, but still at the bottom of the heap to the rest of the nest.”

“He seems large enough to fight for a promotion...”

“He was the brood leader a few years ago. I don’t understand the psychology, but when his brood was slaughtered in a battle and he survived, he sort of mellowed. He doesn’t pick fights anymore, and meekly backs down when one of the other raptors challenges.”

“So, he’s just given up, then?”

“No... I don’t think so,” she shook her head. “Did you see him against the ghast? While the others were going for the throat and vital organs, in the face of those razor-sharp hooves and that hideous muzzle, he circled around back and hamstrung the beast.”

“No, I hadn’t... so that’s why it didn’t just bounce to safety! I wondered why it stood and fought so stubbornly.”

“Well, ghasts are remarkably stupid and stubborn creatures, but yes... the tendon in its left leg was severed, and I think it realized there was no escape.”

She ducked under an outstretched branch, and pointed ahead.

“There... I was right, there is a small stream.”

“A bit too small for our purposes, I think. Let’s follow it and see what else there is,” I suggested.

“OK. Upstream or down?”

“If it’s this small here I doubt it’ll be much bigger upstream. Down, then?”

She nodded in agreement and we crossed back across the path again, following the thin stream back into the thinning trees and toward the sea.

It dribbled off the cliff into the waves, mostly blowing into mist before it even reached the sea.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to look elsewhere,” I said, looking down at the spume-drenched rocks below.

“Not that far, though!”

I looked up.

She was pointing to the left, and sure enough, there was a good-sized waterfall only a few hundred meters away. The stream must cross the path beyond where we had halted.

It was an easy walk to the stream, and a simple task to empty and refill our waterskins in the rushing current. The stream was only about a meter wide—no danger of being swept off into the air—but it was cold and delicious.

After the skins were full, we followed it upstream until we reached the road again, and turned back toward where Donn and Hakim should be waiting.

It was a short walk back, and they agreed the ice-cold treat was a vast improvement over deino-hot, waterbag-flavored water.

In our absence they’d started a small fire just off the path. I noticed Snarly was curled up near the fire; he must have finished his meal and come back to keep an eye on Donn.

“With luck we’ll be able to get moving again in a few hours,” said Donn. “We might as well enjoy our lunch now while we have the chance.”

“Is it safe with all the deinos busy feeding?”

“I think so, Master Richard. We still have all the birds and six deinos to warn us.”

He knew the region and Dreamlands much better than I, and since I was already trusting him with my life I decided I might as well trust him about lunch, too.

“I’m starving!”

Donn was watching Hakim’s signing again.

“He says five raptors are dead—he had to mercy-kill two himself—and another three are unlikely to live another day. Most of the rest are wounded to some extent, but should be able to keep up. He says he’ll spread salve on the wounds to prevent infection, but expects another one or two will either die or have to be abandoned as we go.”

“How many does that leave in this nest?” asked Britomartis.

“About two dozen,” said Donn. “No worries at all. I will always protect my wife-to-be!”

Before Britomartis could snap a reply, we heard heavy hooves. I spun around, longsword springing to hand.

It was Mochizuki’s group, on foot and leading their horses. The steeds seemed skittery, tugging at the reins and tossing their heads. All the blood, no doubt.

“Mistress,” I greeted her.

“Master Richard,” she nodded. “I see you found the falls after all.”

“We managed,” I grinned. “Thank you for the assistance earlier... you’ve suffered no injuries?”

“None at all, but the horses were quite unhappy with the turn of events: first a ghast, then bloodshed and raptors in a feeding frenzy. It took us some time to quiet them down.” She tied her reins to a nearby tree. “It was very kind of you to take care of the ghast for us! Perhaps we should take the lead next time?”

“Yes, by all means, do feel free to take point in the afternoon!” interjected Britomartis. “It will be good exercise, and most assuredly stave off boredom.”

“We’re halting for an hour or two,” broke in Donn, businesslike. “The raptors should be ready to move by then, and I want to reach the Zuro by tomorrow. The King is waiting.”

“The King is waiting,” echoed Mochizuki, looking steadily at me. I wondered why.

She signaled her people to join us, and they tied their horses loosely to the trees, letting them graze.

Mochizuki sat on a rock near the four of us, but her three companions held back, choosing seats that let them look up or down the path, always on the alert. Mochizuki herself was gracious, engaging in simple conversation and wielding a pair of very thin chopsticks with an unconscious dexterity I could only match through determined effort.

Her three warriors ate silently, eyes always jumping to check shadows and movement. Even when they walked to the horses or reached into their saddlebags I couldn’t hear a single rustle... if I had closed my eyes I would have thought they weren’t there at all.

How could she train such people?

They were like ninjas!

My God... I just realized. They weren’t like ninjas, they were ninjas!

I mean, they weren’t wearing fancy masks and carrying nunchuks or whatever, but they were clearly highly trained, highly skilled warriors. And spies, as Britomartis had pointed out.

And Mochizuki came from Japan...

I always thought they were just make-believe, a kids’ comic book, but then again this was the Dreamlands, and here Dreams—even kids’ dreams—could be real.

Night-gaunts, giant eyes-in-the-sky, velociraptors, ghasts, ninjas. And me.

I tore off another piece of the dried meat and chewed on it as I thought.

And Kuranes felt that I hadn’t come here by accident.

But what could I possibly have to do with it?

Sure, I had knowledge of modern technology and weapons, but that was all verboten here... so why, then? I knew now that I could wield longsword and bow effectively, but I was clearly no universe-saving hero.

And now a Spenserian heroine and a Japanese ninja-master were escorting me, at the behest of a king, to meet with some monk in the wilderness while the whole fucking universe was melting around me.

Not to mention I’m half a century younger than I was when I got here!

Things would be a lot easier if Britomartis weren’t so beautiful...

Uh-oh. Dangerous thoughts, there... I clamped down on myself. It would be pretty awkward if she and I were in another public bath and I started thinking about how pretty she was.

I sighed, sat up, and opened my eyes.

Mochizuki was watching me from a few meters away, a metal pipe with a long, thin stem and a tiny bowl in her hand, and a faint smile on her face.

She said nothing, merely watching me as I struggled to maintain my composure.

Surely she couldn’t read my mind!?

Ridiculous... and yet...

“I think our raptors are all done for now,” said Donn, breaking the silence. “They’ll be a bit sluggish for the rest of the day, but it should be fine. Time to mount up!”

Mochizuki stood, and glanced at her ninja. Two women and a man. They stood instantly, moving to ready the horses. One of the women held the reins of Mochizuki’s horse as she mounted.

Britomartis clambered up onto her deino, and I onto Sho. Hakim doused the fire and stomped the embers out before cinching his deino’s waistband tighter and getting on.

Donn was whispering sweet nothings into Celebrant’s ear, and feeding her a little snack before starting. Snarly sort of pecked him in the leg, demanding his own share, and Donn handed him a piece: what Celebrant swallowed in one gulp was enough to keep Snarly busy for minutes. While Snarly was busy with the meat, Donn climbed up on Celebrant and snapped her reins.

“OK?”

We answered or grunted in the affirmative, and Donn gave that short, up-and-down whistle. The raptors came trotting up, fanning out to scout the trail ahead of us.

Mochizuki took the lead this time, riding two abreast up the trail and scattering the raptors.

Donn on Celebrant followed, and we were back on the move.

* * *

The afternoon and night passed without incident, and after an early start the next morning we reached the far side of the highland. The path continued down the slope below us, weaving in and out of high grass and scattered trees, finally disappearing into the greenery far below. Beyond it lay the shimmering expanse of the Zuro river mouth, a huge delta of sandbars and channels dotted with clumps of vegetation that stretched off into the misty distance and invisibility.

We couldn’t spot any ships, although Donn assured me that local villagers usually fished the delta in tiny two-man boats. He rattled off the names of a few villages, mentioning the “excellent rice wine of Fingash, the fishermen of Khor, who could tickle sharks with impunity, and the famous potter of Calizondi” (who had moved there from Hlanith on the advice of an oracle, and had since become famous from Lhosk to far Oonai for his snail-headed creations). Needless to say, they all had delicious fresh-caught fish.

“We’ll arrange for a boat to ferry you two across the river; it’s not that far from there to Hlanith, where the King will be waiting.”

“And you, Donn?”

“The deinos are far too large for these boats, and the closest ferry is a few days’ travel upstream... Hakim and I will take our leave here, for we have other stops to make on this journey.”

“And we will be off as well,” broke in Mochizuki. “I hope to be able to attend the gathering at Ryūzō-ji Temple, but I must attend to several other matters of pressing import. We’ll be taking a different route a few kilometers down the path.”

“How many raptors will we be able to take with us?” asked Britomartis.

“We can take some of the raptors with us?” I asked, surprised. “I thought you or Hakim had to be there to control them.”

Donn chuckled. “Well, yes, they are a lot safer when we’re with them, but the six I’m sending with you are very well trained. Britomartis should have no problem commanding them.”

“I’ve never worked with this brood, but the nest knows me, and I understand raptors,” she said. “It should be fine, and from the river to Hlanith six should be sufficient to keep bandits away. And most other unpleasant creatures.”

We began the ride down, and I was forced lean far back in my seat to keep my balance as Sho trotted downhill. The raptors had all vanished, but I could see half a dozen of them racing through the tall grass, leaving shaking or trampled stalks I their wake. Every so often they surprised some animal or bird and an explosion of noise—and sometimes violence—shattered the air.

Raptors were very good at hunting. And killing.

At least an hour later the path levelled out a bit and the pace slackened, and Donn halted for a rest where the path widened out into a glade. While the deinos were quite comfortable to ride on level ground, the incessant jolt of trotting down that hillside was torture. Given how big the deinos were, I figured they were pretty tired of it, too.

Sure enough, my Sho and one of the packbeasts prompt sat down, honking quietly as they squirmed their undersides into the cool ground.

Donn and Hakim went from deino to deino, offering food and water, and scratching an outstretched leg or jaw now and again.

There was even a scattering of raptors settling down for a rest; presumably, the ones that had eaten something on the way down.

“We’ll leave you here, Donn,” called Mochizuki. “We journey upstream, then across and into the Karthian Hills, thence into the Enchanted Wood and the land of the Zoogs. With luck we shall meet again at the temple.”

Donn bowed.

“Safe journey, Mistress Mochizuki. Another cold, sleepless night awaits me, alas...”

“And you, Donn,” she replied. “Safe journey to you all, and...” She glanced at me, “...may the Force be with you!”

She grinned, twitched the reins, and galloped down the path, her three guards close behind.

“What was that?” queried Britomartis, looking to me for an explanation, “What she said... ‘May the Force be with you’?”

I chuckled. “It’s a famous story in my realm and a long one. The Force is the basic force of life and fundamental good, in a sense.”

“She used it once before, too. A goodly parting indeed.”

“I’m sorry to see her leave... it was comforting to have her on guard.”

“You have so little faith in my skill, Master Richard!?”

“Oh, no! Not at all, Britomartis! But... but...”

She laughed, and I realized she wasn’t upset after all... unsure what I was trying to say I decided the better part of valor was to shut up, which I did with enthusiasm.

“Don’t worry, Richard. I certainly do not lack faith in my own arm, but neither do I refuse assistance from others! I, too, was glad to have her on watch.”

I heaved a silent sigh of relief.

Time for a masterful change of subject.

“How long have you known Donn? And Chóng?”

“I met Donn first, in fact, many years ago...” she answered, head tilted in recollection. “I was on an errand for the King near Mount Lerion, and Donn was having some trouble with river pirates, as I recall.”

“Rather more than just ‘some’ trouble, I’d say,” broke in Donn. “There were half a hundred of them, drawn by the scent of gold in my caravan, thanks to a deino-tender who couldn’t hold his liquor.”

“He was almost overwhelmed, but my arrows from the jungle slowed the attackers down long enough to get his defenses up. After I ran out of arrows I stepped out with my scimitars and cut them down from the rear.”

“Oh, nonsense. We were ready for them and would have slaughtered the bunch as soon as they got closer.”

“As I recall, they already were closer,” said Britomartis. “Two or three deinos were already down, and you were holding off two of the ruffians yourself with some very fancy swordplay...”

“Bah. I was toying with them. You ruined all my fun!”

“And you were so upset that afterward you invited me to share your table, and tried to gift me a bag of gold for my trouble. Hardly appropriate for someone who has ruined your fun.”

“Perfectly natural for one so polite as myself upon meeting such a beautiful and unescorted woman as yourself.”

“Yes, of course... that must be the reason. Merchants are always so generous with their gold dust, I had forgotten...”

She turned back to me.

“Word of that incident got back to Chóng, and it turned out that he and the King were old friends. Hmm. Perhaps not friends, exactly, but allies with many things in common, as it happens... and so I ended up working always for the King but sometimes also for, or with, Chóng.”

“And does Mistress Mochizuki work for the Chóng as well?”

“Oh, no. She’s the King’s, through and through. She’d give herself to a shantak at his command.”

“I’d rather she didn’t have to, though... she’s a mystery to me, always wearing a mask. Even when she smiles it’s only skin-deep—I wonder what she’s thinking when she looks at me like that, as if I were some strange beast she’d caught and was wondering if she should let me go or roast me for dinner.”

“She is privy to many secrets here in the Dreamlands,” added Donn. “And I believe in other realms as well, but only the King would know the truth of that.”

He turned to Britomartis, “Milady, if you would like to continue that night’s discussion I would be honored! My wives would welcome you!”

“I’m sure they would, dear Donn, but if they welcomed me quite so well then there would be none left for you!”

“A true man stands erect and proud as he faces the many challenges life presents, and conquers them with a thrust of destiny.”

The thrust he demonstrated was not a sword-thrust, but came from some centimeters below his belt.

Britomartis laughed again. “Oh, Donn, you are incorrigible. But cute, though, even so.”

Donn looked at the sky, checking the position of the sun.

“We’ve hours of sunlight left, and it would be good to be out of the forest and to the river by sundown. Let’s ride.”

The deinos and raptors shuffled into their places as we started getting ready. I think Sho was beginning to recognize me: she came shuffling over for a snack. Donn quickly tossed me one so I could be the person to feed it to her, and strengthen the bond. I was careful to hold the chunk of meat on the flat of my palm, not wanting to lose a finger to a careless dinosaur.

Sho slurped it right up, and gave me another on the cheek in thanks.

We got under way, wending our way through the quiet woods, deino talons raking through the dry leaves underfoot, and birds singing with delight in the sun-dappled branches. The pines has given way to bushier trees, and the area was rich with flowers and a few red berries peeking out here and there.

An acorn flew past my nose, and I looked up to see an angry squirrel looking down at the deino. The deino looked up, and stretched its neck toward the little morsel, but the squirrel was faster, bouncing to another branch and chittering away furiously at the intrusion.

I patted Sho on the head and we kept walking.

At last the River Zuro appeared, water glittering through the trees, and we emerged onto the coastal dunes once again. We looked down over the river’s enormous delta, a never-ending expanse of sand, water, and mangrove trees.

“There’s a boat, over there,” said Donn, pointing. “Does it fly a crest?”

“None that I can see,” replied Britomartis, hand shading her eyes from the afternoon sun and staring at the boat—just a tiny black dot, to my eyes. “Just two people and a casting net. Oh, there’s a third... she must have been sitting down or something.”

“She?”

“They all seem to be women... or at least have well-developed breasts! They’re close to nude.”

“The pearl divers of Khor, then. Good,” nodded Donn, satisfied. “The village should be only a short distance upriver.”

We set off upriver, Donn whistling a signal every few minutes to warn them that we were coming and meant no harm.

After about ten minutes, Donn suddenly dismounted, signaling a halt as we walked over to a small stand of trees. As I wondered why, suddenly an indigo-tattooed warrior stepped out of the camouflaging pattern of shadows and sunlight, almost materializing from thin air.

“Donn.”

“Tricomatus.”

They greeted each other with that wrist-shake, the same one King Kuranes had used at the Palace of the Seventy Delights.

“You are early this year.”

“These two are to Hlanith,” he said, pointing at us. “We need transport across the River Zuro.”

“For you, Donn, of course,” smiled Tricomatus. “I hope you remembered to bring a little frankincense for me this time?”

“And cinnamon, my friend. I do not forget you!”

“Come,” called Tricomatis, waving his hand forward. “Welcome to Khor!”

Another dozen warriors, men and women, materialized out of the underbrush. Wearing little but patterns of ochre, indigo and ash, they had stayed hidden, invisible, until they knew we were no threat.

They were armed with bows, some spears, and long sticks with no obvious purpose.

I tried to get a better look but couldn’t figure it out... until one of them put a short spear into the end of the stick and launched it at a rabbit some dozens of meters away. An atlatl! I had never seen one before. The rabbit hadn’t, either, and by the time it noticed its danger, it was too late. Someone was having roast rabbit tonight.

Donn was in the front of the caravan, and dismounted to walk next to Tricomatis, talking of this and that. Britomartis, however, fell back to join me, and signal we should dismount and walk together.

“Master Richard, Khor is a dangerous village,” she whispered. “Whatever happens, follow Donn’s lead, and do not, under any circumstances, dally with the villagers.”

“Dally?”

“More than kissing,” she replied, circumspect as one would expect of a Elizabethan lady. “There will be a feast in the evening and they will try to lure you away. Lie down, and do not sit or stand up, no matter what. Keep everyone at arm’s length, if you can. Refuse with force, if needed, but do not draw blood.”

She was reticent to talk, surrounded as we were by the villagers, and I was left wondering what was coming.

Khor was a compact village built atop a cliff next to the river. The boat-landing was at the water’s edge, of course, with a steep path running up the face of the cliff. It looked like the only way to reach the landing was by water, or by that cliff-face.

Another, much wider and easier slope, led up and around on the landward side before turning back toward the village. The cliff itself was sort of an island, connected to the rising hills in the rear by a narrow causeway that had once been natural but was now shaped and walled for defense. It would be a hard nut to crack by land or water... and the cliff’s height practically guaranteed it was safe from floods, unless they were strong enough to cut away the very solid-looking rock it was built of.

Tricomatis led us up through the surrounding fields, and pointed to a large wooden building near the narrow entrance to the village. “Your deinos are too large for the village, I’m afraid. We would be quite upset if you accidentally toppled our homes! We’ll take care of them there for you until... until when, Donn? What are your plans?”

“As soon as these two are off to Hlanith I’ll be heading upriver, then to Ulthar.”

“Be careful. The cats and the Zoogs are on uneasy terms of late, and while they rarely involve outsiders in their battles, the truce holding now is brittle.”

“Truce? They declared a formal truce?” asked Britomartis.

“Yes, the first I have ever heard tell of, although there have been long years of relative peace now and again.”

Donn and Britomartis exchanged a look.

“The Zoogmoot,” said Donn.

“I wonder if the cats will be there, strange as it sounds,...” said Britomartis.

“So you have heard of the Zoogmoot as well, then,” said Tricomatis. “It is to be held on the Dark of Bubastis.”

“A most inauspicious date for the cats... that is the one day their goddess is unable to answer their pleas.”

“Another forty days or so,” mused Donn. “You should have reached your destination by then, although the King set no date.”

“But he did say to travel with all due haste,” Britomartis reminded him.

“How soon can you arrange transport across the Zuro?” asked Donn.

“At any time, of course,” said Tricomatis, “but as it happens we are sending a large shipment of spice to Hlanith on the morrow, and the boat will easily carry two passengers.”

“Excellent!” smiled Donn. “Let me double—no, triple!—the usual fee.”

He pulled a wallet from his belt, and counted out three gold coins, which he held out to Tricomatis.

Tricomatis smiled, and stepped forward to grip Donn in the wrist-shake, his left hand on Donn’s shoulder.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said, then stepped back and the coins were gone. “Now we shall feast!”

He gave a huge hoot, and a flood of children came spilling out of the village, swarming our caravan and jumping up and down with excitement around Donn and Hakim.

Donn laughed with delight, and pulled a sack from the pannier on one of the packbeasts.

“Quiet, now. Quiet! No treats for the noisy!”

The children around him immediately fell silent, eyes huge as they watched him open the bag and stick his hand inside...

“Hmm... is this sack empty? ... My goodness, I do hope I haven’t forgotten them!”

He rooted around a little more, sticking his arm in up to the shoulder, face turned up toward the sky as he apparently searched and searched with his fingertips.

The children began whispering to each other, but they were still smiling.

“Aha!” he shouted, and pulled his hand out holding a smaller bag full of candies of all the colors of the rainbow. “Found it!”

The children erupted with shouts of glee, and began jumping again.

“Line up, now! Are you children or raptors?”

They quickly formed a line—shortest in front—and Donn began doling out one candy to each, nodding individually, and receiving a word of thanks or a curtsy in return.

I glanced toward Hakim to see what he was doing... there were only four children there, seated cross-legged in front of him like disciples to Gautama. They all held panpipes, and he was showing them how to finger and blow. They squawked and squeaked until they were red in the face, and Hakim shushed them, raising his own panpipes to his lips.

He played a haunting tune very softly, the notes swelling up from obscurity to somehow permeate the very air, impossible to ignore—or dislike. Donn’s children fell silent, captured by the music, listening in awe to the gentle, lilting melody.

It gradually sped up, accelerating toward a climax, a crescendo, and suddenly. Just. Stopped.

The silence sat heavy for a minute; nobody could move with the shock.

“He has written the poem for that piece,” Britomartis said quietly. “and will show it to no one.”

“It was so beautiful, and just ended so abruptly. Chopped off.”

“Yes, chopped off. Exactly that.” She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “It is his elegy to his wife, his children, his land, snuffed out in an instant.”

She bowed deeply to Hakim, who nodded, then returned his attention to his music students, twisting their hands and fingers into position, and showing them how to shape their lips.

“Donn is Santa Claus!”

Britomartis looked at me, frowning. “Saint who?”

It was my turn to laugh.

“Never mind... a famous giver of gifts in my realm.”

Young men and women had joined us, walking from their chores in the field or the village to see the strangers. One beautiful woman, or perhaps yet a girl, with an ochre pattern running down the side of her face, to her neck, her breastbone, and deeper than I could see, offered me an apple, and when I took it with thanks, a demure kiss on the cheek. I recalled Britomartis’ words too late and tried to fend her off, but it was too late.

It seemed a perfectly normal peck to me.

She had stunning blue eyes and pitch-black hair. Now that I looked, all of the adults had the same piercing blue eyes... the whites of their eyes were entirely blue. The children, however, looked perfectly ordinary, with brown eyes. Peculiar.

I wanted to ask Britomartis about it, but she had her own bevy of admirers, but while mine were mostly young women, she had a good mix of both genders and seemed to be enjoying the attention. Someone had given her a tiny green-and-yellow marmoset, which now sat on her shoulder munching on a piece of candy (had it stolen it from some unlucky child?) and playfully swatting at anyone who dared come too close to his Britomartis. She named it Chee-Chee.

Some of the men led our deinos away, and Donn himself locked the raptors into a small enclosure where they wouldn’t cause any trouble.

We crossed the bridge, through the massive gates, and into the village.

There were thirty or forty buildings of various size, all wattled bamboo and adobe, with thatched roofs. They were painted in a dazzling host of hues, some with stripes of multiple colors, but the roofs were uniformly untouched, dried-grass brown, each with a blackened stone chimney protruding.

There were no doors that I could see, only woven hangings across the entrance, most now pinned up, open to the sun and air. Obviously there was no worry of theft here.

In the center of the village was a larger structure, built on a stone base to rise above the rest. It was painted in blue, but the color varied from a deep midnight at the base to an almost sky-blue at the top of the wall. None of the other buildings had shading: stripes, yes, but no shading.

“No doors, no locks,” I commented to Britomartis. “but strong defenses against external enemies.”

“Khor is very close,” she explained. “They share everything amongst themselves, under the guidance of the village elders. That payment Donn made will be in the village coffer shortly; it wasn’t paid to Tricomatis, only entrusted to him.”

“Do they marry among the clan, too?”

“Yes and no,” she said mysteriously. “Later.”

We reached the central building. It had no windows and only a single, quite small door made of wood, unlike the cloth hangings in the other doorways.

“You must bow your head to signify your acceptance of the will of the elders when you enter,” explained Donn, placing his hand atop my head and pressing down. “Be careful not to bang your head when you go through.”

I stepped through.

Expecting dark and stuffy, I stopped in shock. It was cool and filled with a gentle blue radiance. In the center of the building was a stone well, sort of, a row of stone blocks on the floor surrounding a hole several meters wide, but instead of blackness, the hole was full of light. It overflowed from the well, flooding into every nook and cranny of the spacious, almost empty room, with energy, and at the same time I felt a cool breeze blowing from the well toward me, rushing past and through the yet-open doorway.

Britomartis pushed me in the small of the back.

“Master Richard...”

I returned to my senses, and stepped to the side.

Behind Britomartis came Donn, and Hakim.

Tricomatis and the other villagers stayed outside, for now at least.

I realized that there was a group of people sitting on the floor on the other side of the well, almost hidden in its actinic brilliance.

Donn stepped forward and faced them, bowing his head.

“We come to you in peace, and in the Name of the Great Mother shall abide by the Laws.”

Britomartis nudged me with her shoulder.

“Do what he did.”

Donn stepped to the side, and I stepped forward to repeat his oath.

Britomartis followed, then Hakim.

Hakim could not speak.

He knelt, and touched his forehead to the ground once, twice, three times, staying in that position for a moment after the third, then rose and joined us.

“In peace we welcome you,” came the voice of a child, perhaps a young girl. “Approach.”

We stepped around the well, and closer to the figures seated on the far side.

There were three of them, all wearing the same rough-woven brown robes. The one closest to us was ancient, his bald head a mass of wrinkles surrounding blank, sightless eyes. He was looking directly at me as he spoke.

“So you are he...” he whispered quietly. “And you, too, come in peace?”

“I do. And I, too, shall abide by the Laws,” I replied, although unsure as to exactly what I saw swearing to obey.

“He lies!”

The face of a young girl, no more than three or four, suddenly appeared from his robe, as if he were holding the child in his arms. Her visage was twisted, angry, and her eyes narrowed as they pierced me.

“I... I do come in peace!” I said, at a loss for this sudden attack.

The elder kissed the girl, and shushed her.

“He comes at the behest of the King, young Chil’elderanan. Trust in the King’s word in this.”

She quieted, glaring at me in silence.

“You may stay the night,” came a quiet voice from one of the other seated figures. A woman, perhaps in her middle age? “but you must leave with the morning light.”

Donn bowed again. “Thank you, Elders. We leave with your grace.”

He turned and walked toward the doorway, but as I turned to follow the robe slipped off the arm of the elder, revealing the child’s body to me...

She had no body.

It was his arm.

Her face, still glaring in anger, grew from his wrist...

Britomartis grabbed my arm and practically dragged me from the building, back into the sunlight.

“What...? That girl’s face was...”

She put her hand over my mouth. “Not now.”

It was hard to talk anyway, with the villagers thronging us. They were singing, dancing, and practically carried us to a wide open space where a huge fire pit waiting. Already a spitted buopoth turned slowly over the flames, two of the villagers pouring some dark liquid over it.

The ground was covered with woven reed mats, dotted with pillows, and huge plates of fruit, and ewers of some unknown drink.

“Our welcome,” said Donn simply, waving his arm to take it all in.

He pulled me close, his mouth to my ear.

“Eat and drink freely as we are welcomed guests here, but remember: no matter how inviting they may seem, do not let them kiss you, or more. Lie down and stay down. Refuse every offer, and they will leave you alone. Eventually.”

I didn’t know exactly what the problem might be, but after seeing that grotesque fusion of old man and young child, I was rather wary of the villagers, cute as some of them might be.

It was a festive night, with lute and drum inviting the villagers to enjoy the feast, the stars, and wild dancing. The buopoth roast was delicious, dripping with some sauce that seemed to have a lot of rum and spices in it, and we all ate our fill of meat and fruit. Even Chee-Chee had enough, devouring a huge bowl of fruit all by herself and then stretching out for a nap next to Britomartis. As the evening sky darkened into night, pole-mounted torches were set up around the ground, and the dancing became even wilder.

Man and women both began stripping off their clothing, even ripping it off, to drop, forgotten, to the ground. The dance became closer and faster, as they entwined arms, rubbing their bodies over one another with beads of sweat glistening in the firelight and flying through the air as limbs jerked and backs arched.

One well-endowed young woman, naked but for a single anklet and an ochre-and-indigo tattoo running up her body from there to her forehead, came to me, grasping my arm and pulling me toward the other villagers. I would have jumped at her invitation any other time, but Donn...

“I cannot. I have drunk too much,” I lied, declining with sincere regret. My newly young body was certainly ready and able to respond as she so most obviously desired.

Her eyes, blue orbs with tiny black pupils, seemed sightless, never quite looking directly at me—why were her pupils so small in the evening light?

I looked about to see similarly (un)clad women—and a few men— surrounding the other three as well, but with little success. None of us rose, and none of the villagers could leave their dance for more than a few minutes, drawn back into the maelstrom of flesh and desire.

A warm hand sliding across my chest drew my attention back.

She hadn’t left, and in fact there were now two very attractive women rubbing up against me, both disturbingly naked. I lifted her hand off me and placed it on the other woman, but it wandered back, and joined another sliding over my torso body. One slipped down into my pants, and gripped me tightly.

I looked to Donn for help... he was in the same situation, with three women wrapped about his body. He was struggling to push them off, but as soon as he dislodged one another took her place.

He caught my eye, and shook his head in warning not to give in.

Britomartis was struggling with a handful of villagers, too, of both sexes, her legs clamped tightly together to stave off incessant suitors. She was flushed in the torchlight, panting, but far more successful than I in protecting herself. I saw her kick one overly persistent man in the testicles... he staggered back with the force of the kick, but evidenced no pain. His erection remained unchanged, but he collided with another villager and they fell to the ground together, embracing.

Chee-Chee was screaming in fear, pulling on her leash and trying to escape, but Britomartis couldn’t spare the time to deal with her.

Hakim was playing his panpipe again, although I couldn’t hear the notes, and the women surrounding him seemed captured in its melody, moving slowly, as if half-asleep. He pushed back their advances easily.

I continued my struggles, pushing the women off my body again and again, in spite of their increasing urgency. My hands were slick with sweat, stained with ochre and ash, in a maelstrom of squirming bodies and hands and tongues on my skin. More than once I had to twist my hips to remove seeking lips from where they shouldn’t be.

The music grew faster and faster, and suddenly the villagers attached to the four of us like leeches abandoned us for the throng of villagers in the center, loping or skittering on all fours to join that growing mass. The music rose to an ear-splitting crescendo, then with a single boom of a drum, silence fell. The torches guttered on, and the mound of human flesh in the center of the clearing writhed and moaned.

Donn staggered up, and gestured to the rest of us to join him, finger to his lips.

We left, silently, and trudged to the small hut they had given us for the night.

It was impossible to shut the door—there wasn’t one—so he huddled with me, speaking softly.

“They call themselves a clan, an extended family, but in fact they are a single, um, person,” he explained. “They, um, collect, certain fluids from passersby—or passing merchants, as the case may be—to keep their bloodline fresh. There is only one elder here, and only one villager.”

He sighed.

“Had you gone with her, there would be another face on the elder’s body in a few months’ time. Your face. For Britomartis, it would have meant birthing a monstrosity.”

Britomartis was silent, sitting with her head hanging between her upthrust knees, still breathing heavily. As were we all.

“Why didn’t you just let us sleep outside the village?”

“Because it is the Law here, and the penalty for breaking the Law is to be stumped, with all your limbs chopped off, and carefully maintained as a donor. Or womb. Once they begin mating they are as dumb animals, so we can participate in the rite as the Law demands, and still not join with them.”

I fell silent, nauseous with the knowledge of what these people were, and what could have happened.

Sleep eluded me that night, and I tossed and turned to the distant sounds of the villagers’ festival till the distant dawn.

* * *

The others awoke with the dawn, and Hakim doled out the usual dried meat and rice, together with some of the fruit and buopoth from last night.

We ate in silence, for the most part, speaking as few words as possible. I wondered if anyone had slept.

After, we prepared our packs for the day’s journey... today we would split up, Donn and Hakim continuing their journey upstream, and Britomartis and I onto the Hlanith, and the King.

The deinos and raptors had apparently been well cared for; they seemed quite content, and well-fed. Donn and Hakim called out six raptors to accompany us, with collars on their necks and leashes for us to hold. We were formally “introduced,” and carefully let them smell us, and fed them buopoth meat as proof we meant them no harm. They were already used to us, of course, from the journey thus far, but from today they would be with us alone, and a little reinforcement seemed a good idea.

I finished scratching the last one between the eyes—they all seemed to love that, pushing their foreheads against my fingertips and twisting their necks so I’d hit the itchiest spot—and stood up.

There was a seventh raptor standing there, no collar or leash, just looking at me.

It was Cornelius, the omega raptor who had circled around behind the ghast to hamstring it instead of attacking from the front like the others.

“How did he get out?” I asked.

Donn cocked his head.

“Absolutely no idea. I took care not to let any of the others out of the enclosure... but here he is!”

“He must have jumped the fence. Or climbed it,” said Britomartis. “You only let six out, I’m sure of it.”

“But they don’t climb, do they?” I asked. “And surely the fence is too high to jump”

“Quite true, but when it comes to Cornelius...” Donn’s voice trailed off. “It looks like you shall take seven raptors with you, not six, after all.”

I bent down to scritch his head, and offer him the last bit of meat.

He accepted both with a very human nod of thanks.

Tricomatis walked up, looking quite the same as he had yesterday. I recalled that squirming mound of human flesh I had seen last night—and only so narrowly escaped!—and looked for a sign in his face, but he was perfectly, unbelievably, normal.

“Let me walk you down to the river, you and your raptors,” he said, pointing vaguely toward the gate we had first entered through yesterday.

I bent over to whisper to Britomartis, “The road to the river? And not the entrance through the village?”

“Only villagers ever use that path, or the tunnels beneath the village. Willingly, at least.”

She turned to Donn.

“A safe journey to you, Master Donn, and to you, Master Hakim. May the Goddess of Good Fortune watch over you.”

“Safe journey, Master Richard. Safe journey, my dear Britomartis. I await your return with pounding heart and aching loins.”

“Ache away, Donn. The cake uneaten looks the sweetest, but then again even roses have thorns.”

“For you, beautiful Britomartis, I would gladly suffer a bed of thorns, and bees as well.”

She laughed.

Donn grasped my wrist in the usual wrist-shake, which finally felt quite normal to me by now, and swatted me on the shoulder.

“I entrust to you my betrothed, Master Richard,” he grinned.

“We are not and never shall be, you lech!”

“Ah, the sweet voice of my love. I know, deep down, you cannot resist me.”

Britomartis lifted her arm to hide her face, and curtsied.

“Oh, my lordship! I am faint with my passion for you, and fear I must flee or lose myself to your manly charms!”

She burst out laughing, and strode off toward the gate, holding the leashes of the six raptors in her left hand, Chee-Chee as happy as ever to ride her shoulder and try to snatch insects from the air.

I nodded to Donn, who was still laughing, and Hakim, who had ignored the whole exchange and concentrated on getting the deinos ready for travel, then followed her. Cornelius—wearing no leash or collar—trotted behind.

There was no landing at the river’s edge, but a fairly small ship awaited us, I’d guess a caravel, twin-masted with a single triangular sail rigged. Only about twenty meters in length, its shallow keel let it come close enough to the shore for a simple gangplank to reach.

If the weather held, the trip should only take three days. The single lateen sail they had rigged now for the river would be joined by the larger sail on the main mast to catch the ocean wind.

“What are they carrying?” I asked Britomartis.

“They harvest a wide range of rare spices and medicinal herbs from the Karthian Hills, they say, and no doubt that accounts for the majority of their hold. In fact, though, I’m sure that carry a king’s ransom in river pearls and Honey of The Goddess.”

I could guess what a river pearl was, but “Honey of The Goddess?”

“It turns back the hands of time,” she said, “and is in constant demand among those with gold to buy it... and people who use it fall under its spell, requiring ever greater amounts to regain their lost beauty or vigor.”

“Also from the Karthian Hills?”

She shook her head. “No. They make it... secrete it... in Khor. Many have tried to steal it, but Khor has never been conquered, or even held. There have been... rumors... of some that tried, and in failing, lost all but life itself.”

“Sounds like it’s addicting.”

“Youth is addicting, but you cannot defeat Death herself, try as you might.”

“You and I, at least, seem to have managed to hold Her at bay for long years...”

“Am I alive, Master Richard? Was I ever?”

“You certainly are here and now!”

“I wonder. If I am merely the dream of a poet, who was himself dreamed by a sleeping God dreamed in turn by you, and others of your realm, am I?”

I had no answer.

I could ask myself the same question, with the same result.

* * *

The captain of the caravel was an enormously stout, short, bald man wearing a foul-looking loincloth and chewing something that might have been tobacco. Spitting tobacco.

He stood next to a huge wolf-like dog, long black and gray fur, that stared at us like he was watching a steak on the grill.

“I don’t know you,” he said, standing at the top of the gangway to prevent us from boarding.

“We come from the King,” answered Britomartis, “and came this far with Donn of Dylath-Leen. Master Richard and I are for Hlanith.”

“Fang!”

The wolf stood, and walked down the plank slowly, obviously suspicious.

He slowly examined Britomartis, smelling her legs and out-stretched hand closely. Chee-Chee squirmed on her shoulder, obviously scared of the dog, and the dog ignored the monkey entirely. Then he turned his attention to me. 

I slowly squatted, bringing my head down closer to his level, and stretched my own hand out. He approached, smelling me, and suddenly lay down in front of me, ears flat to his head, and rolled over to show his belly.

Unsure of how to respond, I gingerly scratched it, and he rumbled deep in his chest somewhere with satisfaction.

“Hmph. I never seen Fang do that before,” said the captain, “but you ain’t one of those Khor monsters, and that’s good enough for me. I’m Klot.”

“Britomartis of Celephaïs”

“Richard of Celephaïs”

He stepped back to let us board the ship, and pointed to our raptors with this chin. One of this crew—a loin-cloth garbed Khemite, by the color of his skin—gathered up their leashes and pulled them up the gangway. He locked them in a cage on the deck—there was only a stern castle, no forecastle—and didn’t notice Cornelius until he had closed and locked the cage. He turned to see the last raptor just standing and staring at him, and cursed.

Cornelius just waited for him to open the cage again, and walked in all by himself, quietly.

The sailor cocked his head, then shrugged his shoulders and locked the cage again.

The caravel had already loaded the bales of spice and man-sized ceramic jars sealed with tightly-bound oilcloth.

We expected the journey to take three days, which meant two nights of sleeping on his tiny ship as it wended its way north to Hlanith. Our own bedrolls, at least, were clean, but I had my doubts about the rest of the ship.

The ship set off shortly thereafter, pushing off into the current and drifting down to the Celephaïs Strait. There wasn’t much wind until we left the delta, and the muddy river water gave way to dark green seawater and scattered whitecaps. It began to pick up a bit, and the caravel began rocking back and forth with the waves, beating its way north along the coast. We were quite a ways offshore, in the ocean proper, but I could still see the line of green along the horizon west of us. Captain Klot was using it as a guide, hugging the shore fairly closely and avoiding the deeps.

Klot rarely spoke at all, except for shouting at the crewmembers as needed. There were several dozen of them, a mongrel crew drawn from every part of the Dreamlands, and I never did learn any of their names. Britomartis and I kept to ourselves, and slept near the raptors to make sure they were treated well. Donn’s gold had paid for water and food for all of us but the caravel deck was certainly not a luxury suite, even with an oilcloth awning to keep off the worst of the spray and sun.

We spent much of the time talking, while snoozing or fishing... it turned out that raptors absolutely love fresh fish, especially wriggling fish they can swallow whole, and with seven eternally hungry maws to fill, we were rarely bored. Chee-Chee wasn’t much of a fish fan, but with fewer bugs and frogs available she discovered that fish guts were actually pretty tasty. Messy, though.

The crew didn’t mind us fishing, especially as we provided a goodly catch for their dinner as well, and Captain Klot was probably happy to see us feed ourselves rather than eat his salted beef.

The dawn sky on the second day was crimson, earning the captain’s best scowl. He commanded the crew to lash down everything securely, including the cage holding the raptors, and prepare for a storm.

By noon it was clear he had been right... the whitecaps were rising, and the wind was beginning to whip the sail in strong gusts, one of which carried off my bedroll when I stupidly left it on the deck for a moment, looking for something else in my pack.

“Well, it looks as if you may share my bed after all, Master Richard,” smiled Britomartis. “With a sword between us, of course.”

I would have been delighted to sleep next to her, only wishing it could be more, but demurred. “From the looks of those clouds I don’t expect any of us will be getting much sleep tonight. And dry bedding will be in short supply, I fear.”

“Captain Klot says there is no inlet along this coast we can safely shelter in, and we’ll have to pull farther asea until the storm clears. It’s going to be a rough ride tonight.”

By mid-afternoon the sky was black, and the caravel was bucking like a rollercoaster. Britomartis and I made what preparations we could, and we ate a cold meal under a whipping oilcloth and intermittently driving rain. The captain tied himself to the stern castle, and the entire crew complement was on deck, bracing for the storm. Chee-Chee was very unhappy, screeching her displeasure at the gusts every time the oilcloth snapped.

The waves grew in size, and the ship seesawed more than ever as it rode up and down one after another, first pointing up toward the sullen sky then crashing down, prow first, into a wall of cold water that made the ship shiver like a dog shedding water. The captain’s shouts were lost in the deluge, swept away by wind and wave until all that was left was struggling to breathe, and waiting for the water to subside.

We were exhausted after a few minutes of the storm, and yet it was likely to continue for hours. There was nothing I could do for the raptors, but at least the cage was still there, and the raptors inside looked very wet, very angry, and very much alive.

Someone screamed.

I turned to see what had happened, fearing a man overboard in the wash.

Large scaled figures were advancing along the deck, shuffling through the waves as they came. A crewman slashed the rope securing him to the ship and tried to flee, but he was too late... a webbed hand slashed through the air, leaving a scarlet trail behind as it cut into the man’s side, spinning him around with a wail and ripping off half his chest.

Klot’s shout came through the storm: “Gnorri!”

The crewmen drew their arms at once, moving toward the center of the deck and preparing to meet the invaders.

“To me, you scum! Or the ship founders!”

“We must protect the captain or all is lost,” shouted Britomartis as she cut her rope and jumped toward the stern castle where Klot stood.

I followed suit, and we pulled ourselves through the smashing waves upwards, joined by a few of the crew.

There were seven of us on the stern castle, including the captain, who had his hands full trying to keep some control over the ship. A huge axe had appeared from somewhere, driven into the planking at the captain’s feet, ready for instant use.

The six of us took up positions around Klot, struggling to keep our balance while simultaneously keeping watch for gnorri. They were slow, lumbering beasts afoot, but tremendously powerful and dangerous in or out of the water. While largely human in form, their hands and feet were enormous and webbed, and their heads some horrible mixture of human and fish, with wide jaw and multiple rows of pointed teeth bared in anger.

A scaly arm reached up from below, grasping the taffrail and yanking a section off to be whirled away by the spray. My longsword made its own whirl, slashing down onto that arm with my full force. A shock ran up my arm, and the sword twisted in my grasp—for a second I thought it was caught, but it pulled free. The monster’s arm was cut to the bone, and a roar of pain from below rewarded me.

The other’s faced their own attackers, fighting the off with sword and axe. We had the advantage of position, looking down on the main deck, but they had numbers and strength.

Again and again they tried to gain the castle, and again and again we threw them back. My arms ached from the effort, and the sword was heavy in my grasp. I grimaced and looked to Britomartis.

She was covered in gnorri slime and blood, hair matted to her head and helm gone. Her eyes were bright with battle lust, and she seemed more beautiful than ever to me in that instant.

There were only four of us left now: the two of us, the captain (who had himself decapitated one over-eager gnorri), and one of the stocky crewmen, armed with a double-headed spear.

We could not last.

My glance at Britomartis was my undoing... my attention elsewhere, a hand reached up and grasped my leg. Off balance, I tried to turn and chop it, but I couldn’t swing quickly enough in that direction, and my blow glanced off the creature’s scales. It pulled my leg, and I desperately threw myself backwards onto my back, trying to escape. My foot was dragged over the edge of the castle, and the gnorri other hand latched on... but not to attack me!

They merely pulled, trying to drag me down off the castle!

It gave a chilling hoot, and the other gnorri turned toward it, abandoning their efforts to gain the stern castle, and leaping or loping on all fours toward me.

Britomartis froze in shock, disbelieving her eyes, then returned to her senses and took advantage of the changed circumstances to leap atop one of the gnorri passing below her, back turned. Throat cut, it collapsed with a gurgle, and she leapt to attack the next.

My captor had been joined by another, and together they dragged me toward the sea, each pulling one leg. I tried to swing, and barely connected, not half strong enough to free myself.

Suddenly there was a terrible roaring and snapping behind me... I risked a glance to see what had happened and shouted with joy: the raptors were free!

They leapt onto the back of the gnorri, their teeth and talons rending scaly flesh with abandon. Fish was delicious, but these raptors wanted the joy of the hunt and the thrill of combat, and they fought to their heart’s content. The deck shifted and swayed, and raptor talons dug deep into their gilled prey.

One of the gnorri holding me tried to turn and fight but was too late, and a raptor eviscerated it from neck to groin, tearing out its throat with dripping fangs. The other dropped my leg and fled, scuttling to the broken edges of the deck and plunging into the waves.

I lifted myself up on one arm to see where the gnorri were... those not dead were fleeing, leaping into the sea to escape, one with a raptor still savaging its neck as it fell.

Shortly, the deck was empty save for scattered bodies and feasting raptors, and as we looked on in amazement, the wind began to die, and a tiny patch of sunset appeared to the west. The worst of the storm was past us.

I collapsed to the deck, trying to catch my breath.

Then something caught my eye... standing next to a pair of raptors savaging a twitching gnorri corpse, Cornelius stood, tail braced, licking his talons.

The door of the cage was open, the cage undamaged. Had the door opened in the storm, or had Cornelius... no, that was impossible. But there was no denying that we owed them our lives, and if the boat had been lost, the raptors would have drowned as well. They saved us, but also themselves.

The mast was still standing, but the sail, even though it had been furled before the storm, was gone. A few men crept out of hiding, or down from the rigging, waterlogged and stunned by the storm and the battle. There were few injured, and fewer bodies, but many missing.

Fang, the captain’s huge dog, was gone.

Chee-Chee came down from the rigging where she’d been hiding and leapt to Britomartis’ shoulder, baring her teeth and screeching at the dead monsters.

“Those were not gnorri,” said Britomartis, sitting on the castle, arms on her knees. She untied her pack from the railing and pulled a wax-sealed ceramic jug from it. She cut it open with her knife, took a long drink, and handed it to me. “The gnorri are not a gentle folk, but they rarely attack unprovoked, and have fish tails instead of feet. These were something rather more evil, and new to the Dreamlands.”

Whatever she handed me, it was fruity and very strong. It burned down my throat and brought feeling back to my aching muscles, reminding me that I was still alive and very tired and hungry.

I handed it to Captain Klot who took a long draught, signed with contentment, and handed it to the next man.

“I think,” I said slowly, “that these were the Deep Ones of dark Y'ha-nthlei...”

“Deep Ones? Y'ha-nthlei?” echoed Britomartis. “But they are of your realm, not the Dreamlands!”

“Yes. They were,” I replied quietly.

We sat, and breathed.

A gentle breeze blew, and the waves lapped quietly on the hull.

A seabird cried off in the distance.

Klot had been listening closely.

“They wanted to take you, not kill you,” he said. “I don’t think they were trying to kill any of us, we just got in their way.... Once they had you, they all stopped. If not for the raptors...”

“Yes, the raptors saved us,” agreed Britomartis. “But why you, Master Richard?”

“I have no idea... first the night-gaunts, then being accused at Khor, and now this...”

“Before that, in Khor, remember the elder said ‘So you are he’ when he met you,” mused Britomartis. “I wondered what that meant, but it seemed unimportant.”

Klot broke in.

“We must make repairs and leave these waters. I have a spare sail and enough rope for rigging, but I want you two to caulk the hull. There are always leaks, and no doubt more now than usual.”

“Of course, we’ll be happy to...” I started, only to be interrupted by Klot.

“I want you off my ship.”

My mouth snapped shut.

“I have accepted Donn’s gold and will deliver you to Hlanith as promised, but I want you gone. If we were any farther from Hlanith I’d put you ashore here and now.”

He stood.

“You’ll find shims, cloth and tar under the ladder to the hold.”

There were only about a dozen survivors, and they busied themselves with the sail and rigging. The ship itself was not much damaged, except for the missing rails and other losses not uncommon in storms.

The raptor’s cage survived the storm and attack unscathed, and now housed the three remaining raptors. The rest had been lost overboard, almost certainly dead since raptors couldn’t swim.

I examined the lock on the cage. It would not be impossible for Cornelius to open it, but it would have required for more intelligence than raptors were given credit for. They were about the size of a large German Shephard, and thought to be about as smart, but I wondered.... while I appreciated their timely appearance and successful defense, the timing was perhaps too timely.

Cornelius just cocked his head and looked at me when I asked his opinion.

None of the crew joined us in the hold. There were a number of leaks, none major, and we hammered in a few shims and rags, and tarred the leaks as best we could. By the time we were done the leaks had been reduced to mere drips, and we took turns draining the hold with the burr pumps. The leather buckets were not that large, but when full of water they became quite heavy... and after lifting a full bucket several dozen times my muscles—already exhausted from the battle—screamed with pain.

At last it was done, and we returned to the deck to find ourselves ostracized.

Neither captain nor crew approached, or spoke more than the necessary minimum.

Britomartis and I slept in shifts till morn, worried that the captain—or his men—might decide that we needed to leave the ship even sooner.

It was a cold and lonely night, but the ship was moving again, to Hlanith.

* * *

The waves under the dawning sun were beautiful, dancing and sparkling in the slanting rays. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but the mood of the crew was rather darker.

They continued to avoid us as the ship limped into Hlanith, and finally about noon tied up at one of the wharfs on the edge of the city.

One of the crew laid the gangplank down, and Klot stood silently as we herded our three raptors onto shore. The rest of the surviving crew stopped whatever they had been doing, and watched us leave. All our baggage was on our backs, with the raptor’s food in small panniers riding on their flanks.

They were eager to see the last of us, and we were delighted to be back on dry land.

Britomartis led the way with two raptors on leashes, and I followed with Cornelius. When I held up the leash to tie to his collar he cocked his head and looked at me, but consented to let me attach it.

“And now to The Armsman’s Dog, to meet up with the King.”

“The Armsman’s Dog?”

“A local inn, quite famous. The King always stays there when he visits Hlanith; apparently they’re old friends.”

The city felt more like my realm than the Dreamlands, with rugged granite walls, and timber-framed houses and shops with mortared panels painted white, and high-peaked slate roofs. I noticed there were many shops selling hand-made items of all kinds, most beautifully crafted, and as we walked closer to the city center the quality of the shops and the merchandise both rose considerably. The rutted dirt of the outskirts gave way to cobbled roads, thronged with ox-carts hauling goods to market, herds of sheep or ducks chivvied down the street, and people busy with daily life.

The people also reminded me of home: most people had faces that would not have been out of place in New York or London. They were dressed in a multitude of styles and colors, but the majority of the men were in knee-length pants, usually with a shirt, and the women calf-length skirts and loose tops, or dresses.

There were a lot of weapons, of course, but if I squinted a bit I could easily imagine I was at a SCA convention and not wandering through a dreamscape.

Britomartis led us from the main road back toward the sea, into the bustling wharf area. Ships of all sizes were loading and unloading, men carting goods hither and yon, arguments, shouts, and commotion of all sorts.

The wharves themselves were planked in oak in many places, where they weren’t worn granite. I wondered if the entire wharf had once been floored, like the carved teak of Lhosk.

“It’s all oak. And The Armsman’s Dog is over there,” she said, pointing, “right on the wharf.”

The inn was an ancient building, the exposed beams black with age and the mortared sections between them, once white, now shading from grey to black. It was quite large, with several entrances and two stories.

Britomartis headed for the largest entrance, where a troll—I supposed he was actually a man, but he was at least two meters tall and close to that wide—stood guard.

The bouncer, I assumed.

“Good morn to you, Timothy,” said Britomartis, nodding.

“Britomartis! How delightful to see you again!” said Timothy in an absurdly high squeak of a voice. I’d expected a booming bass. “It has been years!”

“It’s good to see you’re still well, Timothy.” She waved at me. “This is Master Richard, the King’s guest, from Celephaïs by way of Lhosk. Master Richard, this is Timothy, better known as Tiny Tim.”

I gave Timothy a half bow.

“Richard of Celephaïs. A pleasure to meet you, Master Timothy.”

“Timothy of Hlanith. And I, you,” he squeaked. “Any friend of hers is a friend of mine.”

“Can you take care of our raptors for us?” she asked. “We must report to the King at once.”

“Of course.”

Tiny Tim gave a piercing whistle, and a boy—couldn’t have been more than ten, I’d guess—popped up out of nowhere, and took the reins. When he tried to lead the raptors away toward the stables, one of them rebelled, pulling toward a fishing boat unloading its catch on the wharf nearby, but Cornelius nipped it on the shoulder, and it meekly fell back in line.

Britomartis apparently didn’t notice, but it struck me as strange... I decided to keep a close watch on Cornelius from now on.

Tiny Tim held the swinging door open for us, and Britomartis stepped inside. I followed with a “Thank you, Timothy.”

Inside was quite dark, especially since we’d just come in from the sunlit morning.

The ceiling was low, with exposed beams lit by a scattering of oil lamps suspended from above, and the meagre light that managed to seep through the greenish bull’s-eye panes running the length of the exterior wall.

It was still morning, but already there were a handful of patrons, most sitting at tables or at the counter; one quietly snoring on the floor toward the back. A quiet, friendly kind of place, then...

The innkeeper (bartender?) came bustling up, smiles and teeth, arms outstretched. He was dressed in rough-spun pants and shirt, with a leather apron and a face composed mostly of wrinkles and white teeth. His eyes, buried deep in the wrinkles, faintly caught the light.

“Britomartis! Welcome back! We’ve missed you! How long has it been? I don’t think you’ve been here for at least three years now. Or was it four? I’ve been terribly lonely! Oh, what a delightfully cute little monkey! What’s its name? May I pet it? Does it eat oranges, I wonder.” He turned to me. “And who is this? Surely you haven’t run off and discovered men now; I’d be so upset after all these years! Quite a handsome young man, though... my compliments on your choice, Britomartis...”

He bowed to me, still talking a mile a minute.

“I am Sam,” he said, “master of this establishment and at your service. We boast a selection of the finest food and drink of the Dreamlands for a most reasonable price, and of course offer a variety of other services for the discerning patron, such as yourself. Allow me to show you our rooms, Master, please, if you’ll just come with me right this way.”

I glanced to Britomartis, taken aback by the firecracker speech and sudden grip on my arm as he practically dragged me to a small wood door and through it. Britomartis just smiled, and lifted her hand to suggest I go along.

The three of us stepped through into a small hallway, where a very hairy man with a loincloth, a shortsword, and a mug of ale awaited us. He was sitting on a narrow bench along the hallway, and nodded at Sam as we went by. A guard?

Another door, Sam still talking a mile a minute in praise of his establishment.

The second door closed behind us, and when it thudded shut, Sam shut his mouth.

“Thank you, Sam. I’m sure The Armsman’s Dog is as wonderful as ever. It’s good to see you hearty and hale yet. Master Richard, this is Mistress Sam. In spite of her appearance and most ebullient speech, she is as sharp as they come.”

“Master Richard, welcome,” said Sam, nodding.

At a loss to discover that Master Sam was in fact Mistress Sam and not as empty-headed as I had assumed, I stammered a greeting and nodded back.

“Among other things, she works for the King,” explained Britomartis. “And Mistress Mochizuki. Hlanith is hardly a hotbed of rumor, but it is a major trading port, and one often visited by the rich and powerful seeking beautiful art.”

“I don’t know what the King wants with you, but he’s been waiting,” said Sam. “Upstairs, first door on the right.”

She opened a door leading onto a set of stairs, and stuck her head through and called out “Badr! Two coming up!”

She turned back to us. “All safe now. It’s not a good idea to surprise Badr.”

“Thank you, Sam,” said Britomartis, walking to the stairs. “Master Richard? The King awaits.”

I followed suit.

The narrow stairway opened up onto another short stairway with only two doors. The door to the room to the left was open revealing three guards—two men, one woman—who looked us up and down briefly.

The man at the door grunted and nodded to Britomartis.

“Heard you lost a scimitar, Britomartis. There’s a good smith here in Hlanith, if you need.”

“Thanks, Badr, but no, I want to have it made by the smith who forged the other one, for a matched and balanced pair. He’s in Ogrothan, and will have to wait until later.”

“Ogrothan! That’s on the other side of Celephaïs, north of the Tanarian Hills, is it not?”

“Yes, but their blades are the finest in the Dreamlands, if they’ll forge one for you.”

“And they forge for you?”

“One does. He and I had an encounter with a dhole once, and he has made swords for me since.”

She knocked on the right-hand door, and the King’s voice rang out “Come.”

The King and Chuang were sitting on cushions on the floor around a low table, and Chuang hurriedly got up to greet us.

“Welcome, Master Richard. Welcome, Britomartis,” he said, giving a half-bow with the fingertips of both hands held lightly together. The King merely nodded, and waved his hand, inviting us to join them at the table.

“My King, Master Chuang,” she responded, bowing in turn.

“We’re glad to be back with friends! Thank you, King Kuranes, Master Chuang,” I nodded in turn.

The table had a tall, elegantly curved decanter and a number of small cups; theirs were half-filled with some ruby liquid. The King himself poured two more and set them on the tabletop as we joined them.

“Please, drink,” he urged. “It’s a delicious pomegranate brandy they make here. I always try to pick up a few kegs because it’s so difficult to obtain anywhere else.”

It was delicious, and surprisingly cold.

Chee-Chee demanded a sip, and Britomartis wet her fingertip in the brandy, and offered it to Chee-Chee. The marmoset grimaced and turned away, sulking.

“I hear you had quite a storm last night,” continued Kuranes.

I glanced at Britomartis.

“Is that all you’ve heard about our journey?” I asked.

“Yes, why? What happened?”

Britomartis leaned forward.

“I’m afraid quite a bit happened, and not at all good, although reaching Hlanith ahead of schedule thanks to that caravel was fortunate.”

Chuang sipped his brandy, all ears.

Britomartis and I filled him in on our journey, taking turns. A plate of fruit and skewers of roast beef and vegetables soon joined the bottle of brandy on the table, making quite a feast for Britomartis and myself after days of salted meat and dried fruit. It turned out that Chee-Chee loved roast beef almost as much as she loved fruit.

Britomartis gave a very brief account of the happenings at Khor. I had expected the King and Chuang to be surprised, but obviously this was old news to them. Britomartis hurried to describe the caravel and the attack.

“They were not after the Honey of The Goddess, and I don’t think they were even interested in the crew,” she explained, then described the battle in more detail.

“They didn’t try to hurt or kill me,” I said, “but seemed to want to capture me for some reason. They were so fixated on me that they didn’t even notice Britomartis attacking from behind. If the raptors hadn’t suddenly attacked I doubt I’d be here with you now.”

The King chuckled. “Good old Cornelius! He always comes through.”

Britomartis fell silent, mouth open in astonishment.

“You planned this!?”

Chuang shushed her.

“Of course not. We had no idea that the spawn of Y'ha-nthlei were here, in the Dreamlands!”

“Very disconcerting. They’ve never been seen her until now,” mused the King, deep in thought. He looked up and smiled. “But we did make sure Cornelius went with you just for unexpected things like this!”

“He isn’t a raptor, is he?” I asked.

“As Master Chuang is so fond of saying,” said the King, “yes and no, yes and no.”

I cocked my head, waiting.

“He is a raptor, yes, but he came from a secret colony deep in Chóng’s personal realm. They’re a new breed, possibly part of the enormous changes happening throughout the Dreamlands.”

Chuang picked up the story.

“Raptors are generally about as smart as dogs,” he added, “but this new breed is significantly more intelligent. Far, far superior to dogs, probably superior to apes, and in Cornelius’ case, quite possibly close to our own level.”

The King poured another cup of brandy.

“Good stuff, this... More?” he asked, holding out the decanter, but there were no takers. “I’ve spared no expense on their behalf, and they are—as far as we can ascertain—loyal. An intelligent raptor would be quite a handy thing to have, wouldn’t you say? Especially if everyone else thought it was just a dumb beast...”

He took a sip.

“But Deep Ones, after you... that is quite concerning,” he said with furrowed brow. “Chuang, call Sam, would you please?”

Chuang rose and left the room to talk quietly with Badr, who promptly went downstairs.

“She should be up in a minute, sire.

“Good. I want to get word of this to Mochizuki as soon as possible, and see if these Deep Ones have been showing up anywhere else.”

“The Deep Ones worship Father Dagon and Mother Hydra,” mentioned Chuang, “but above all, Cthulhu...”

“Britomartis, are you sure they were Deep Ones? And not the creatures that destroyed Sarnath eons ago?”

“No,” she answered. “They were clearly not gnorri, walking as they did on two legs, and their faces were more fishlike than human. I’ve never seen a Deep One of Master Richard’s realm, but they fit the description.”

“I have never seen one, either,” I interjected. “What do the destroyers of Sarnath look like?”

“Nobody knows,” answered Chuang. “The histories just say green and horrible. They probably came from the moon, not the lake, and Ib was on the shores of the Lake of Sarnath, which is fresh water. They’ve never been reported anywhere but there. You were a long ways from Mnar, and on the sea.”

“So you believe they were Deep Ones as well?”

“Yes, my King, I do,” said Chuang. “I have taken the liberty of sending to try to obtain a body or other evidence from Captain Klot. He should return within the hour.”

“Good.”

The King turned to me.

“Do you have any idea why Deep Ones would want you?”

“None,” I replied, truthfully. “But as Britomartis pointed out, this is not the first time this sort of thing has happened... first I came here, I thought of my own volition, but it turns out there are strange things happening here, and I wonder if the timing was mere coincidence. Then the night-gaunts, and then the accusation in Khor, when I said I came in peace, and now the sudden attack in the middle of the ocean, during a mysterious storm that dissipated right after the attack ended.

“I think we’ve passed the point of coincidence... I am the nexus of all this trouble.”

“I fear you are right,” said the King. “And so we must make haste to Ryūzō-ji Temple and meet with Shingan Oshō.”

There was a knock at the door, and the King called out again “Come.”

It was Sam.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and nodded to us.

Chuang motioned her over to the table, where she knelt next to Chuang, near the King.

“Please tell Mistress Mochizuki that their ship was attacked by Deep Ones, several dozen at least. I need to know if they have been sighted elsewhere, and what they may be up to. Urgently.”

Sam nodded.

“Yes, sire. I can get word to her by tomorrow morning, but it will take much longer to collect any information.”

“Of course, Sam. But urgently, yes?”

“Yes, sire. I’ll get to it immediately,” she said, standing and walking to the door. She stopped, turned, and bowed once again to the King before leaving.

“With luck we can get the first reports by the time we reach the temple,” said the King. “And speaking of reaching the temple, we had arranged for a boat to take up the Oukranos to Thran, but Deep Ones... Should we risk it, or take a longer land route?”

Chuang nodded.

“The Deep Ones are sea creatures, and while they can survive in fresh water for some time, I think it is a reasonable risk to take. It might be a good idea to hire a larger boat and more armsmen, though, to better protect Master Richard if necessary.”

“I believe you have already worked with someone here for that?”

“Yes, sire. Commander da Barbiano’s company is nearby, and we have used his services many times. He is reliable.”

“By reliable, you mean he does what he is paid for? Or he supports us? Or both?” queried the King.

“The first, certainly. He has never broken a contract, to my knowledge, although he is not always successful in war. As to the second, I suspect he does support our own aims, but can offer no evidence.”

“I see. You recommend him, then?”

“I do. Given the presence of Deep Ones, however, I wonder if we should go by air after all... with night-gaunts in the skies and Deep Ones in the waters, neither is as safe as we had hoped.”

“True.” The King thought for a moment. “Deep Ones in the Oukranos are less likely than night-gaunts so near the mountains, I think... let us stick with the original plan, and go by boat.”

“Shall I summon him, then?”

“No, he knows I’m here, I’m sure, but I see no need to tell everyone else we’re hiring a company. Please meet with him yourself and arrange things.”

“Of course, my lord. I go,” said Chuang, and left the room quietly, leaving the three of us.

“I had hoped to leave at sunrise on the morrow,” said the King, “but we may have to delay to secure a larger ship and da Barbiano’s guards.”

“Who is da Barbiano?” I asked.

“Alberico da Barbiano runs a mercenary company headquartered here in Hlanith,” explained Britomartis. “He’s a very good strategist, a reasonable businessman, and stinks. Literally. His company would be able to provide excellent protection for the trip upriver. And they are assuredly familiar with the course.”

“I’m confident in Chuang’s recommendation,” said the King. “So you’ve worked with him before, then, Britomartis?”

“Yes, my lord. I’ve met him a number of times to discuss particular jobs, but I’ve never been on a mission with him personally. Just his people, especially a truly brilliant tactician named El Man. And of course numerous armsmen and captains. The company’s reputation is well-deserved.”

“Except that the man stinks.”

“Except for that,” she admitted. “He carries with him the stench of oil and perfume, in quantity sufficient to fell a horse.”

There was a knock on the door—Sam was back.

“The message has been sent, sire,” she said. “I should get confirmation, and possibly some information, tomorrow.”

“We may be onboard and upriver by then, Mistress,” said Kuranes. “If so, please relay it to us immediately.”

“Yes, sire. You’ll need to take a cage of dragolets with you, too, if you plan on replying.”

“Of course. See to it, please.”

“Yes, sire,” she said as she bowed and left the room.

“Dragolets?”

“In England we used pigeons,” said Britomartis, “but the skies are rather more dangerous here in the Dreamlands... dragolets stand a better chance.”

“Ah, homing pigeons. Which means Mistress Sam raises dragolets—uh, dragons?—here as well.”

Britomartis smiled.

“Yes, with training and plenty of meat, dragons. Although none breath fire, to my knowledge, English legend notwithstanding.”

Kuranes called out again. “Would you tell the Mistress to bring up some lunch, Badr?”

There was no reply, but I heard his feet clumping down the stairs.

“How much do you know about the Oukranos, Thran, and the Enchanted Wood?” Kuranes asked me.

“Very little... I recall mention of the jasper terraces of Kiran and the temple there to the god of the river, and of course its iridescent fish. And the ‘thousand golden spires’ and alabaster walls of Thran are renowned in song throughout the Dreamlands,” I replied. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been to any of those places, though.”

“You shall have your chance,” said Kuranes. “Britomartis, you were allowed into the temple grounds once, weren’t you?”

“Yes. The temple complex itself is enormous, enclosed by jasper walls and those seven pinnacled towers, but most may enter after taking an oath. Only the sacred, inner shrine is forbidden. Except to the King of Ilek-Vad, of course... the songs of the god can still be heard even outside the inner shrine, though.”

“Ilek-Vak is on the other side of the Dreamlands. How does he manage that journey?” I asked.

“By air, of course. His galleon is airworthy, as is my own... I would have come by air myself except for the threat of the night-gaunts!” said the King. “Now that they’re bedeviling us anyway, and over the ocean at that, I wonder if I should have come that way in the first place.”

“As long as we don’t swim in the river,” said Britomartis, “the Oukranos should be relatively safe. I think the night-gaunts remain the biggest threat.”

“Why swimming?”

“Very hungry fish, Master Richard,” she laughed. “So hungry, in fact, that they regularly leap from the water to catch unwary birds they lure close.”

There was a knock at the door, and after receiving the King’s permission, Sam brought in a huge tray with platters of some roasted meat dripping with a spicy-looking red sauce, a stir-fried vegetable-and-mushroom dish that smelled delicious, and multi-colored slices of all sorts of fruit.

Three huge mugs of frothy ale, too!

As we ate, Britomartis told us more of the temple at Kiran, and the perfumed meadows and gentle hills surrounding it. She and Belphoebe had been wed at that temple, by Sappho herself, and lived for some time in a small thatched cottage on the banks of the Oukranos.

It sounded very peaceful and romantic, and not at all like the warrior I knew Britomartis to be.

“So there is a King of Ilek-Vak, and a King of Celephaïs,” I said almost to myself.

“Yes, there are many kings, and queens, and other nobility of all sorts here,” explained Kuranes. “Perhaps because of my rather unusual origin, though, and the dream sense that you and I both possess, I am sort of a High King.”

“A King of Kings, then.”

“Only in name, I’m afraid... I can give whatever commands I like, but few would obey them unless they had their own reasons to do so. Over the years I have become very good at convincing people to assist me, one way or another.”

Britomartis giggled.

“Convincing is a very kingly way to phrase it, my lord!”

“But of course! Cooperation gained through gentlemanly discourse, to be sure!”

The King burst into laughter, joined by Britomartis.

After what we’d been through together, and learning about Mistress Mochizuki’s work, I had a very good idea of what they were talking about.

I smiled, unsure of exactly how I felt about pulling strings behind the scenes.

Kuranes lost his smile; the wrinkles returned to his brow.

“The melting is affecting many of us now, and with a common threat it is easier than ever to work together. I fear it may prove more powerful than the kings and queens of the Dreamlands combined, though...”

Chuang returned as we were eating, and joined us.

“I spoke with da Barbiano,” he said, “and we have reached an agreement. He will provide a guard force of a dozen, with arms and provisions, and arrange for a larger rivercraft.”

“A dozen of armsmen, four or five of us, and crewmen,” mused Kuranes. “Did he say how big the crew will be?”

Chuang grinned.

“He did.”

The King waited.

“And!? Out with it, man!”

“One.”

“One? Only one crewmember!?”

“He has arranged a river-serpent boat for us, my lord. A crew of one, and only half a day to reach Thran.”

“A river-serpent boat!” gasped the King. “What did you promise him, half of the Dreamlands?”

“Hardly... I revealed some of the events of the last few weeks, and he offered it free of charge in the hope that it will speed your mission to Ryūzō-ji Temple. In fact, he says that he can take us as far as Kiran, but no farther.”

“We can reach Kiran in half a day?”

“Yes, sire,” replied Chuang. “Assuming there are no unexpected happenstances on the way...”

“We need to stop at Thran to pick up Belphoebe,” interjected Britomartis.

“Chuang, when can he be ready to leave?”

“At first light, my lord.”

The King stood, and strode to the door, yanking it open.

“Badr! Tell the Mistress we need to get a message to Belphoebe immediately! We will dock at Thran tomorrow, and she needs to be ready!”

“Yes, my lord,” Badr replied, and called over one of the other guards from across the hall, giving her instructions. She trotted off, down the stairs.

Badr turned back to Kuranes.

“What about the raptors?”

Kuranes looked back at Chuang.

“Chuang? What do you think?”

“We’ll have to leave them. The river-serpent will never accept raptors as riders.”

“Damn. We’ve lost too many of them already, and I had hoped we could at least bring Cornelius with us.”

The King looked at the floor for a moment, silent.

“See if Sam can arrange to bring them to Mount Thurai later by river or land, Chuang,” he finally said. “We may need them, and I would rather they arrive late than never.”

Chuang walked toward the door to make arrangements, and just then there was another knock. He opened it.

It was Badr again: “Master Chuang, the messenger is back from Captain Klot’s ship.”

“With information?”

“Better. With an arm.”

“Show him up.”

“Her.” Badr turned and called down the stairs. “Come up. Bring it with you.”

A woman stumped up the stairs, boots thumping on the wood treads.

She nodded slightly and touched her brow as she entered the room, carrying a cloth-wrapped object in one arm. She was dressed in a similar fashion to Britomartis… a rough-spun linen shirt with a leather vest on top, protected by metal plates sewn into it front, back, and shoulders. No helmet. A short leather skirt apparently made of strips of material hanging down rather than one piece of leather. Sandals. Short sword in a plain scabbard at her hip. And a bandolier sort of thing diagonally across her chest with a dozen thin knives neatly lined up for easy access.

She looked to be in her thirties, maybe… stocky, hair chopped short, wind-chapped cheeks, dark eyes hidden under bushy brows.

All in all, not the sort of woman I’d want chasing me, I thought.

Chuang pointed to the table as the King pushed the remains of lunch off to the side.

She thunked the object down on the tabletop, and unwrapped it.

The cloth had been a piece of sail canvas, it looked like. It was pretty thick, and had reinforcing stiches down one edge.

It was also stained with blood… as was the arm inside.

Chee-Chee started screeching again, jumping up and down on Britomartis’ shoulder in fear.

“Captain Klot sends his regards, my lord, and hopes that this would be enough to pay for repairs and a new sail,” she said.

The King didn’t take his eyes from the severed arm.

“Yes, of course…” His attention was obviously elsewhere… the arm.

It was about the size of a human arm, perhaps for a very large man, but was greyish-green in color, covered with a shiny, slimy-looking skin that reminded me of a frog’s belly. There was a ridge of small, raised scales running down the outside of the arm, up the wrist, and onto the hand, splitting into five ridges on the fingers. The fingers themselves were much longer than those of a human being, tipped with massive talons, and there was webbing between the fingers up almost to the tips.

With the longer fingers and webbing, this would be like wearing flippers on your hands, I thought… that explained why they hadn’t been holding weapons why they attacked that night. They couldn’t grasp anything very small with any force, so swords were out. Except maybe for thrusting… which would mean spears more than edged weapons.

I filed that thought away for future reference.

“Red blood,” said Chuang. “As far as I know, that means a Deep One…”

Kuranes nodded. “Yes, the description fits…”

Lost in thought, he sat once again, head cocked, staring at the arm.

“…in the Dreamlands…” he continued, almost inaudibly.

He suddenly turned to the woman, who was still standing by the table. He pulled out a small, heavy-looking bag and handed it to her.

“Please give this to Captain Klot for me, with my thanks,” he commanded.

“Yes, my lord,” she nodded, and left.

The door shut behind her and we all stared at the arm.

Finally Chuang broke the silence. “I still think the serpent-boat is our best option,” he said. “Not a good option, but the best we’ve got.”

“Yes,” said Kuranes. “If nothing else its speed alone should make it impossible for these swimmers to approach us. Even the night-gaunts would be hard-pressed to keep pace, let alone attack us while flying alongside.”

“I agree, my lord,” added Britomartis.

“It’s decided, then. The river serpent, with the additional guards from da Barbiano.” He stood. “Chuang, would you double-check the arrangements?”

“Of course,” responded Chuang, rising to leave.

“And Britomartis, would you meet with da Barbiano’s man and let him know what we’ve faced thus far? He already knows I’m involved, but keep Master Richard’s role out of it… he’s merely a minor functionary at court.”

“Yes, my lord. Shall I take Master Richard with me?”

“No,” said Kuranes. “He and I have some things to discuss.”

He picked up the arm, wrapping it up again in the sailcloth.

“But take this, would you? Give it to Sam and ask her to get rid of it.”

She took it silently and left with Chuang. Chee-Chee, sitting in his usual place on her shoulder, scolded her noisily for bringing the arm with her.

“Badr, don’t let anyone in for a while,” commanded Kuranes.

“Yes, my lord,” came a muffled response from the other side of the door.

The King picked up his cushion and plopped it down on the floor next to me. He sat down cross-legged, and leaned close.

“Those three are loyal to me and would die before they betrayed a secret, but the fewer people who know secrets, the better.”

“I have no secrets, Kuranes!”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. I suspect you yourself are a secret,” he replied. “Your appearance here, as the melting accelerates and the barriers between the realms begin to dissolve, the Zoogmoot, the unusual attack by night-gaunts over the ocean, the Deep Ones... There are so many things happening at once.”

He sighed.

“Do you have any idea what is going on? Why you might suddenly be here in the Dreamlands?”

“I thought I had come just to see how you were after all those years... close to half a century since I saw you last.”

“No dreams or anything before you came?”

“No, I don’t recall anything... I mean, I always wake up with the remnants of dreams vivid in my memory, but they fade even as I notice them, leaving only tantalizing wisps of imagery.”

I thought for a moment.

“...Before, back in Celephaïs, when you were talking about soap bubbles... there was something it reminded me of...”

“Soap bubbles?” queried Kuranes. “Ah, the realms, you mean. I often think of them that way.”

“Yes, you were talking about how they press against each other like bubbles, sometimes merging, sometimes popping... and there was some memory that hovered just at the edge of thought.”

“You still can’t pin it down?”

I closed my eyes for a moment, but quickly gave up.

“I can’t force it to the surface,” I explained. “The more I try to remember it, the more it wriggles away from me. Usually this sort of memory returns unexpectedly, suddenly bubbling up from the subconscious when you’re thinking of something else entirely.”

“Alas, I know,” he sighed. “But I feel it must have something to do with why you’re here at all.”

“Do you have any idea of why the melting is happening?”

The King shook his head.

“No. Oh, I get reports of all sorts of unusual things happening here and there, but they don’t seem to point at anything in particular, and I cannot see any connection between them. Except recently, and you seem to be the connection.”

“I’m a dreamer, but so are you and Chuang. Nothing has been happening to you?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he replied. “Shingan Oshō is also a dreamer, albeit slightly a different sort, and may be able to shed more light.”

“Who is he, exactly?”

“Oshō just means monk in Japanese. He is a Buddhist monk, and travelled to China with Kūkai to study Zen Buddhism. Kūkai later returned to Japan, but Shingan stayed in China and studied the Mythos, including the Black Sutra of U Pao. When he finally returned to Japan much later, he founded Ryūzō-ji Temple, first there, and later here. In a way there is only one temple, but in two realms.”

The King poured himself another shot of pomegranate brandy.

“He founded a temple here of the same name—Ryūzō-ji—and seems to travel freely between them, somehow. He and I have crossed paths numerous times, and while our goals are not always the same, we almost always find ourselves fellows on a common path.”

“Goals?”

“To put it simply, as a Buddhist monk he is concerned with living life properly to achieve enlightenment and thereby escape our phenomenal existence entirely. I am more concerned with living life here and now. A minor difference, it would seem, but rather crucial to someone who’s starving and is more worried about dinner than salvation.”

“Sorry, ‘phenomenal’?”

“What we perceive with the senses.”

“Ah.” I thought for a moment. “I wonder how the Dreamlands fit in with Buddhist dogma as far as what we perceive with our senses...”

He laughed.

“We’ve talked about it, Master Richard. To paraphrase Chuang, it fits either very well or very poorly, depending on how you look at it.”

My turn to laugh.

A short silence.

“But you think he may have some idea of what’s happening, then.”

“Yes. You see, he contacted me over a year ago, before the Zoogmoot was called and before you came, and mentioned he hoped to meet me again. He specifically mentioned this month, and that he hoped I could introduce him then to ‘the molder,’ as he called it. I assumed he meant a craftsman or something and paid little attention to it, figuring it was just a language problem. But it’s clear he knew I would come to visit him now, and I think he meant you, not some craftsman!”

That was unexpected.

“A year ago?”

“A year ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” agreed Kuranes. “So unless this is all just some incredible coincidence, he knows more than I do. And whatever it is, I need to know it, too. There’s too much at stake.”

He stared into his empty brandy glass.

“What were you doing before you came here?”

“Um, let me see...” I thought back. “I had just finished playing hide-and-seek with my grandchildren, and was sitting on the porch. I had some ice-cold tea, and wondered how you were after all these years...”

“And here you are.”

“And here I am, but surely...”

“There is no surety about anything anymore, Master Richard. I think you’re here for a reason, but I cannot for the life of me think of what it may be!”

Some muffled voices, then:

“No!”

“Open the damn door, Badr!”

Kuranes smiled and called out, “It’s all right, Badr. Let him in.”

Chuang stomped in, furious. He was also sopping wet.

“Damn rainstorm. Nobody told me a rainstorm was coming!”

“Welcome back, Master Chuang,” laughed the King. “I gather all went well?”

“Yes, yes, no problems with preparations. Everything will be at the docks by dawn. Damn this rain!”

He yanked off his dripping clothing and pulled a dry robe from his pack. He sat at the table and began wiping down his gear, such as it was: he really only had a robe, a walking stick, and a wallet.

“Master Richard and I have been talking, but unfortunately with little to show for it.”

“Mmm,” grunted Chuang, drying his hair with a piece of cloth.

“I have absolutely no idea why I’m here at all,” I said. “I thought it was my idea...”

“Not,” he grunted.

“Chuang doesn’t like getting wet,” advised the King, “as you have no doubt guessed. He’ll be his usual sunny self again in a bit.”

“Badr!” called the King.

The door opened and he stuck his head in.

“We’ll be leaving early, to the docks, and thence upstream to Thran, and Kiran. Tell Tilla and Raul, and make yourselves ready.”

“What about the raptors, my lord?”

“The river serpent won’t accept them, so they’ll stay here for now. Sam will arrange to get them to Mount Thurai for us later.”

“Understood.”

Badr closed the door again, and I could hear him talking to the other two guards across the hall.

“And now we just wait, eat dinner, and sleep,” said Kuranes.

“And dry my robe, thank you very much,” added Chuang.

“If you take it downstairs and hang it near the fire it will dry faster, you know,” said Kuranes.

Chuang, somewhat more presentable and far less surly, bundled the robe under his arm and left, still grumbling.

“And bring back some ale, Chuang!” called the King to his departing back.

The door slammed, and he clomped down the stairs making far more noise than necessary, I thought.

* * *

The afternoon passed quietly, and Chuang eventually returned to his calm self. The ale helped.

Britomartis finally returned from her meeting with da Barbiano.

“You’re not wet,” accused Chuang as soon as she entered. “Why aren’t you wet?”

Britomartis smiled.

“Tomorrow let me take you to the marketplace, Chuang, and explain what an umbrella is. They’re really quite useful, and I think even you’d be able to grasp the concept quite easily.”

Chuang hmphed and the King almost choked on his ale laughing. Not wanting to offend anyone I tried to stay as poker-faced as possible, but ended up smiling anyway.

Britomartis sat down at the table and picked up my mug, half-full of warm ale, draining it in one noisy chug and setting it down again with a heartfelt sigh of contentment.

“I met with da Barbiano. He is fatter than ever, and is using some new and even more malodorous grease on his mustache and ringlets. A disgusting pig of a man.”

“I’ve never enjoyed meeting the man myself,” said Chuang, “but he is very good.”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

She set Chee-Chee on the table, then undid the leather belts crisscrossing her chest and took the swords and scabbards from her back, laying them on the floor beside her. She twisted her head back and forth a few times and rotated her shoulder to work out some ache before continuing.

“The serpent and boat are more than adequate, and while I can’t speak for the speed of the serpent, it certainly looks strong and alert. I believe him when he says he can get us to Kiran the same day.

“He won’t be coming himself—thank goodness—but has assigned a Flan to handle the guards. Looks like a Viking giant, with blond braids and blue eyes, and carries a double-bladed axe. He also looks very competent, although seems to think he’d be able to beat me in a fight just because he’s half a meter taller. Idiot.”

“So, a dozen armsmen—a dozen, right?”

“Yes, my lord. A dozen plus Flan, plus one crew member, the four of us, and Badr’s team. A dozen and eight—Master Richard, that’s twenty to you.”

“Quite a parade we’ve turned into. I doubted we’d be able to move secretly from the very start, but that many people riding a damn river serpent boat upriver will certainly draw attention,” said the King. “Hopefully the serpent can outswim anyone who doesn’t like it, though.”

“And the boat?” asked Chuang.

“It’s designed for the serpent, Chuang: it’s basically just a pointed barge, flat-bottomed and ugly, and would be pretty useless without the serpent pulling it. Commander da Barbiano says it has ‘feet,’ whatever they are, that let the serpent go full speed.”

“Feet? What are feet on a boat?” wondered Chuang. “Never heard of such a thing.”

“I think I have,” I ventured. “If the river serpent is really traveling that fast, this barge might actually be a hydrofoil.”

“A what? A hydro..?”

“A hydrofoil. It’s a type of ship that has skis or legs under it, and when it moves very quickly, the hull rises up out of the water, standing, sort of, on those legs.”

“A ship on legs!?” exclaimed the King. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not joking, but I don’t know if that’s what he meant or not...”

“So it walks up the river?”

“No, no... like skis, but instead of skiing down a slope, it is being pulled forward by the serpent.”

“I think you’re making this all up, Master Richard,” said Britomartis.

“No, no, not at all,” I laughed. “...but we shall see tomorrow.”

The King spoke up again.

“You met the troop?”

“About half of them. They were in the barracks making preparations, and from what I could see they looked like they knew what they were doing. A very mixed bunch, not surprising considering they’re a mercenary company, with maybe a third women, I’d guess. Everyone I saw was human. A variety of weapons, too. Weapons and armor have all seen heavy use.”

“Good. So you’re satisfied?”

“For now. If we get into a fight we’ll discover just how good they are. I told them about the night-gaunts, too, so they’ll be bringing plenty of arrows.”

“We seem to be as ready as we can be, then,” said Kuranes. “No response from Belphoebe yet?”

“No,” said Chuang. “Sam will let us know as soon as she gets word.”

“In that case, I think it’s time for dinner and some drinks!” said Kuranes, striding to the door. “Badr! Order us some food, and for yourselves, too. And something to drink, for everyone!”

Badr gave an enthusiastic “Yes, my lord!” and sent one of his people downstairs to arrange it. Footsteps descended.

The King and Chuang were enjoying themselves talking about all sorts of things, often women, and Britomartis took her leave to go “see some friends,” leaving me mostly to my own thoughts. With a full stomach and plenty of ale, I drifted off without even noticing.

Suddenly, something leapt onto my face and I awoke with a start and a loud “Wha—?” before noticing it was a bedroll. Britomartis was standing a few meters away, laughing.

“Hey, sleepyhead! Since you lost your bedroll I thought you might like a new one.”

I gathered my wits, shaking my head to try to wake up faster.

“Uh, thank you. Britomartis.”

I pulled it down and sat up.

“I thought you were out seeing friends?”

“I was, and I did. And I bought this for you, too, since you don’t have one... although you don’t seem to have had any trouble sleeping on the floor, either.”

“I’d totally forgotten about it... thank you, Britomartis.”

I glanced over at the others... Chuang was stretched out on the floor, snoring away. The King still sat at the table, two empty bottles of brandy in front of him, seemingly as stone-sober as ever, and looking at us.

“It will be dawn soon, Master Richard,” he said. “If you’re eating this morning, you had better get moving.”

Morning? Already?

My head was still a bit muzzy, probably from drinking a bit too much and sleeping on the wood floor without even a bedroll.

“Uh,” I replied, cleverly. “So you two have been up all night?”

The King just smiled, but Britomartis stuck her tongue out at me first, and then smiled.

“Some of us are younger than others, it seems,” she commented. “And although I’ve been in the Dreamlands for perhaps four hundred years according to your calendar, I think perhaps you may be the older one after all!”

“Bah! Time is a human construct!” I cried, jumping up. “And I’m off to find some eggs and tea!”

The first sunbeams were just striking through the bull’s-eye panes running across the top of the wall, casting green-hued light over the scattered tables and stools. I called for breakfast with “three eggs!” and got a shouted “Hai!” from the kitchen.

There were maybe a dozen people there already, some alone, a few in a group. Conversation made a quiet hum in the background, punctuated every so often by shouts for this or that. The waitress—only one, at this time of the morning— trotted about with her trays, usually delivering bread, cheese porridge, fruit, and tea, but to some she also brought eggs.

The porridge was piping hot and delicious, especially with a healthy dollop of honey on top, and the eggs were perfectly acceptable fried eggs, but the bread! My goodness, I hadn’t had fresh-baked rye like this for years! The aroma alone was amazing, and the taste incredible.

Britomartis joined me, and I tore off chunks of bread and cheese for her to eat while she waited for her porridge and fruit.

“They bake their own bread every morning, and of course make their own cheese,” she said. “Delicious, isn’t it?”

The waitress arrived carrying her food.

“Oh, thank you, Eshe,” she said, taking her dishes off the tray the woman held. “How is little Bolanle? She must be, let me see...”

“She’s three and a terror, Brita,” laughed the woman, setting down a fresh pot of tea. “But I’ve keep her busy watching Abedi. Better than a doll!”

“Abedi? You have another baby boy?”

“We do. Three girls and four boys now, and all of them eat like raptors.”

Britomartis jumped to her feet and hugged the other woman.

“Oh, congratulations, Eshe! But surely you can manage one more girl to even the balance?”

“Oh, I’m sure my man is up to it, never fear,” laughed the woman. “We women always find a way, don’t we?”

She walked off to a call from another table, winking at Britomartis as she left.

“Brita?” I asked, raising on eyebrow.

“She always calls me that, much as I hate it. But it’s impossible for me to dislike her for it, she’s such a wonderful person, and her kids are so beautiful.”

“From Parg or that area?”

“No, born and bred here in Hlanith, but she’s still got one of the blackest skins I’ve ever seen. I wish my skin were darker, so I didn’t burn as easily...”

“I think you’re beautiful just the way you are,” I said, and froze, realizing I might have gone too far.

She fell silent for a moment.

“Thank you, Master Richard. If nothing else Spenser at least gave me beauty...”

She turned her attention to her breakfast, putting a very obvious stop to that line of conversation.

In spite of it all, the breakfast was delicious, and conversation slowly recovered as we discussed the plans for the day.

Britomartis suddenly looked up, over my shoulder.

“It’s Chuang,” she said. “Time to go.”

I turned to look toward the stairs... Chuang, Badr and the others, and Kuranes, all dressed rough for travel. Badr lifted my pack—new bedroll attached!— to show me everything was ready.

Britomartis had brought her own with her, and stood to shoulder it now.

We walked over to the group.

The King and Chuang were talking quietly with Sam, who had come out of the kitchen wearing a blood-stained apron, trying to wipe her red hands clean as she came.

She bowed, and the King nodded, and we were out the door and into the early morning light.

The wharf was already bustling with people: oxcarts bringing food and goods from the countryside to the markets, fishmongers loading up their baskets and starting their daily circuits through the city to hawk their wares, fishing boats heading out for the day’s work, or coming back with the first catch of the morning, and cats and gulls everywhere looking for a free meal.

The serpent lay quietly in the water, crushing a sheep’s carcass with its enormous jaws as gulls swooped around its head, screaming. Its scaly body was sixteen shades of green, with a mottled, darker pattern on the top gradually lightening to almost white underneath. In the water the scales caught the sun’s rays and glistened like gems, and looked as hard.

It had the head of a snake, only the size of a small car, and a spiny ridge ran up its back and onto its head, rising to a set of long, spiky fins standing straight up. I imagined they’d stick up out of the water when it swam, and idly wondered if they could be folded down.

It was harnessed to the boat with ropes somehow. I couldn’t make out all the details, but apparently the serpent had fins down in the water, and the harness was cinched there. Made sense: without fins or something to hang it onto the only other option would have been a mouth bit, and making the serpent swim with its mouth open sounded like a terrible idea.

The boat itself looked like a barge, but while the back was cut square, the prow was pointed, and the line of the hull rose in a shallow slant out of the water. I couldn’t see what the “feet” Britomartis had mentioned might be, but if my guess was right we’d see them soon enough.

The guards were already on board, most of them, and settling down for the day’s work. I noted that the ones around the edges of the deck were armed with edged and piercing weapons, and wearing armor of some sort, but a group of four on the rear castle was armed with bows, and arrows in good supply at hand.

They looked ready, and I hoped they’d not be needed.

We jumped aboard and strapped our gear down for safe-keeping.

I glanced up... a few clouds, but the sun was out, the breeze blowing, and in general it looked like the weather would be good. A little rain wouldn’t hurt anyone, but if we were going to be fighting Deep Ones I’d rather be able to see them coming.

Actually, I’d rather see them going!

The pilot was a wizened old man with a long, very thin gray beard, and eyes so narrow I couldn’t tell what he was looking at. He was wearing a light robe, something with green and blue embroidery on it, and one of those enormously broad woven reed hats they always showed the Vietnamese wearing in the fields.

He was chewing on a stalk of grass, it looked like, just watching the river serpent and waiting to get started.

Flan, the towering Viking, circled the deck, checking everything very conscientiously. He may have been solid muscle everywhere else, but apparently he had brains upstairs.

“Tie everything down securely, including yourself. It will feel like we’re going down rapids a lot of the time, and things that fall overboard can’t be recovered. Or people.”

The river was a broad, placid, very quiet flow, obviously mature after its descent from the distant mountains... not a rapid in sight. I suspect I was right about the hydrofoil.

Flan returned to his position on the rear castle—there was only one, and since there was no hold, either, the boat was extremely flat—and tied himself to the taffrail.

“Khamkhen! All set!”

Khamkhen, assuming that was his name, started singing to the river serpent. It had finished its sheep and had been eyeing passers-by on the wharf as possible dessert, but when the song started it immediately turned toward the middle of the stream and began undulating, stretching out the harness so most of its body was ahead of the boat, with only the narrow tail still hidden under.

Khamkhen sang the serpent away from the city, and pointed it upstream, and suddenly changed to a different song, with much higher notes and a faster beat. The serpent responded with an incredible surge of power that knocked me off my feet entirely. The armsmen were laughing and obviously enjoying the ride, but I wish he’d mentioned it to me before. Still, I was glad he’d made sure I was strapped in, and my gear.

Britomartis was standing, holding onto her rope like the reins of a mustang, legs braced, an enormous smile on her face only partially obscured by her hair as it whipped back and forth in the wind. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling, the very image of a beautiful goddess.

It was hard to tell how fast we were going because there were no other boats nearby, but the sound of water smacking against the hull gradually changed, and the prow began to lift up. I glanced over the side and looked toward the prow... sure enough, it was rising up on foils. The struts looked like they were forged from iron, but I couldn’t make out what the foils themselves were made of. It looked like they were covered in some sort of animal hide.

Now that I looked closer, I could see that the entire hull was covered in a slick, greenish-brown material of some sort. Sharkskin? Dolphin? Hard to tell, but I couldn’t see any seams. Whatever it was, it must have been enormous! How did you catch something that huge?

We were zooming!

As soon as the serpent left the wharf Chee-Chee had begun running around the hull and up the rigging, obviously upset to see land receding, but once it picked up speed it returned to Britomartis’ shoulder, teeth bared as it leaned into the wind in their faces.

The King and Chuang were sitting quite at ease, and Chuang even had his pipe out, tamping something down into the bowl. Obviously they were old hands at this. The King was watching the passing banks closely, although there didn’t seem to be anything in particular to look at: lots of trees, random tiny villages and fishing boats, sometimes a larger community or even some sort of stone ruin on the water’s edge or overlooking the river from above... nothing unusual that I could see.

The guards were also at ease, and at work. They were looking outwards, spaced around the deck so each could see a section of the perimeter. The archers were also scanning in all directions, although they had rather a harder time of it because there were so few of them.

Khamkhen had fallen into a steady, sing-song beat, and the river serpent maintained its steady pull... now that the boat was moving at a steady speed it settled down to a persistent vibration. After some experimentation I discovered I could stand, and even walk, without difficulty, as long as I had the rope for security.

People were talking again, everyday banter and jokes, as they watched the water and the riverbanks. It was almost boring.

I worked my way over to Britomartis, who had sat down again, sated by the rush of acceleration. We talked and dozed for a few hours as the serpent maintained a steady pace. Flan called out guards a few at a time for breaks—they would walk the decks, or stretch, or merely doze off with something over their face to keep the sun off. None of them seemed scared of falling off.

After lunch—the usual salted meat, but this time with fresh fruit and river water—Flan came and said we’d reach Thran in another hour or so, and spoke with Britomartis about where exactly to pick up Belphoebe. The serpent wouldn’t need a rest so soon, but it would have another snack. He pointed to a sheep carcass strapped down on the deck.

“I cannot wait to see my beloved Belphoebe again,” said Britomartis. “It has been four months and sixteen days...”

“How long have you been together?” I asked.

“I can easier count the time apart than together, dear Richard,” she laughed. “We have been together since Spenser finished his work, but we were wed only some time ago.”

“In the Dreamlands, ‘some time ago’ can mean anything from minutes to centuries,” I pointed out.

“In the Dreamlands there is often little difference between them,” she countered, “but in this case I think centuries would be closer than not.”

“Can’t wait to finally meet her. If she’s a friend of yours I’m sure I’ll like her.”

“Flight to the north!”

One of the archers suddenly called out, and everyone jumped to action. The guards around the ship stood, checked their weapons and turned to scan the sky. Flan was already looking toward the north, hand over his eyes to better shield them from the sun. Archers had arrows in hand, ready to pull.

I could only make out a tiny black smudge toward the north, in the air over the jungled hills of Kled.

It got bigger quickly, rapidly dividing into about a dozen black dots.

“Shantaks...” said Britomartis, eyes fixed.

“But shantaks are only found around Leng, and that’s half a world from here,” added Chuang. “First Deep Ones, now shantaks.”

“You think they’re after me again?”

“They all seem to happen around you, Master Richard... either you’re remarkably unlucky or there’s something else at work here.”

Flan trotted over the Kuranes for a huddled talk. The King waved us over.

“Flan’s troop cannot defend us. Against one shantak, possibly even against two, probably, but there are about a dozen of the beasts, and heading straight for us.

“We cannot outrun them, even at the speed of this serpent, and we cannot reach Thran in time. Ideas?”

“We have no other choice but to flee into the jungle, my lord,” said Chuang.

“Britomartis?”

“I agree. Land while we can.”

“Master Richard?”

The right bank was a cliff that would be difficult to climb, but the left bank—the southern bank— was a fairly level stretch, covered with rocks and boulders of various sizes, and backed by the jungle.

I thought for a moment. If I had a case of Stingers I could take down this bunch of flying dragons easy, but Chuang had knocked me for a loop when I summoned that copter...

“Chuang, what would have happened if you hadn’t knocked me down when the night-gaunts attacked?”

Chuang shot me a surprised look.

“The night-gaunts? Oh, your machine!” He shook his head. “Reed would have destroyed it, of course, with the night-gaunts and Britomartis and probably the whole ship.”

“The ship as well?”

“When she makes things go away, there is a thunderclap. Whether land or sea, she makes a huge hole, and on sea that means enormous waves... I doubt the ship would have survived.”

“A hole... in the sea... everything just vanishes, and leaves...” I thought for a minute. “The thunder! She’s not only destroying what’s there, she’s taking the air and water, too, and leaving only a vacuum!”

“But by the time the shantaks are close enough for you to call Reed, we’d be too close, too,” said the King, brow furrowed.

“But I can call her there,” I cried, “not here!”

I turned back toward the shantaks, who were already visibly closer. I could make out their huge bat wings beating the air, propelling them toward us at a furious speed.

I concentrated. I knew exactly what I needed... gasoline-engined, radio-controlled airplanes! I used to play with them when I was a kid, and was always getting in trouble because they were so damn noisy. The perfect thing to attract Reed’s attention.

But they had to be flying with the shantaks, in the same direction and speed. I gathered my strength and twisted reality, bringing my old Songbird 310 airplane into existence. It even had that tail number I knew so well, N5348A! My favorite airplane, the one that Mr. Gonzales had ripped apart after it crashed through his window. It was too far to see with my eyes, but I could sense it was there, and as noisy as ever.

The first one was the hard one. It got easier and easier to make more and more of them, one after another, until a fleet of a dozen aircraft flew alongside the shantanks. They grew agitated, and began to snap at them, knocking them out of the sky one by one... until suddenly that enormous eye appeared in the sky once again, and blinked, and hat strange distorted light surrounded them all, shantaks and planes both.

And then they vanished. Just like that.

And the shantaks were gone. Not falling out of the sky, just gone as if they’d never existed.

And then thunderclap came, as I expected, with the air rushing to fill that unnatural vacuum that had so suddenly come into existence.

Still watching the scene with my mind more than my eyes, I saw the shockwave ripple through the jungle, sending trees flying with its force. I saw it reach the river, and blow over the cliff. I saw the boat rock in the force of it even there, in the lee of that cliff.

And I saw the edge of that cliff disintegrate under its blast, with boulders the size of cars splitting off to plunge into the river below.

And I saw one boulder fall straight down on top of Britomartis, and I was frozen with the sight.

“Noooo!........”

Time stopped.

The boulders in mid-air halted, suspended in their flight.

Silence reigned.

Britomartis was gone. Crushed.

My Britomartis! Gone!

No!

I couldn’t accept it, couldn’t permit it.

Not her!

Anyone but her!

My anger and horror and sorrow flared brighter and brighter, a white incandescence before my eyes....

...eyes my before incandescence white a brighter and brighter flared sorrow and horror and anger my her but anyone he not it permitcouldn’titacceptcouldn’tinogonebritomartismy...

Faster and faster, like a videotape on rewind, the boulders flew upward, the spray returned to the river, Britomartis emerged like Aphrodite from the waves, and that deadly thunderclap rolled back, back, back into that reddish sphere of death, and stopped, balanced between now and then, the is and the may be...

Sound returned. The balance was broken.

I leapt for Britomartis, tackling her and knocking her off the boat and into the river.

We crashed into the water, and as we did a boulder smashed into the boat, and through the hull... just where she had been standing.

She was safe.

And I was tired, so very tired.

Floating in the river, I closed my eyes, and felt the waves wash over my face as I drifted away.

* * *

I woke up lying on a thick cushion, on the floor.

There was a bowl with water in it next to my head, a wet towel half-draped over the edge.

The room was bright with sunlight shining in the window. There was a scroll hanging on the wall to my left with some sort of Chinese characters written down the middle. Japanese? I didn’t speak either, but one of them, I guessed.

Straw mats.

Sliding paper door...

Sure looked Japanese.

The door slid open, and in walked Britomartis.

“Master Richard! You’re awake!”

She ran to me, kneeling at my side and grasping my hand.

“You’re awake, finally!”

“Britomartis! You’re alive!”

“Of course I’m alive, silly man. You saved me, remember? Pushing me out of the way just in time like that!”

She turned toward the door, calling out “Chuang! He’s awake!”

And back to me, holding my hand in hers. It was soft.

“How do you feel?”

“Uh, OK I guess...” How did I feel? I tried moving, and twisting my neck, and I felt fine, actually. “How long have I been sleeping? And where are we?”

“We’re at Ryūzō-ji Temple, and you’ve been unconscious for ten days,” she said, placing her palm on my forehead to see if it was hot. “You were running a fever, and screaming in your sleep.”

“Ten days...”

“Creating those flying machines drained you terribly, Master Richard.”

“Yes, the Cessnas... but that’s all?”

“All?” She looked at me quizzically. “I don’t understand...”

So she didn’t know that she had died, and that I had reversed time itself to save her.

I’d rewritten reality, changed history, cheated death. And nobody knew.

“It’s good to see you awake again, Master Richard,” said Chuang, bustling in the door.

The King was close behind, all smiles.

“Thank goodness you’ve finally awoken!”

I was sitting up now, and realized I was hungry.

“When was the last time I ate something?” I asked.

“We fed you soup and gruel while you were sleeping, but nothing more... I’m glad you’re ready for a real meal!” laughed Britomartis.

“Why don’t you go get Master Richard some solid food, Britomartis?” suggested the King, glancing at Chuang.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised, bouncing up and out the door.

The King turned to me.

“What happened?”

“You mean, back there? I mean, I saw the rock falling and...”

“Hogwash. Chuang and I saw the whole thing. We saw her die, and then not. You undid time.”

“I... I...”

“And,” added Chuang drily, “as if that were not enough, you manipulated Reed into doing your dirty work for you!”

I fell silent.

“I don’t know what I did,” I admitted. “Well, I know about Reed, of course, whoever Reed is, but that’s all... When I saw her die everything just happened!”

“We may all be but a dream,” said Kuranes, “but it’s still impossible to undo something that has already come to pass.”

“But I did it, somehow.”

“Yes. And the only people who know things changed are dreamers—you, me, Chuang, Shingan, probably Reed herself. No doubt a few more.”

“Britomartis, in particular, has no idea,” said Chuang. “We don’t know if it really happened and has been changed, or if that event itself was wiped from existence. What happened was impossible, and it is impossible to know what do to about it.”

I heard dishes rattling—Britomartis was coming back.

Britomartis returned with a large tray packed with food—fresh-baked bread, fruit, eggs, cheese, a whole roast chicken (albeit a small one), a bowl of steaming rice, soup, and more.

Behind her another women walked in, and for a second I thought it might be her twin. She had the same Gibson-girl face, snow-white complexion and rosy cheeks, brilliant eyes, and devastating smile. Unlike short-cut, brunette Britomartis, though, she had magnificent golden hair, a mass of curls and sparkles cascading to her shoulders.

She held another tray, this one holding a large teapot, cups, and a decanter of something reddish.

Britomartis kneeled next to me, arranging a cushion behind me and helping me sit up.

“Is that all right, Master Richard?”

“Yes... thank you,” I replied, a little fuzzily. I shouldn’t have sat up so quickly after all—still a little dizzy.

The other woman knelt next to Britomartis and held out a cup of water.

I reached out my hand to take it, and guessed “You must be Belphoebe?”

She smiled as she handed me the water.

“It is so very good to finally meet you properly, Master Richard. I have heard quite a bit about you!”

“And I, you,” I gallantly replied. “I wondered when I would finally meet you, and it is a pleasure.”

Britomartis tried to hold the cup for me as I drank, but I moved it away from her grasp.

“Thank you, I’m feeling much better now,” I said, and took a sip.

It was ice cold and delicious.

Britomartis was busy, using her dagger to slice the meat into bite-sized chunks. Chee-Chee hopped down her arm and snatched up a piece, earning a slap on the hand but escaping with a meaty chunk to gnaw on.

“Perhaps we should let you eat in peace,” suggested the King.

Britomartis looked up at Kuranes, and her dagger stopped. She actually pouted!

“Yes, my lord. I’ll be good.”

“Britomartis and Belphoebe have taken very good care of you since you leapt from the boat, Master Richard. If I were in your position I’d surrender and enjoy the attention,” the King continued. “Suppose we come back in a bit, after you’ve eaten and bathed.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful,” said Britomartis, grinning, then suddenly looked at me, one hand over her mouth in embarrassment. “That is, if Master Richard would like to!”

I laughed and sat back against the cushions.

“I am yours; do with me as you wish!”

She picked up a piece of meat in her chopsticks, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Chuang and Kuranes slip out of the room.

Everything was delicious, and the company wonderful.

“After you saved us from the shantaks, and saved me from that rock,” Britomartis explained, “it took us the rest of the day to complete hasty repairs on the boat. That night we finally reached Thran, where Belphoebe met us and helped us get repairs started.

“It took until evening the next day to strengthen the hull to withstand the force of the river serpent, and we decided we would spend the night in Thran and leave the next morning at a slower pace.

“We reached the temple dock in the late afternoon, and the monks helped carry you here. Belphoebe and I have been caring for you since.”

“I had hoped to meet you under rather different circumstances, Belphoebe,” I said.

“No matter the circumstances,” she replied, “I am delighted to finally be able to meet you, and thank you for saving the life of my beloved Britomartis.”

“I would do it again in an instant,” I said. “Britomartis is very important to me.”

“And me, Master Richard, and me,” she said. “She is my wife.”

I wasn’t sure of how to answer that without either looking the fool or getting her needlessly jealous, so took a drink of hot tea to give myself time to think. Chee-Chee reminded me that I hadn’t paid my dues yet, and I offered her a choice bit of fruit.

“Britomartis told me you were married by Sappho herself,” I said, steering the conversation. “She is very famous even in my realm, and some of her poetry survives.”

“I wonder which ones... perhaps we haven’t ever read them, Britomartis!” Belphoebe’s eyes were sparkling. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful, to see her work from Wakeworld?”

“She is a poet here as well?”

“But of course! She has been writing poems since long before I came here,” said Britomartis. “We must have a dozen of her books, at least... she has always written poetry, but also pens plays now, dealing more with our hearts and minds than the gods or realms.”

“Britomartis reads poetry so much more deeply than I,” admitted Belphoebe. “I am constantly amazed at the way she can uncover new meaning and depths in poems I breezed over.”

“She never struck me as a simple warrior, by any means,” I agreed. “And as her wife I suspect you are more than you appear as well.”

Britomartis hugged her. “She is, of course. She’s one of the finest archers in the realm, but can also heal even the most gravely wounded beast back to health.”

Belphoebe looked down in embarrassment, her hand reaching out to grasp Britomartis’.

An awful lot of the food was gone... When Britomartis brought it in I thought it was enough for two or three people, but somehow I’d managed to make most of it disappear. My stomach was quite content.

I set the plate down, and laid my chopsticks on top neatly.

“Did someone mention a bath?”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Britomartis, putting down her cup of tea and moving the dishes and trays off to the side. Belphoebe rose and walked around to my left side, and together, kneeling, they helped me stand.

I was still a bit dizzy, it seemed... the floor felt subtly slanted.

They led me into the hall, not actually providing much support, just making sure I had something to hang onto if I needed it. Fortunately, I didn’t need it.

The “bath,” as they called it, was actually a series of outdoor ponds, fed by small waterfalls along the edges. The area was a garden, looking out of the forest below... we were high on a mountain! The water in the pool was steaming, too, a little; I guessed this must be a hot spring.

They undressed me, then themselves, and sat me down on a little stool.

There was no soap, but they proceeded to scrub me down with a rough cloth and liberal amount of hot and cold water. It was quite invigorating, and painful enough that I didn’t have any difficulty concentrating on the bath and not the two beautiful women rubbing my body.

There were several baths, ranging from waterfall-fed and painfully hot at one end to downright chilly at the other, also fed by a waterfall, and variety of temperatures in between. At Britomartis’ suggestion I soaked in the “hot tub” until I was hot all the way through, then took a dip in the cold water at the other end to wake up.

Finally feeling refreshed and awake, I stepped out and looked about for a towel.

There were little straw baskets with robes in them, one for each of us. My basket held a light cotton robe, mostly white with a blue geometric pattern dyed into it, and a navy blue sash to keep it closed. Leather sandals on the floor. I donned my robe, and as I was struggling to tie my sash, Britomartis stopped me.

“No, Master Richard. You must always close the robe with the left side on top, never the right. Only dead men wear the right side on top, the monks say.”

She helped me get it right, and tie the sash so it didn’t slip off anymore.

The women had robes of similar design, but with patterns of flowers and butterflies in multiple colors.

I stopped off in the bathroom for a moment, and the women went back to the room ahead of me. Afterwards, I walked down the hall toward the room, and could make out their voices.

He seems a gentle man, Britomartis,” Belphoebe was saying.

He is. But he is also a Dreamer—he birthed that ‘helicopt’ in an instant to try to save me, and manipulated Reed herself to stop those shantaks!”

I think he loves you.”

I think he does, too, but he is so sweet and kind.” Britomartis giggled. “When I mentioned we were married I could see how discouraged he was! He reveals his heart so clearly on his face.

He saved you, my beloved. I am forever in his debt.

It sure sounded like they liked me.

I stepped back a bit from the door, and scraped my sandals as if I were approaching.

They fell silent, and Britomartis slid the door open for me.

“You look much better, Master Richard!”

The room had been cleaned while we were bathing. Where I had been sleeping was now a low table, surrounded by floor cushions.

Britomartis and Belphoebe sat on the far side of the table, next to one another, and invited me to sit across from them, my back to the door.

I took a seat, wondering what was about to happen, when there was a slight cough from the hall and the paper door slid open.

“Feeling better now, Master Richard?” asked Chuang, looking in. “I see your physicians are most attentive.”

“Thank you, Chuang, yes, much better. Almost human again!”

Chuang slid the door all the way open and stepped back to allow the King to enter.

Chuang took his place next to me, across from the women, and the King sat at the bottom of the table, farthest away from the hanging scroll that was clearly the focus of the room.

“We were very worried, Master Richard,” said Kuranes. “You seemed uninjured, but remained in a deep sleep after your exertions.”

“Birthing those noisy machines and stopping the shantaks must have been exhausting, and then you saved me!” said Britomartis, eyes shining.

“There is more to that story, Britomartis,” said the King. “True, birthing those machines and leaping into the river with you in the nick of time was surely exhausting, but you did more than that, didn’t you, Master Richard?”

“I...”

I wasn’t really sure if he wanted to tell her; he’d suggested it was a secret earlier.

“Speak freely, Master Richard,” added Chuang, nodding.

Britomartis looked at me, brow furrowed.

“Britomartis, it’s hard to explain,” I began. “When that boulder struck you, I...”

“The boulder didn’t strike me, Master Richard. You saved me!”

“No, Britomartis, I didn’t. At least, I didn’t the first time.”

“The first time? I don’t understand...”

“What are you saying, Master Richard?” broke in Belphoebe.

“Britomartis, that boulder struck you, killing you instantly.”

“But I’m not dead! I’m right here!?”

“Yes, it’s... complicated,” I sighed. “When I saw it hit you, something happened to me. Time began to flow backwards, the boulder rose in the sky again, and you were alive once more. And then time started ticking again, and the boulder started falling, and I knocked you into the river.

“I undid your death.”

Britomartis was paler than usual, eyes wide, mouth half open. Chee-Chee hopped from the table to her shoulder, wrapping its arms around her head and burying its face in her hair.

“Master Richard reversed time, and changed reality to make you live, Britomartis,” explained Kuranes. “Somehow. I cannot imagine the power he wielded to accomplish it, or where he got it from. And that’s why he was so exhausted.”

“I don’t remember what I did, or how I did it, Kuranes. I’m glad I did it, though, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, for any of you!”

Britomartis knelt motionless, speechless. A tear ran down one cheek. Belphoebe pulled her tight, hugging her as she began to quietly weep.

“Please, my lord. Give us a minute.”

She helped Britomartis up, supporting her as if she were sleep-walking, and they left the room.

Kuranes turned to me.

“Did you do all that by yourself, or did you have help from Reed, or someone else?”

“All by myself, I think, but not consciously... who is Reed? You said once that you would explain it once we reached the temple.”

Chuang sighed and set his cup of tea back down on the table quietly.

“We can talk freely at this temple,” he began. “Let me explain.”

“Reed was a girl born in ancient Japan centuries ago, before their histories began. In your calendar, about the twelfth century BC, over three thousand years ago. Her name in Japanese was Ashi, and we generally refer to her by the English translation, which is the reed that grows along the riverbanks.

“She was a powerful Dreamer, and when her land was threatened by the dark forces, found a way to leverage her power to actually capture a fragment of Azathoth. She wielded Azathoth’s strength to Dream in your realm, somehow, and defeat the invaders. She saved her people but died in the process.

“She ‘awoke’ in her own Dreamlands, a realm she calls Takama-no-hara, and over the years discovered that she could control the bodies of her descendants. She has ruled Nippon numerous times over the centuries through women such as Queen Himiko, guiding it toward her ultimate goal.

“Amaterasu's plan is to infuse your realm—what we call Wakeworld—with the essence of the Dreamlands. As far as we know, dreamers such Amaterasu—and the King—can only affect the reality of their own realms: the realms they were born to, or created. Amaterasu plans to expand her bubble realm of Takama-no-hara to fully encompass both the Dreamlands and Wakeworld, and establish herself as an all-powerful deity over all of known creation. This would allow her to birth reality in Wakeworld, becoming a true god. Her tendrils have already wormed their way into the roots and heavens of many realms, preparing to absorb them into herself.

“Decades ago she found a way to obtain the energy needed to transform herself, and gained it through the sacrifice of the Japanese people in the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bomb disasters. A third atomic bomb is needed to complete the spell. There was supposed to have been a third bomb dropped on Tokyo, but that never happened, and she is making plans to obtain a third bomb now.”

“Why doesn’t she just use this Azathoth thingie if she’s so powerful?”

“We don’t really know, but probably because she wove her spell using weapons forged here on Earth, and Japanese sacrifices. We think all three have to share those similarities.

“If she succeeds she would indeed save us all from Cthulhu and the Great Old Ones, but she would become an even more fearsome god herself... and we would be her servitors.”

“So what does she want with me?”

“We don’t know that either,” answered Kuranes. “The fact that you were able to alter reality here in the Dreamlands—and so powerfully, by turning back time itself—suggests you are immensely powerful. Hopefully Shingan Oshō will have some idea of why you are so important. He wanted to wait until you were awake to speak to us.”

We fell silent.

Footsteps in the hall.

The door slid open, and a chunky, middle-aged man in a black robe entered, bowed, and knelt by the door. As soon as he was settled, another man in a dark robe entered. He was taller than the King, thinner and completely bald. He bowed slightly as he entered, his hands pressed together in front of his chest, some kind of rosary around them.

Kuranes and Chuang immediately stood up when they say the monk—for surely a monk he must be—and I hurriedly followed suit.

The monk walked in slowly, deliberately, and approached me, looking into my face.

“I am Shingan, the abbot here. I welcome you to Ryūzō-ji Temple.”

I wasn’t entirely sure of how to respond, but everyone was treating him with considerable respect, so: “I am Richard, a Dreamer from another realm. Thank you for caring for me and nursing me back to health.”

“Master Richard... the King has told me much of you,...” he said, tilting his head a bit as he looked into my eyes. “I too come from that same realm. From Nippon, as you may have guessed from the temple.”

“From Japan, as we call it.”

“Yes. Things change,” he said, deadpan.

He walked to the head of the table and sat.

“I have already heard the tale of your journey here,” he said, “and the diverse events that occurred along the way. The King has also told me the story of your encounter with the shantaks, and the happenings there.”

He paused for a moment, taking a sip of tea.

“Master Richard, do you know what the Butterfly Effect is?”

“Yeah, sort of. Unintended consequences. A butterfly flapping its wings in China or wherever it was could cause a hurricane somewhere else, basically.”

“Yes. It is a way of grasping the concept of chaos, attempting to make sense of it. The Dreamlands, and all the realms, for that matter, are attempts to bring order out of the multidimensional chaos that is existence. And seemingly insignificant events can, like a pebble thrown into a quiet pool, create ripples that stretch outward to the very edges of the pool’s existence... the edges of its reality.

“If you knew some tiny, seemingly insignificant factor that would result in the birth of Cthulhu, Master Richard, what would you do?”

“I... I suppose I’d eliminate it.”

“Even knowing that this realm, and our own realm, exist only as the dreams of Cthulhu?”

“I hadn’t... I mean, I understand what you’re saying, but surely...” I took a breath. “If we create Cthulhu by dreaming of it, and Cthulhu created us by dreaming, who started the whole thing? There has to be something objective!”

“Why?”

I digested that response in silence for a few seconds.

“So that’s why the Zoogmoot was called, then?” finally asked Kuranes.

“In part, yes,” said Shingan. “They sensed the existence of the factor, and called the Zoogmoot to decide what to do about it. In the same way Reed and Cthulhu, and probably some others, wanted to control that factor to pursue their own ends. The Zoogs only had part of the information they needed, though. I have more.”

“Tell us!” commanded Kuranes.

“It’s really very simple, King Kuranes,” said Shingan. “This factor, this butterfly, has done something or will do something that leads to the birth of Cthulhu.”

He stared straight into my eyes.

“And you, Master Richard, you are that butterfly.”

END

Richard: Part III

304 Bleth

Chapter 1

Prologue

Sit there. Record every word I speak. I will review your work personally... yes, I read your foreign writing, Han scribe. And if there is one error, you will suffer.

These scrolls are for my own reference. I have lived long, I suspect longer than you can imagine. My memory, while still sharp, becomes overfull, bloated. There are things I must not forget.

When I was born, my people were a mere village. We farmed millet, hunted, sometimes fought others. We had our own stories of the Sun and her brother, the Wind, and at my birth I was declared a Child of the Sun. This was no surprise. My grandmother had been one as well.

And so I was dressed in finery, and the men carried me through the village at festival time on a mikoshi, letting me play in the mud of the fields to bring good crops, and the women pressed my infant hand against their bellies to bring healthy babes. I grew up like this, having no reason to doubt that I was holy and a conduit for great powers. It made me different, which I sometimes resented. But I knew it would all end when my body began to enter womanhood; after that I would be like the other girls. I did not know which life I preferred more.

I never had a chance to find out. For as I grew taller and the blood of life began to flow...ho! Do I shock you, foolish man? Do the vaunted heights to which your people climb cause you to have so little regard for your earthly origins? Like so many men in recent generations, do you regard the blood of the womb with horror? I see the answer is yes, though you fear to say so. And well you should regard the mysteries of woman with horror, little man. They are not for your kind.

When I began to grow into a woman, my duties as the Sun's Child ended, but then the dreams began. I had always had intense dreams, but now they became something more. I was able to learn through them things that only the gods could know, things happening far away, or in the future, or the past. I was able to visit other lands, and enter others' dreams, and speak with spirits and demons. Sorcerers in these dream lands taught me secrets, and I was a good student.

Some of my people feared me, saying I was possessed by a fox, but after I became shaman, they depended on me more than ever, and I was regarded highly. Still only a girl, not yet a woman, I was the most powerful person in my village. My powers in the waking world were nothing compared to those of dream, but I could foresee the best time for planting, the coming of the summer inasa storms, the most propitious days for marriage and for hunting. To a tiny village, these are not minor powers.

 

And so we prospered, and my people loved me. I became their leader in name as well as deed—barely old enough to marry and already I was their chief. Our numbers grew, and then a wandering tribe of fierce warriors asked to join us; I foresaw that they would benefit us, and so our strength increased further.

And then I foresaw disaster.

From the north they were coming. They worshipped an alien god, one that actively walked in this world, thriving in the northernmost lands where the ground was always hidden beneath ice and the wind flensed flesh like iron knives. This god of ice and wind was not the brother of the Sun, but many called him by that name, for they could not say his true name, and they did not want to believe that they followed evil. Their leader was a man from a far-off land of giant deer and white bears; he wore the shaggy coat of an animal long since extinct, an animal larger than a house, a beast he had slain himself. He had seen generations of men pass like leaves on a tree, budding, growing, thriving for a season, then shriveling and dropping to the ground, to be crushed underfoot without a thought. How could he live so long, you may ask? I could say it was because he commanded great magics, but while true, that was not the reason.

This man, this priest of an otherworldly god, was dead.

He had died in the heart of a winter storm, after slaying his own family and devouring them. Yet he walked, he spoke, and he led the living. His act of desecration pleased the demon-god he followed. And now he conquered in the name of his god, and he spread winter over the lands of the north. With sacrifice and ritual, he changed the flow of the rivers of warmth and cold in the sky and ocean. Already in the south, winter came earlier every year, and it was more bitter. I could see that long before the hordes arrived, we would begin to starve. And even unweakened, we could not withstand his army, composed as it was of the pitiful remnants of hundreds of villages, those who agreed to fight so as not to die, who were forced to devour their own, less cooperative kinfolk. Many of them had undergone a change similar to their leader's, and they were also walking dead, with skin was hard as boiled leather, and teeth like obsidian shards.

I saw that we would be destroyed by them. We could band together all the tribes and villages of the south, and we would still lose. Worse, this priest was not the only one—there were others, all over the north, in other lands, marching south, bringing winter, bringing a new age of ice behind them. They would freeze the world if they could.

In my dream wanderings, I had learned of powerful magics that could warp the waking world as easily as the world of dream, but these magics came with a terrible price. I decided that I must pay the price, for my people. And so I approached one who could be called a wizard, or a god, one who wore robes of yellow and a pallid mask, who was served by the things we now call tengu. I learned from him, and I took the Oath, and bound myself to that unclean power.

On my return, my people looked on me in fear. But I paid them no mind, and journeyed north, across the inland sea, ever northwards. I was alone, for I needed no companions, nor did I wish to have any. For I had become a changed being.

You can feel it, can you not? Even now, so many lives later, it clings to my spirit. No matter how many times I am reborn...do you feel the worms crawling into your thoughts yet? The itch in your skull? The sensation of rot in your flesh? Keep writing! Worry not, little scribe—it will fade after you leave my presence. Imagine for a moment what it is like for me, feeling all that, my nose always full of rancid perfumes, my food tasting only of dust, my ears flinching at the endless whispered chittering, glimpses of diseased corpses dancing in the corners of my eyes. All that and a thousand times worse, every moment since I took the Oath, a young girl with no thought but to save her people.

So. I had the ability to do what needed to be done. But I lacked the raw power. So I journeyed north and east, to Ōyamato Toyoaki Tsushima. And I came upon our sacred mountain, Yahashira no Ōkami no Mine, the greatest place of power in these islands. And there I searched, and I found, the entrance to an ancient city beneath the mountain, a city designed for calling down power for the benefit of a race that inhabited these lands long ago. There I found what is now one of the Imperial Treasures, the stone. And I, a Daughter of the Sun, I called upon the power of Amaterasu... no, let me speak truthfully. It is a power beyond hers, at the heart of the sun, the stars, the universe. I called it down through myself and bottled it like a fiery liquor in that stone. And then I waited.

The calling of such power is never a quiet affair. It spilled over the landscape, devastating the forests around the mountain, slaying the animals and not a few people. Because of my connection with the Yellow Sorcerer, the flow of power through me called flocks of tengu to Yahashira no Ookami no Mine, so many they blackened the sky with their obscene, humming bodies. Oh, they are not winged, red-faced men, nor are they manlike crows. Those are stories people in the days since have told to comfort themselves after seeing something that drove them half mad with terror. Yes, I am responsible for bringing those mountain demons to these islands. Most have left by now, but a few remain, these tengu, these bya-gii, for reasons known only to themselves.

As I said, calling such power is not quiet, and my enemy knew of it the moment it happened. He knew that he could never hope to conquer the southwest without defeating me first, so he led his army to Yahashira no Ookami no Mine. He came on swiftly, his weaker warriors falling on the journey, providing fodder for the stronger. He took no time to recruit more along the way, simply letting his warriors devour all in their path.

Still, there were many thousands behind him when he arrived. I remember how he laughed when he saw me descending the slope to meet him. He called me a skinny girl, a mere reed, and I smiled, because that had been my childhood name.

"I am the Daughter of the Sun," I said. "And you, the Son of the Wind. Today, you and I will take on the mantle of our parents—we will be the Sun and the Wind. And as the sun drives the wind at dawn and dusk, so shall I drive you from this world."

He laughed again, but I only smiled, for I knew what the wind does to reeds. And I knew what it does to fire, also.

He called upon his god, and sent freezing winds against me. I fell battered and bloody, but I called on my power and stood again. Like a reed, I bent, but did not break. So he called upon his horde to rip me apart. As they touched me, their icy hearts melted, and I drank their souls to fuel my power. So like a flame fanned by the wind, I blazed brighter.

Enraged, he called upon his god, and his alien god entered him, and the priest became his god. He grew until he towered over me, higher than any tree, the winter winds howling around him, his face a thing of horror. Again, I smiled, even as he snatched me up in his freezing grip. He crushed me, dashed me to the ground, breaking my bones. Then lifting me again, he tossed me into his mouth. He chewed me, grinding me, ripping me in his iron teeth. And he swallowed me.

Yes. He ate me.

I died.

But I had known that would happen. He was a cannibal god, after all. And within his frozen, earthly body, the Daughter of the Sun became the Sun Herself.

Oh, how I blazed! I burned through him, destroying him utterly. And I continued to burn, blackening the already-destroyed landscape, cooking the last remnants of his army, and the sacred mountain erupted in sympathy. I rose, burning, into the sky, and around me circled the chittering flocks of bya-gii.

Did I really destroy a god? No, I was not quite that powerful. But I did banish him from this world for many lifetimes. Lately, I have heard tales in the far north...but that is not part of this tale. But by banishing the god, I also banished the power of the other priests, and so they were defeated in their distant lands.

I tell you this tale, and command you to write it, because it is true. The story has changed with time. There are those who say I am Amaterasu, and perhaps they are right. There are those who say my enemy was Susanoo, and perhaps, in a way, they are right. It is difficult to say, after so many lives.

And now I am the Empress Himiko. They say I am mad. They say I am cruel. They say I am a witch. They are right. But everything I did, I did for my people. With time, my people have expanded to cover the whole of the southwest. In the future, they will cover all these islands. I have come back again and again, never content to rest between lives, because I know I can lead my people to power—and with power comes safety.

But soon I will leave, not to return for a thousand years or more. The corruption of the Oath grows worse. I tried to flee it by death and rebirth, but it infects my spirit. If I stay, it will consume me completely, and I will be but a slave, a servant of alien gods, like my long-ago enemy. I will not allow that to happen. I go to seek release from this curse... but not relief, not rest. I go also to seek power. And when I have it, I shall return, and my people shall expand over the face of the Earth and beyond, and no alien god will be allowed to remain. This world shall be made pure, and safe.

The stories change, and even my memory grows confused. So I have this record made for my return. One day long hence there shall be another Empress, and I shall be born into her, and I shall need this to remind me of who I am and what I have done and shall do.

And then all will be well.

—From the Shōsō-in Himiko Makimono (Scroll of Himiko, Shōsō-in), found in the Shōsō-in Imperial Repository in Nara and now in the Imperial Household Agency Library. The author is unknown, and is reputed to have been put to death after the scroll was finished and sealed.

English translation © 2004 David Farnell

 

Wakeworld

It was cloudy again today, the sun vaguely bright behind the blanketing clouds. It was raining up in the mountains, I could see—they were partially hidden in a grayish mist that blended in with the darkening sky. The forested slopes would be thankful for the water, but the river would swell into rage again.

Sure hope we don’t get another flood.

I used to take Flossie down there and we’d play fetch or chase frogs on the riverbank.

Poor Flossie. I miss her... it’s been, what, four? Five years now since she passed?

Meg loved that dog so much.

Never understood why she doesn’t get a dog for her own kids to grow up with.

Maybe it was the right thing to do, though, since they both work. Be tough on the dog.

“Daddy? Everything OK out here?”

Meg stuck her head out of the screen door, looking to make sure I was still sitting in my porch rocker.

Sure as shit wasn’t going anywhere with only one leg! And even if I could drag myself to my wheelchair with half a body, I sure as hell wasn’t going down the porch steps in a wheelchair!

“Yeah, I’m fine, Meg,” I replied. “Just watching the rain coming in. Looks like we’re in for a drenching.”

Meg stepped out on to the porch. “Let me bring you inside before you get wet, Daddy.”

“No, I’m fine... no wind today and we’ve got a big porch to hide under.”

I kicked again, waking the rocker up into a gentle swing.

“What are the kids up to?”

“The usual for a COVID summer vacation: lounging, games, fighting, and snacks. I’ve got a bunch of cookies in the oven now that should quiet things down for a while. David’ll should be back in a couple hours, too, and at least we can have dinner together before I have to go in.”

“It’s great we all have our shots, but I’d really be a lot happier if you two didn’t work at the hospital these days.”

“Oh, Daddy. We’re very careful, and even if we do get a breakthrough it’s very mild,” she smiled. “Besides, it’s sorta like, you know, my job?”

I grunted.

Yeah, I’d been happy when she went to medical school and became a pediatrician. I’d been happy when she married a nurse at the same hospital—Dave’s a nice guy—but I really wish they could work somewhere else until this COVID stuff is under control.

Wonder what they’d do in the Dreamlands... not much in the way of Western medicine there, and goodness knows professional pediatrics and nursing would be literal lifesavers. The herbal and magic healers might be a bit miffed to lose market share, but even a few simple concepts could slash mortality, especially infant mortality, enormously. So many people dying unnecessarily...

“You ever dream about being something else, Meg?”

She smiled.

“Not anymore. I used to want to be a princess and have a tall, handsome prince carry me off to his castle, but my prince is a bit shorter than tall, and handsome only in a subjective sense, and then there’s the rugrats... I’ve everything I need right here, thanks.”

There was a loud patter on the roof.

“Here it comes!”

The patter grow to a clamor, and the heavens opened. Sheets of rain pounded the house and the yard—the mountains were gone, hidden behind the deluge. Gravel danced on the walkway.

“I hope the power doesn’t go out! My cookies aren’t done yet!”

The screen door slammed shut behind her.

It had been raining when the Tuscarora limped into Lhosk that day. Maybe not this hard, but we were in pretty bad shape after the attack by the night-gaunts. They’d almost taken Britomartis, and I just lay there without even a damn dagger.

Britomartis... I never saw her after that last time at Ryūzō-ji, after I told her she’d been dead, and I’d brought her back, somehow. Why did they force me to tell her?

She was in shock. No wonder.

Chuang told me later that Belphoebe was taking her back to Skala Eresou, in Celephaïs, to heal. It was some sort of walled city within the city, for women only. Sappho lived there.

I wish I could see her once more, and apologize for hurting her so badly.

I felt like weeping, but knew Meg would get all upset, and pushed it down deeper, strangling it into submission.

I’d been in shock, too, after Shingan told me the truth.

Shocked me right out of the Dreamlands back home, to a stroke.

Thank goodness Dave had been here. He said the kids had been screaming and he ran out to see me lying on the ground.

Left-side paralysis. Bum leg, bum arm, and half my face.

Rehab hurt like a bitch and never fucking ended. Every day, more torture trying to walk, trying to get my dead leg to fucking listen to me.

At least I still had my good right arm. The thought of having to rely on a nurse to feed me, bathe me, blow my nose. Uh-uh, no way.

Why couldn’t I just stay in the Dreamlands? I was young again there!

I sighed, and picked up my iPad again.

More terrible news: COVID, floods, forest fires, revolution, war, politicians arguing about meaningless things, the world spinning into a new extinction event...

Local news wasn’t much better.

A new bridge opened to replace the one washed out by the flood last year. That’ll help a lot of people get around easier.

More vaccinations, more COVID cases, more deaths, more arguments about masks.

Well, that was interesting. ”Local Hunter Found Dead—Bear Attack Suspected.” Hasn’t been a wild bear in these parts for over a century, or at least never been one reported. The mountains here are pretty low, crisscrossed with logging roads and firebreaks, and dotted with houses. Sure, there are deer and boar up there, but a bear?

I’d be surprised if there was enough food and acreage to support a bobcat, let alone a bear.

And no damage reported anywhere to crops or pets, either.

I looked at the article more closely.

...rifle was empty and had been fired...

...hunting alone, and had been known to hunt deer out of season for personal use...

...grieving wife, trailer home...

...sheriff warns to be careful...

Standard stuff, but still... a bear...?

I did a quick search on Twitter, and already there were a few threads.

Bears are dangerous. No, people are dangerous. People shouldn’t kill animals. Call the Army and shoot it!

No bear tracks were found at the scene, and the sheriff has brought in dogs to trace it.

No bear tracks?

A bear attacks someone and tears him to pieces, and doesn’t leave a track!?

“Daddy? Did you hear the news?”

Meg stuck her head out the porch door again.

“They’re saying there’s a bear loose up near Mt. Peabody and we should all be careful!”

“Yeah, I saw,” I answered. “It’s pretty safe down here, I think... lots of people, dogs, cars... if it comes down out of the woods it’ll be spotted pretty fast.”

She didn’t move.

“Maybe you should come inside...”

“I’m fine, Meg, relax. Hey, maybe you better look up the recipe for bear steaks!”

“Daddy! I’m serious!”

“Go watch your cookies, Meg. I’ll be fine.”

She managed to slam the screen door, flimsy as it was. Meg’s my kid, all right.

A moving van pulled up to the old Miller place down the road, empty since John passed last winter. The couple standing and pointing looked Asian, probably the new owners. I guess the kids sold it.

I wondered what they did for a living... they looked pretty young to want to live out here in the country surrounded by old white folk. Sure, they had fiber and sewerage and all that, but it was still at the tail end of nowhere.

Have to go over and say hi one of these days, I thought, rocking, then snorted. This old body isn’t going anywhere! Who am I kidding?

 

Dreamland

The rain in Skala Eresou blew in at an angle, cleverly cutting under the eaves of the buildings lining the street to make her day even worse. She’d forgotten to bring an umbrella, of course, and of course the threatening sky had decided to drop a cloudburst right on top of her at that exact moment.

It fit her mood perfectly.

Britomartis sighed and kept walking in spite of the downpour, feet squelching in her boots as she strode up the cobblestoned road to Eve's Hangout. Poietria Audre. And maybe some others.

She really needed to talk to Audre.

Belphoebe was at home, either crying in rage or raging in sadness after their fight. She loved Belle, and she knew Belle loved her, but she just couldn’t anymore. Dealing with daily life, smiling at people, talking, being asked how she was doing by friends... it was just too hard. She smiled, and nodded, and laughed at their jokes, and told everyone she was so much better and thank you so much for caring, and she didn’t. Care.

She couldn’t.

She’d died.

She’d been dead, and she was dead inside, and the world was no longer what it had been.

Everything was gray, and impermanent in the mist, and drifting away from her.

Even Belle.

Poietria Audre was there, talking to Renée and Sidonie.

She stood in the entranceway silently, dripping, hesitant to join their group.

“Commander Britomartis! Come, join us!” called Audre, pointing at an empty chair. “You already know Renée and Sidonie, I believe?”

Britomartis hung her hat and cloak on pegs and squelched over, bobbing her head in greeting.

She smiled.

“Yes, how good to see you again, Poietria Renée, Poietria Sidonie. I trust you’re both well in spite of the dreadful weather?”

She sat, and waved at the serving girl.

“Shalla, do you have any Tang white today?”

The serving girl nodded.

“Yes, Commander. I’ll bring you a pot. One cup?”

Britomartis turned to look at the other three women.

“Anyone?”

“No, thank you,” said Renée, and the other two shook their heads in agreement.

“Just one, thank you.”

Audre grasped Britomartis’ hand, her black skin and red ruby rings bold contrast to the pale white skin under. She squeezed, gently.

“I hoped you would come today, Britomartis,” she said. “It’s good to talk with friends.”

“I....” Britomartis felt the grief and sadness welling up inside. “I... Thank you, Audre.”

“We were just telling Audre that Sylvia has invited us to join her for the birth of a new mare shortly,” said Renée. “Why don’t you come with us?”

“Oh, please do! I know Sylvia would be delighted to finally meet you!” added Sidonie.

“Poietria Sylvia!” Britomartis’ looked up, finally, eyes wide. “I love her work! I’d... I’d...”

Her shoulders slumped and her eyes wavered off to examine an empty wine bottle on a shelf across the room.

“She’d be delighted to go with you,” broke in Audre, squeezing her hand once more.

“...but surely she’d have no interest in a mere warrior. Spenser was a master, but I can hardly pen a rhyme to save my life...” she mumbled, thinking to herself as she spoke ...if I had a life to save anymore...

“Oh, nonsense,” said Audre. “You’re a strong, independent woman and your tales are easily the equal of any scribbles I may write! By all means, I think it would be an excellent idea. And welcoming a new colt into the world is surely a wonderous thing.”

The door opened again and Belphoebe stepped in. She was folding one umbrella, with a second over her arm.

“Oh, thank goodness I found you,” she called out. “I knew you’d left without an umbrella... you must be soaked!”

She walked over to the table, greeting the other women with nods.

Audre pulled over an empty chair from an adjacent table, and waved her hand towards it in invitation.

“Please, join us.”

“Thank you, I shall.”

“We were just inviting Britomartis to come with us to visit Poietria Sylvia on Mt. Aran,” explained Sidonie. “Why don’t you come, too? We can make it an excursion!”

Belphoebe looked at Britomartis, eyebrow raised.

“Would you like to go?”

Britomartis looked down at her teacup, full of steaming Tang white.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “Yes, I think I would.”

“I’d like to come to, if I may,...” said Belphoebe, still looking at Britomartis.

“...yes... please come,” she replied softly, eyes fixed on the steam rise from her cup.

Belphoebe placed her hand lightly on Britomartis’ arm, providing support to balance the warm hand of Audre opposite.

“Thank you. I’d love to,” she said.

“Tomorrow morn, then. We leave at Matins,” said Renée. “Gather at the Boreas Gate of the Outer Wall.”

“Father Perrault will also join us,” added Sidonie.

“Do you need mounts?”

“We have our own steeds,” said Belphoebe. “And given how close Poietria Sylvia’s home is, we can travel light...”

“Excellent, than!” laughed Sidonie, clapping her hands. “A lovely idea! And Father Perrault can escort us!”

“We should really try to get him a pass,” said Audre. “He is an exquisite man, and his Chopin scores are simply breathtaking.”

“We would have to argue for him to the Council,” mused Renée. “I think it’s a splendid idea, though. One of the few men who deserve it.”

“A pass? To enter Skala Eresou, you mean?” asked Belphoebe. “I thought men were forbidden here.”

“No, not forbidden, just strongly discouraged,” explained Audre. “They are usually escorted out by the Guard, of course, but it is possible for a man to get a pass if thirteen women stand for him.”

“I think we could get thirteen without too much difficulty,” said Sidonie. “When they admitted Poietes Alfred I remember Letitia, Emily, Sonya, and Hō Shō all stood for him.”

“Hō Shō?”

“Poietria Akiko,” clarified Audre. “She’s been using her birthname of late.”

“I think it would be reasonable to assume that the Council would approve him, said Audre. “Speaking in my personal capacity, and not as a member of the Council, of course.”

“Oh, of course!” laughed Sidonie. “Let me mention it to Sylvia, and perhaps when we return we will ask her to accompany us, much as she dislikes the city.”

“Yes, an excellent idea,” agreed Audre. “Poietria Sidonie, Poietria Renée, thank you so much for saying hello. I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time! Please have a safe journey on the morrow.”

They took the hint, and stood, collecting their belongings to leave.

“Tomorrow at Matins, then!”

“We’ll be there,” answered Belphoebe.

Audre turned to Britomartis.

“May I try some of that Tang white, Britomartis? It smells delicious...”

Britomartis nodded, and pushed the pot toward her.

Audre poured herself half a cup, and breathed in the aroma.

“My, it’s so fresh and clean... I see why you love it so much!”

Britomartis nodded.

Audrea put the cup down.

“Britomartis, Belphoebe would like to stay here with us, if she may. Do you mind?”

“Audre, I’m not...” started Belphoebe, but Audre shushed her with an upraised palm, still looking at Britomartis.

“...no, I don’t mind,...” mumbled Britomartis in response.

“Thank you, Britomartis. I’m so glad you came today; I wanted to sit with you and talk,” said Audre. “And sample this delicious tea!”

Silence.

“How are you, Britomartis? It must be hard dealing with it all.”

“...yes...”

“You’re upset because you were told you died.”

“...yes...”

“I think I understand, but can you help me understand better?”

“...I... I don’t...”

Britomartis struggled for a moment; a single tear skittered down her cheek.

“...I just can’t anymore!” she said, shaking the cup with the force of her explosion. “I died. I was dead. And then... I wasn’t anymore. And I can’t deal with it. Dead! A corpse! Rotting flesh, that’s all I am! And people looking at me all the time, and asking how I am, and tip-toeing around me as if some lich come to devour them, and it’s just too hard anymore!”

More tears followed the first, wiped away by the back of her hand to the sound of a sob.

Audre squeezed her hand even tighter, fingers interlaced with hers, and drew closer.

“But you are not dead, Britomartis. That was a story that was never written. That page was torn from the book, balled up and thrown away as a bad idea, and your story continues on a new page.

“You never were dead! You are Britomartis, heroine of the Dreamlands, King’s Champion, Savior of the Siege of Sinara, a respected warrior, a citizen of Skala Eresou, and partner of loving Belphoebe, bound in sacred matrimony by Sappho herself.

“You were born in the fullness of womanhood from the genius of Poietes Edmund, a glorious birth to rival that of Aphrodite herself, and you have never died.

“I have died. I was born, and achieved womanhood through years of growth, of pain, of wonder, of loss, of human experience. And after a good life, fighting for what I believed in, Britomartis, I died.

“But not you; you are as beautiful, as youthful, as eternal as you were when Poietes Edmund first dreamed you into existence.

“You were never dead. That was a future that never happened, a story within a dream.”

Britomartis sat silent, no longer crying.

She slowly nodded.

“Thank you, Poietria Audre, thank you. I... I think you’re right!”

She laughed, the sweet, beautiful laughter of joy, and hugged Audre.

“Belphoebe, forgive me! I was so caught up in myself I hurt you terribly. Can you, possibly?”

From the other side, Belphoebe raised her hand and kissed it.

“Britomartis, I can forgive you anything, my love. Anything but leaving me.”

Britomartis, now with tears of joy on her cheeks, turned to embrace Belphoebe, hugging her tight.

Audre smiled, head tilted slightly as she watched them.

Britomartis, still holding Belphoebe’s hands, looked to Audre.

“Poietria Audre, thank you. I don’t know what got into me... Thank you.”

“Of course, dear Britomartis, of course.”

“I feel alive again!” cried Britomartis, leaping to her feet.

Belphoebe leapt up as well, sharing her joy as they hugged once again.

Audre, sitting quietly in their shadow, kept her doubts to herself.

* * *

When Britomartis and Belphoebe arrived at the main gate just past Matins (or five o’clock, as Poietria Audre would say) the sky was already light though the sun lay hidden yet in the Tanarian Hills. A few tepid stars glittered through the patchy clouds, already hard to see in the pre-dawn light.

Sidonie and Renée were already there, talking to a fruit vendor who was setting up his stall just inside the gate.

“Good morning!” called Belphoebe, dismounting her roan.

Britomartis, astride her piebald stallion with the hilt of only a single scimitar protruding over her shoulder, echoed with a brilliant smile: “Good morning, Poietria.”

“Oh, and good morn to you, Mistress Belphoebe, Commander Britomartis,” replied Sidonie. “We’re still waiting for Father Perrault, but he should be along shortly.”

“He’s along right now,” came a gravelly man’s voice from the gate. “I’m not as spry as I once was and I’m afraid this cane is not designed for hobbling in a hurry.”

“Father, let me help you!” cried Renée, rushing to his aid. She helped him over to a black mare, and up into the saddle. “This is Onyx. She’s a little old but very smart; she’ll get you there and back safely.”

“Just like me, then!” laughed the Father. “Except for the smarts, maybe. I suspect I’m not as smart as I used to be, either...”

“Father Perrault! You’re not fooling any of us!” said Belphoebe. “We’re used to your tricks.”

“I suspect Father Perrault may be the humblest man in the Dreamlands!” added Sidonie. “And proud of it!”

They all laughed.

“I’ll keep an eye on the packhorse,” said Renée, “If you’ll watch the Father, Sidonie.”

“Of course!”

“Britomartis and I will make sure you get there safely, never fear,” promised Belphoebe. “Right, Bee?”

“Oh, of course,” said Britomartis, with another smile and energetic nod. “Killing is our job, after all.”

Belphoebe laughed to fill the sudden silence.

“Well, we don’t expect to run into any trouble on this trip, right, Britomartis?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Britomartis agreed.

“Well, then... let’s get started. It’ll be a long day today.”

They passed through the gate along the Avenue of Boreas, running northwards toward Mt. Aran and the sea. This close to Celephaïs there was little worry about—the Watch patrolled the region regularly, and the villagers were, if not friendly, at least not unfriendly.

The stone road continued through the surrounding farming communities, with scattered homes dotting broad fields, crisscrossed by mountain-fed rivers and irrigation canals.

The well-tended fields gradually gave way to fields lying fallow, or wild, and the forest grew closer and closer. The road began to change as well, carefully fitted stone paving giving way to gravel, and eventually to packed dirt. Once they left the plains and starting up into the hilly terrain leading to Mt. Aran, they were in the wildwood, with only an occasional woodcutter’s hut or hunter’s shelter.

She lived alone in spite of the possible dangers, hunting, fishing, doing everything herself. The packhorse was laden with things she had wanted from the city, and some gifts for her. A publisher had asked them to deliver five copies of Sylvia’s latest book, a collection of poetry entitled Ariel’s Descent.

Released only a few weeks ago, it had already become one of Britomartis’ favorites, a copy in her pack even now. To be able to actually meet Poietria Sylvia! She had read one of its poems this morning, in fact, “Reflections in the Mere—Ariel’s Choice.” Trapped between love and hatred with only a single choice left, the waters closing over her head to wash her tears away... the last lines reverberated in her head, etching ever deeper:

Talons of molten iron rend:

Love, hate, fear,

Desire, anger, regret,

Bleeding gobbets of memory.

Sweet, cool Lethe.

Britomartis brought up the rear of the group, with Belphoebe on point. They didn’t expect any trouble, but old habits die hard. She was always quick with a joke or comment when one of the women spoke to her, but Belphoebe noticed that she never started a conversation, and seemed occupied with her thoughts far more often than safe for a rearguard. She’s fine, she told herself, she’s coming out of it. Give her a chance... Look how she smiles!

They stopped for lunch at Lace Falls, women and horses both enjoying the freezing cold water after a long ride. The Falls were a constant murmur of delightful sound, water burbling down a long, gradual incline to create a multitude of tiny falls and rapids, white foam swirling and leaping. The pool at the base was deeper than they could see, and the water clean and delicious.

Sweet, cool Lethe.

The sweetfish looked delicious, too, but they had to forgo that pleasure to reach Poietria Sylvia by nightfall.

While the others were resting, Belphoebe slipped into the woods with her bow, returning in about twenty minutes with a brace of rabbits: “A little present for Poietria Sylvia,” she explained, tying them to the packhorse.

After they were all fed and the horses rested, they mounted up again for the afternoon’s ride. They had to climb a bit higher up the mountain’s flank, then circle around to the far side before descending again through the forest to reach Poietria Sylvia’s home. She lived on the north coast, raising her own goats and chickens, sometimes descending the narrow, twisting path down the cliffs to the sea to fish. Britomartis knew all the details, had listened to all the gossip, understood why Silvia had forsaken the noise and crowding of the city for her solitude, no matter the burden.

The heat of the day was beginning to fade, and the shadows slowly lengthened. A cool breeze was blowing down the path, and the drowsiness of the afternoon began to set in. All was quiet, save for muted birdsong and the muffled thuds of the horses.

Even Sidonie’s energy had finally succumbed to fatigue, as they continued on and one with only sporadic conversation now and again, pointing out a beautiful flower or offering a drink.

Britomartis pulled the book from her pack and leafed through it, trusting her stallion to follow the others.

Bleeding gobbets of memory.

She closed her eyes, trying to think of nothing.

“Bee? Are you all right?”

Belphoebe’s voice startled her back.

She sat up straight in the saddle again, and stowed the book away safely.

“I’m fine, Belle! Just got a bit drowsy. I’ve spent too much time moping in Celephaïs and not enough on the road!”

She beamed a smile.

“I’m awake now, sorry. I’m fine!”

Belphoebe touched her arm.

“You’re sure? Oh, Bee, I’ve been so worried about you... please, please tell me if you need something!”

“I was just a little drowsy, you worrywart!” laughed Britomartis. “You want me to take point for a while?”

“No problem, Bee, I just wanted to check on you.”

Belphoebe snapped her reins and trotted back to the front of the group.

“No worry, just a quick consult on the way!” she said to the others with a smile.

They continued on their way, riding now around the flank of the mountain instead of uphill. The horses seemed to appreciate the easier ride, too, as the pace picked up a bit.

Even so, Belphoebe looked back every so often to check on Britomartis.

They stopped again, briefly, when the sea came into view ahead. Looking down on it from the mountainside, over the treetops, it looked surprisingly close, but they had yet another hour of travel—downhill this time—to reach Sylvia’s home.

Sweet, cool Lethe.

A noise from behind snapped Britomartis back to alertness. A snapping twig.

She spun to her feet, hand automatically reaching to her scimitar, ready to draw and swing.

A few dozen meters up the road, just past the last bend, three women stood. Two armed, supporting a third who seemed injured.

Their hands were open, weapons within reach but sheathed.

“We come in peace,” called the taller woman. Her cloak, dark blue with yellow lining, hid much of her body, but Britomartis could still see her long blonde hair, styled into a long plait down her back, and appreciate the well-used black leather armor, and the steel chest plate dented from battle. A warrior, then.

She shifted to the shorter, black-haired woman, in leather armor dyed blue from head to toe, and a black, cowled robe. She seemed unarmed, but perhaps she was a mage, judging from her attire and lack of weapons. She had her hands full supporting the third... Britomartis couldn’t make out her face, but she was wearing a ratty-looking shift that clearly wasn’t designed for trips through the woods. It was ragged and torn, pine needles and dirt hanging in its frayed hem. It looked like it might once have had embroidery around the neck, but it was hard to tell now.

“I am Ansell, a free lance.”

“Britomartis of Celephaïs and party.” Britomartis sheathed her scimitar again, and noticed Belphoebe turning the shaft on her bowstring to point at the ground instead of the unexpected trio.

The four women assessed each other, and judged each other worthy.

“Are you hurt?” asked Britomartis, stepping forward.

Ansell pointed at the raven-haired woman. “Tamara and I found this poor woman earlier, and were resting in the forest just a little ways up the road. I saw you had stopped for a rest, and since you have horses and are obviously not brigands...”

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Belphoebe, walking up. “Belphoebe, also of Celephaïs.”

“We don’t know... she doesn’t appear to be hurt, just disoriented. Do you have a healer in your party?”

Father Perrault stepped up.

“I am not a healer but I do have some experience in such matters. Father Perrault, once of Luxembourg, now of Celephaïs. May I?”

“Please,” said the mage, helping the woman sit down. “Tamara, free lance. She said her name was Ricarda, but keeps drifting off. We found her just lying on the road, with two mountain lions.”

“Mountain lions!? But she’s not injured, you say.”

“No... they certainly were not tame, yet they were licking her hands. They obviously feared us, yet stayed by her side until we were almost within striking distance. When they backed away from us they were ready to kill.”

“You’re sure they were wild?” asked Belphoebe.

“I can’t imagine any other explanation,” said Ansell. “But why they should fawn at her feet while threatening us is beyond me.”

“Strange indeed,” mused the Father, running his hands over the woman’s body quickly. “She has no obvious hurt, and no bruising or pain that would suggest internal injury. She is clearly disoriented, though, and I note that the pupil of one eye is clearly larger than the other. Perhaps some head injury?”

He leaned closer to better look into her eyes, tilted her head up, and suddenly Richarda grabbed his head in her hands and pulled him close.

Ansell and Tamara jumped to rescue him, but it was too late... she’d already let him go again, with the juicy smack of a kiss echoing. He lost his balance, sprawling back onto his ass in astonishment.

Ricarda laughed.

“I haven’t kissed a Father in so long! And I suspect you haven’t kissed a woman of late, either!”

She laughed again, a beautiful, elegant peal of laughter that soothed.

“I’ve kissed a Father, Oh! What a bother, I’ve kissed a Father!”

She stood, spinning as she sang, like a young girl singing a lullaby.

Everyone just stood watching, frozen, not understanding what they were seeing.

Father Perrault wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, then reached out and grasped one of her outstretched hands.

“Ricarda! Stop it!”

And she did.

She slowed, turned to face the Father, and stood, head tilted, smiling, eyes bright.

“Yes, Father.”

Father Perrault, holding her hand like a lover, walked her forward toward the horses.

“I think Mistress Ricarda should ride. How far it is from here?”

“Not far,” said Belphoebe. “Especially if we hurry a bit.”

“Where are you headed?” asked Ansell.

“Poietria Sidonie of Celephaïs,” said Sidonie, nodding in greeting. “Are you familiar with Poietria Sylvia? She lives down the road, on the coast, and we are on the way to visit her. Let us take Ricarda with us and help her.”

“We are on foot,” replied Ansell. “Shall we leave her in your care, then?”

“You are welcome to join us. Poietria Sylvia is a most gracious host, and I will stand for you,” said Belphoebe.

“No, we cannot intrude. If you will stand for Ricarda, though, I would be in your debt.”

“I do stand for Ricarda,” said Belphoebe.

“And I,” added Britomartis, though she was not sure why she said it.

“Thank you. Then let us be on our way. Tamara, we have many kilometers yet before we rest.”

Tamara nodded, the medallion on her breast swinging to catch the fading light.

Ansell paused, then turned once more.

“Sinara, right? That Britomartis?”

“Yes.”

Ansell nodded in respect, then shouldered their packs and trudged back up the road.

Britomartis and Belphoebe looked at each other.

“Ricarda, can you ride?”

Ricarda smiled and skipped once.

“Oh, of course I can ride Onyx.”

Britomartis stopped in surprise.

“How did you know the horse’s name?”

“Oh, she just looks like an Onyx, don’t you think?” laughed Ricarda, mounting the horse in a single fluid motion. She stretched her arm forward to scratch Onyx’ nose; the mare whinnied in pleasure.

Father Perrault rode the packhorse, and they redistributed its load between them.

“Well, our party has grown by one, it seems,” said Renée. “The day is fading; let us be off.”

Just a few kilometers down the road there was a wooden sign nailed to a tree, large enough that it couldn’t possibly be overlooked.

RING MY CHIMES, BABY

There was no bell.

Britomartis studied the sign for a moment before finally turning to Renée.

“What in the world...?”

Renée laughed.

“She put it up years ago. For some reason she finds it hilarious, but I haven’t a clue why.”

“She just wants us to announce ourselves,” explained Sidonie. “I actually went and bought a bell to ring for her, and of course she found that hilarious, too.”

She took a large bronze bell out of her horse’s pannier and struck it half a dozen times with the hilt of her dagger.

It was answered by a cacophony of barks from down the hill.

They continued down the road, Renée “ringing her chimes” every so often, and eventually the road curved a bit to reveal a wide, grassy expanse with a small house surrounded by barking dogs, a few horses, curious goats, wandering chickens, and plots of herbs and flowers.

A middle-aged, perfectly ordinary-looking woman stood in front of the open door, hand shielding her eyes from the rays of the setting sun as she looked toward us.

“Poietria Sylvia! We’re here!” announced Renée.

“It’s so good to see you again, Renée! And Sidonie, and Father, welcome, welcome,” said Sylvia, walking to greet them while shushing the dogs out from underfoot.

“And I see you’ve brought some other guests as well...”

“Belphoebe of Celephaïs.”

“Britomartis of Celephaïs.”

“Sylvia of Boston,” replied their host. “Although I’m not at all sure where Boston might be by now.”

She turned to the last rider, one eyebrow raised.

“And this is...?”

Father Perrault helped the last member of their group off Onyx, and introduced her.

“This is Ricarda, a woman in distress we encountered along the way.”

“Mistress Ricarda, welcome.”

“Delighted to be here, I’m sure,” answered Ricarda. “You never did see your Pulitzer, did you?”

Sylvia froze, face white.

“My what? How did you...?”

Ricarda spun in a circle, Sylvia and her confusion apparently forgotten.

“Oh, look! More horsies!” and she ran off to the fence where they had lined up, whinnying eagerly to greet her.

“Poietria Sylvia? Are you all right?” asked Father Perrault. “What is a ‘pyulitz’?”

“Nothing, nothing,” said Sylvia, staring at Ricarda’s back. The dogs and goats had approached her as well, gathering to receive her favor like suitors to a princess.

“Please, settle your horses. They will be safe in the corral with mine; the dogs watch over them all.”

She turned to Renée.

“Who is that woman?”

“We know nothing of her. Two free lances we met on the road—Ansell and Tamara—said they found her, and as they were on foot and Ricarda seemed unable to walk easily, we brought her here on horseback. She seems... strange...”

“Yes, indeed she does,” said Sylvia.

“Here, these will surely be of use tonight, with our unexpected company,” broke in Belphoebe, holding up the brace of rabbits. “Shall I prepare them for you?”

“Wild rabbits! Lovely, thank you!” said Sylvia, her face lighting up with a smile. “Yes, please. Could you save the pelts for me? Winter’s coming and I need them for my sofa.”

“Of course, but... what is a ‘sofa’?”

Belphoebe looked at Britomartis, then Renée, but they both merely shrugged.

Britomartis and Belphoebe did most of the work taking off the tack and making sure the horses were fed and watered, and had suffered no injuries during the journey. There was no stable, but a study lean-to provided shelter from wind and rain as needed.

Several meters beyond the fence on the other side of the corral, a cliff plunged down to the waves below. It was already dim, with the dark red sun hanging low in the Western sky and a half-moon rising in the east.

Renée, Sidonie and the Father followed Sylvia inside, carrying the various bags and baskets of goods that Sylvia has requested. Ricarda walked behind, and the dogs took up positions guarding the door. A strange place for guard-dogs, though Britomartis. They should be roaming the borders to better protect the chickens, and even the goats from night predators.

Sylvia’s home was a simple clapboard house with thatched roof. The walls had numerous windows to allow light and air free passage, but with strong shutters that could be closed at need.

“C’mon in, make yourselves at home!” called Sylvia.

Britomartis felt a little uneasy at the casual nature of her invitation, but Sidonie assured her it was just Poietria Sylvia’s manner of speech. She wondered if she should remove her boots, as was custom in most homes in Celephaïs, but noticed that Sidonie and Renée—and Sylvia herself!—had just walked right in.

She glanced at Belphoebe, who shrugged, and entered, boots and all.

Helplessly, Britomartis followed suit.

Inside was a strange conglomeration of styles, with the colorful, geometric patterns of Thraa generation rugs on the floor contrasting with stark calligraphy hanging on the wall, and the stunning sea-blue curtain marking off the sleeping room.

The floor was strewn with pillows of all sorts and sizes surrounding a sunken firepit in the center of the room. The square stone frame, like a well, rose some thirty centimeters above the wood floor, and it was filled with stones and ash. An iron hook hung down from the ceiling, holding a black teapot above the hot coals. The ceiling sloped upwards here, carrying the smoke—what little there was—up and away cleanly.

In front of a large window was an enormous puffy chair. Maybe a throne of some kind? It was covered in cloth and pelts, with huge cushions on top. Britomartis had never seen anything like it before.

Father Perrault was sitting on it with obvious pleasure, leaning back into the cushions with one arm on the raised bit on the side, and his feet up atop a little island cushion in front of the thing.

“This is the sofa,” he explained. “And it’s heavenly to sit on one again!”

Sylvia was already pouring tea for them, a fragrant blend that Britomartis could not immediately identify. No teacups—instead she offered each of them a large mug, almost the size of a small ale mug, obviously hand-thrown and fired.

“Make yourselves at home. Kitchen’s through there, help yourself. If you want to freshen up there’s a shower and toilet out back, through that door. No hot water, though, I’m afraid.”

She was holding a third mug, and looked around. “Where’s Ricarda? I thought she was with you?”

“Oh, I’ll take my tea in here, please!” came Ricarda’s voice from the sleeping room.

Sylvia spun around, almost spilling the tea, and stared. She set the tea down on the lip of the firepit and strode over, whipping open the blue curtain separating the rooms.

She must have slipped in one of the windows with nobody noticing, but there she was, lying in the middle of Poietria Sylvia’s sleeping area, feet up on a high pillow, looking for all the world like she owned the place and had asked the maid to bring her refreshments.

“And just what the hell are you doing in my bedroom, Ricarda?” said Sylvia, in a voice that would not have been out of place in a morning drill.

She reached out to grab Ricarda’s shift and somehow missed, her hand grabbing the cushion behind her instead. She almost lost her balance, caught herself, and reached to grab the other woman’s arm instead.

With perfect timing, Ricarda stood and let Sylvia’s hand swish through empty space behind her, striding forward into the room where we all watched incredulously.

“I think I shall drink it here and keep you all company!”

She picked up the mug Sylvia had prepared, and sat down on a convenient cushion to take a sip.

“Oh, my, this is delicious!” she said, apparently unaware of Sylvia furious behind her. “Selarn broadleaf with Baharna green and just a hint of cherry! Very nice!”

Sylvia just stood, astonished, as her anger drained away.

“I... Please don’t go in there, Ricarda,” she said finally. “That’s my space, not yours.”

“Oh, my most sincere apologies, Poietria Sylvia! I didn’t know!”

Britomartis couldn’t fault her apology, but also couldn’t shake the feeling that Ricarda was playing with them all.

Father Perrault asked Ricarda to lie down, and carefully examined her for injury, finding none. Sylvia provided her with a new dress of quite unusual design... Britomartis had never seen such a pattern of brilliant yellow daisies before, but had to admit it was quite eye-catching. Ricarda seemed to enjoy it, twirling in it every so often as she roamed the dwelling, spinning the hem out like a dancer.

The meal was a communal affair, with everyone chipping in. Sylvia had wrung and plucked a chicken, and was roasting it in her wood-fired oven—a monstrous construction of brick and adobe built into a wall and up the hill almost to the forest, simultaneously serving to separate the goats from the garden. She explained it was actually used for making pottery, but she could also use the front-most chamber for cooking—chickens, for example. It turned out that Father Perrault was an expert in herbs and spices, and after a short trip to the garden the chicken soon began emitting a heavenly aroma that had stomachs rumbling.

Peeling potatoes, collecting greens for a goat-cheese salad, and carrying water from the stream that cut through the farm were simple chores that went quickly as they worked together while talking.

Britomartis kept an eye on Ricarda, not quite able to bring herself to dismiss the woman as a simpleton. Ricarda skipped around from chore to chore, somehow managing to be everywhere at once and look very busy, but never actually accomplishing anything.

She did immediately notice the trapdoor under a carpet, and inquired innocently of Sylvia what was under it. “Full of wine, eh?”

Sylvia stopped what she was doing and looked at her again.

“Yes, in fact, that is where I put my wine, among other things...”

Ricarda danced away without reacting, pointing to a horseshoe nailed to the wall and exclaiming “Oh, look! A lucky horseshoe!”

Britomartis had no idea what might be lucky about a horseshoe, or why it was nailed to the wall. Two nails, so it was pointing up, instead of the easier one-nail method that would let it swing and naturally point down. Strange, but then again Sylvia was a strange poet.

Sylvia opened up the hidden trapdoor—which was not really hidden, considering how the bulk of the door was obvious even with a rug on top—and pulled out a reddish-brown ceramic jug, sealed with a wooden plug and beeswax.

“Wine,” she said. “I made it a few years ago with local grapes and it’s been down there since, waiting for guests to enjoy it with. And tonight’s the night!”

She used a wooden spoon to fill their mugs with a slug of wine each—even some for Ricarda, who had eaten little but had at least stopped dancing around making bizarre comments. It was a heady red wine, rich in tannin and spice, and Britomartis thought it was outstanding.

“In addition to penning excellent poetry, you also make excellent wine,” she commented, holding her mug out for seconds.

“So glad you like it! It took me a few years to stop making vinegar, but I can usually drink what I make now,” she said, pouring another healthy slug for Britomartis and one for herself. “Anyone else? Sid? Belphoebe?”

Sidonie held out her own mug with a big smile, but everyone else demurred.

“Have you read my work, Britomartis?” asked Sylvia. “Seems an unlikely pleasure for a warrior such as yourself.”

“I’ve not read much,” she answered, “but I received a copy of your latest collection and you speak to my heart. I am deeply honored to be able to meet you.”

“Oh, shush with all that fancy talk. Nice to meet you too, dear,” laughed Sylvia. “So what did you like about it?”

“Ariel’s Choice...”

Sylvia looked at her quickly.

“I wrote that poem a long time ago to help me get past some troubles,” she said. “I hope it can help you get past your own.”

“I am used to chivalry and honor and knights worshipping fair beauty from afar... your poems are so strong, so fearless! They shake me.”

“If a poem doesn’t move you, Britomartis, it’s a failure,” said Sylvia, taking a sip of wine. “Who gave you the book, may I ask? Belphoebe?”

“No, I don’t think so. At least, she denied it, didn’t you?”

“Not I, Bee. Neither of us had much interest in poetry before. I still don’t have much use for it...”

“I still don’t know who might have given it to me. It was just lying on my pack one day, inside our home in Celephaïs. I mean, the doors aren’t locked or anything, but someone would have had to walk in and put it there... and I haven’t a clue who it might have been!”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” murmured Sylvia.

Ricarda looked up from the rug she was apparently examining—or sniffing?—and giggled. “My, Sylvia, have you quite forgot how to speak good English?”

Sylvia stopped, mug to her lips, and stared at Ricarda. She slowly lowered the mug, and carefully set it down.

“Ricarda, who are you? And why do you know Alice?”

“This carpet was made in Oonai, you know. Certainly not in Daresbury!” said Ricarda, looking up at Sylvia. “Alice who?”

“I’ve been to Oonai,” said Renée. “Lovely city, especially if you like dancing. Sidonie, remember that pearled lute I brought back from Oonai?”

“Whatever happened to that, I wonder,...” mused Sidonie. “Did we give it to someone?”

“I don’t remember seeing it for years and years,” said Renée. “I guess we must have...”

“I’m afraid I don’t dance as well as I once used to,” said the Father, “but good music is always a gift. You have no piano, Poietria Sylvia, or I would play for you all this night.”

“Thank you, Father. I had the pleasure of hearing you play years ago when I visited Celephaïs,” said Sylvia. “I’d love one, but they’re a little tough to lug over the mountain.”

“Perhaps we can find some way to make that happen,” said Sidonie. “Let me talk to the Poietria Audre and see if we can’t work it out somehow.”

Sylvia stood.

“I have to tend to the animals. Britomartis, Belphoebe, would you give me a hand?”

She picked up the remains of the chicken, mostly bone by now, and walked out the front door into the moonlight.

Britomartis and Belphoebe followed her, eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness.

The dogs were waiting at the doorway, eager for their unexpected treat.

Seeing Sylvia pulling at the carcass, Britomartis took out her dagger.

“Let me do it, Poietria. It’s easier with a dagger.”

Sylvia handed it over and the dagger made short work of it... she handed each dog a hunk of chicken bones, and shortly the sounds of the night crickets were joined by a chorus of snuffling and the cracks of bones breaking.

“I walk the perimeter every night,” said Sylvia. “C’mon.”

They fell in behind her as she strode off down the well-worn path running around the corral and the vegetable garden. As Sylvia walked she checked the fence, locked the gate on the road, patted a curious horse on the cheek, and then, when the path was close to the woods and at the farthest point from the house, stopped.

“I don’t trust our unexpected guest,” she said. “She knows things she shouldn’t know, she evades questions, and in spite of being weak and disoriented earlier—or so she seemed—she certainly isn‘t now.”

“I have no reason to distrust the women who brought her, Ansell and Tamara, they seemed honest people, but Ricarda herself is... strange...” said Britomartis.

Belphoebe nodded. “I’ve been watching her myself. She is watching us as well, and not at all a simpleton, I fear.”

“Would you two keep an eye on her tonight?”

“We had already planned to,” said Britomartis. “Perhaps tomorrow we can find a better solution.”

Sylvia placed her hand on Britomartis’ shoulder, saying “Thank you.”

She turned to Belphoebe and nodded. “And thank you, Belphoebe. I am in your debt.”

The conversation turned to horses and bears and stars as they finished walking the perimeter, and as they approached the house after completing the circuit, a voice spoke up from the shadows.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it Poietria Sylvia?”

It was Ricarda.

Britomartis responded smoothly, “Yes, beautiful, isn’t it?” without revealing her surprise, or that she was wondering how long Ricarda had been listening in the shadows, and what she had heard.

* * *

The next morning everyone was up before dawn, watering horses, milking goats, collecting eggs, and generally helping Sylvia run her little farm. Later, after the animals were taken care of and they had a breakfast of fresh bread and eggs—plus a little of the yellow Ambroli cheese they had brought with them from Celephaïs— Sylvia suggested they take the path down to the sea and see what drift had washed up.

Father Perrault decided the steep path was a little too dangerous, and suggested he’d stay and watch the horses for a while, but the rest of them agreed it would be a wonderful idea. The coastline around Celephaïs was always picked clean, but who knows what they might find here?

Sylvia took the lead, helping them stay on the path as they descended. It twisted and turned down the sheer cliff, marked only by small stakes driven into the rock here and there for support, and Sylvia’s guidance... a misstep meant death.

Britomartis was last again, trailing Ricarda by a few meters.

She looked out over the sea, illuminated with the light of the early morning from the east, whitecaps flashing here and there, a flurry of wings as some feathered denizen of the cliffs scolded them for approaching its nest. The water was dark blue, cool and distant. Beckoning.

Ricarda stopped to look as well, a few meters down the path. She looked up into the sky, and then turned to Britomartis.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it, dear Britomartis? Sweet, cool Lethe...” she said, clearly, but low that only Britomartis could hear her.

Britomartis closed her eyes.

Bleeding gobbets of memory.

Sweet, cool Lethe.

She turned her serene face to the sky, arms open as if welcoming a lover, and stepped forward into the air.

She never heard Belphoebe scream her name.

 

Wakeworld

I was flying.

I knew it was a dream, and I’d been here many times... I flew automatically, stretching my arms out to soar, flapless, or waving them back and forth like treading water to hover. I was high in the morning sun, looking over a huge forest toward the sea.

There was a small homestead on the cliff there, and I drifted over for a closer look.

I didn’t know why; dreams often pulled you to do something.

There were horses, and dogs, and goats, and there, on the cliff, was a handful of people slowly climbing down to the tiny thread of beach below.

Why, that was Belphoebe! I’d recognize that mass of brilliant blond hair anywhere. Which meant... yes! And there was Britomartis, at the tail end.

I didn’t recognize any of the other women.

The woman just in front of Britomartis, wearing a yellow dress, turned and looked straight into my eyes.

“Hello, Richard,” she said, and then Britomartis closed her eyes and stepped off the cliffside path and into the air.

I woke, the sound of Belphoebe screaming her name still ringing in my ears.

* * *

I lay in the dark for a moment, collecting my thoughts and slowly remembering where I was. I was home, in my bed, my son-in-law and grandchildren asleep. Meg should be at the hospital for the night shift this week.

Was that just a horrible dream?

I was in my bed, I could be sure of that much, but had anything changed?

My God! The grandchildren!

I yanked the walker over, struggling to my feet in a panic, and started thumping across the floor toward the door. I had to hurry...!

The door opened before I got there, and Dave looked in.

“Dad? You OK?”

He was wearing pajamas and a concerned look.

“Everything alright? Can I help you to the bathroom or something?”

I stopped, breathing heavily.

“No, I... Uh, no, yes, that is... the bathroom.”

I knew I sounded like a confused old man, but I couldn’t very well tell Dave I’d been frightened out of my wits by a dream and thought it might be real!

Dave helped me to the bathroom, and shut the door.

“You just call me if you need help, OK, Dad? I’ll be right back; just gonna check on the kids.”

He went back upstairs as I sat on the toilet and caught my breath.

What to do?

What could I do, trapped here in this decaying body and unable to return to the Dreamlands. Britomartis, my Britomartis.... God, I hope that was just a dream.

After I had relaxed a bit I flushed just to sound convincing, and clumped my way back to my room. If I took very small steps the walker made almost no noise, but of course that meant it took me twice as long to get there.

I felt bad about waking Dave, though, and wanted to avoid bothering him again if I could avoid it.

My good arm got tired pretty fast, though.

I collapsed onto my bed and closed my eyes, straining to leave Wakeworld and awaken in the Dreamlands, but dawn came first.

I listened to the birds and the paperboy, and finally the sound of Dave’s alarm clock, followed by a loud bang as he cut it off, and mumbled complaints. Shuffling noises, sink, toilet, closet doors, and finally footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Good morning, Dave,” I called out from my room—the door was open, of course. “Sorry about last night.”

“Hey, no problem, Dad,” he said. Stopping. “I’m gonna get breakfast and the coffee started before I roust the kids... You wanna come sit in the kitchen?”

“Thanks, Dave. That’d be great.”

He helped me get to the kitchen, taking most of the weight of the walker, and supporting me to make it easier. I collapsed into my chair at the kitchen table, and he came back in a minute with the morning paper.

“Here you go... hang on a few and I’ll get some coffee into you.”

As Dave was bustling around prepping the coffee maker, peeling fruit, and getting the bacon started, I opened the paper. Local rag, the Daily Times.

I ran my eyes over the front page, seeing that while the world was continuing to fall to pieces, it was still pretty much the same as yesterday. Local news was inside.

No more news about that bear. Good, I guess.

“They’re tearing down Brown’s Store, down on the corner of Main and Thurford,” I said. “The kids still go there anymore?”

Dave set a coffee mug down on the table in front of him.

“Nope. They used to love the nickel candy and stuff, but they’re pretty much past all that now. Pity to see it go, though... it’s one of the last old buildings still in decent shape.”

A loud thumping on the stairs announced the arrival of eight-year old Tom, followed by a fractionally quieter ten-year old Gracie. Gracie pecked me on the cheek and said good morning; Tom headed straight for his cereal.

“Good morning, Tom,” I reminded him.

“Good morning, Grandpa!” he returned. “Sorry, in a hurry! I gotta be at Craig’s place by eight thirty! Mr. Nelson just got a big pool, and he said if we help him build it, he’ll let us use it all day!”

Dave slapped a plate of bacon and eggs down in front of him.

“You’ll pedal faster with some food in you. Eat.”

“Grandpa, why don’t you ever eat bacon and eggs?” asked Gracie.

“I used to love bacon and eggs, Gracie,” I replied. “Especially Canadian bacon!”

“What’s Canadian bacon?”

“Real salty. You know those Egg McMuffin things? That’s almost Canadian bacon.”

Dave snorted. “I wouldn’t dignify that as meat, let alone Canadian bacon!”

“But my doctor said I have to stop eating bacon and eggs and all sorts of good food, or I’ll never get better,” I continued.

“But you’re gonna get better right, Grandpa?”

“I’m sure gonna try, sweetheart,” I said, blowing her a kiss.

Tom dropped his empty cup and plate into the sink and was out the door with a hurried “Bye!”

“Don’t forget your towel! And call me when you get there!” shouted Dave to the screen door as it banged shut. He took another sip of coffee. “Meg should be home soon. Thank God.”

* * *

I sat out on the porch watching the birds fly and trees wave, with an occasional car driving by for excitement. I noticed a couple walking my walk down the sidewalk—looked Asian, I guessed the people who bought the old Miller place.

They strolled along admiring trees and flowers, pointing things out to each other, and eventually noticed me on the porch, rocking. He had a fancy Canon or Nikon, and had a big tripod on his back. She just had a smartphone.

“Good morning, sir. A beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” I said. Scintillating repartee.

“We just moved here,” said the man. “I’m Shintarō Yamada, and this is my wife Kana.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” I said. “Sorry I can’t get up to welcome you properly...”

“No problem,” he said.

His English was stone perfect.

“Unusual to see outsiders moving into the community here,” I mused.

“Well, I’m a visiting professor over at the university, and we thought we’d prefer a quiet country home to the city. Too much city in Japan.”

“You’re from Japan, then?”

“Yes, Kobe. It’s in about in the middle of the country, near Osaka.”

“What do you teach?”

“I teach Japanese language; Kana is a professor of Japanese history, but isn’t teaching here in the US.”

“This is my daughter’s house. Dave’s inside—her husband—let me call him.”

“No hurry,” said the woman. “We’ll be around.”

They both bowed very slightly, and continued their walk.

The husband turned his head to look me in the eyes and say quietly, “Shingan sends his regards.”

They were out of easy speaking range by the time I recovered from my astonishment.

Shingan!?

And they knew him—maybe came from him?

From the Dreamlands!

Maybe they could get me back there!

Should I call them back?

No, they were obviously here for a reason, and I had to assume the reason was me. I’d have to trust them.

Britomartis!

It must have something to do with my dream last night!

Oh my God!

Maybe I somehow saw what really happened, and it wasn’t just a bad dream!

The sound of sirens in the distance brought me back to this world, and wondered what had happened. “Dave? What’s up?”

He stuck his head out the door.

“Dunno. Why?”

“Nothing... don’t hear a lot of sirens out here much. I just wondered...”

“Check Twitter,” he said, and ducked back inside.

He was probably doing the laundry and cleaning before Meg got back and he had to leave for work.

Twitter said they’d found a dead dog—a German Shepherd—torn to pieces over near the river.

That was a lot closer than Mt. Peabody!

“Hey, Dave?” I called. “Looks like that bear is still around.”

“What bear?” he asked from inside, voice a little muffled.

“Somebody got killed by a bear up on Peabody yesterday, and now a German Shepherd was killed down by the river.”

He opened the window onto the porch.

“A bear? Around here?”

“That’s what they say. The sheriff’s hunting it now.”

“Nelson’s place is a long way from there, but still... let me check.”

He ducked back inside at just about the same time Meg pulled into the driveway.

She got out and unloaded two bags of groceries from the back seat.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, Meg. How was it today?”

“Much the same. Maybe a bit quieter than usual... I actually got some reading done.”

“You mean catching up on your journals, don’t you? That’s hardly reading.”

She laughed.

“Guilty as charged.”

She hooked the screen door with a finger, and pried it open the rest of the way with her foot.

“Where are the kids?”

Dave answered from the kitchen.

“Tom’s over at Craig Nelson’s with the rest of the gang. I called to check, and George says he’s got everything under control. He invited us over tonight for a barbeque. I said I’d see. That bear’s still around, too.”

“They haven’t shot it yet? A barbeque... I’ll see if I feel human again later. I’m exhausted right now,” said Meg. “I won’t be able to drink anything, but you should go and enjoy yourself! Show the kids how to carbonize marshmallows.”

“Oh, Daddy, can we go?” begged Gracie. “I like marshmallows, too!”

“Sure, muffin. Why not? Let me call Craig’s dad back and see if you can bring a friend, too.”

“Oh, I’m gonna call Jess!” answered Gracie excitedly, racing back upstairs.

“I’m just finishing up down here. There’s a bowl of fruit salad for you in the fridge, the coffee’s ready, and the laundry should be done in another ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Drive carefully, Dave. Love you!”

“Love you too, babe. See you tonight!” said Dave as he closed the door and walked down to the car. “Dad, you wanna come to the barbeque, too? I can drive us over.”

“Ask me again later when I’m older and wiser,” I said. “I’m happy just sitting here and watching the cars go by.”

“OK. You’re always welcome, though.”

“Thanks, Dave. See you tonight.”

Dave backed out into the street, and drove off to work. He was a nurse at the same hospital Meg was a doctor at; that’s where they’d met. Nice guy, except maybe that he drinks wine instead of beer. Whatever. He made Meg and the kids happy, that was enough.

Gracie and Meg were talking about something in the kitchen.

A parcel delivery truck pulled up.

That “bear.” That dream. Britomartis. The Yamadas. Shingan!

I closed my eyes, concentrating on the Dreamlands and willing myself to go back.

I could almost see the minarets of Celephaïs, glittering in the sun...

I felt myself slipping away from here once again, and leaned into it, ecstatic with hope.

 

Wakeworld and n-space

I opened my eyes... this wasn’t any part of Celephaïs I’d ever seen!

I was in an enormous hall, stone columns soaring up to a distant ceiling I could barely make out. The floor and columns were all made of the same gray stone, no decorations, no dust, no sign of life, just massive, perfectly fitted stone blocks stretching into the distance.

I felt like a bug on the wall.

A breeze blew, and I looked up... a woman was standing in front of me, not more than a few meters distant, staring at me as if I were indeed a bug on the wall.

She was dressed in an ornate, heavy robe of red and white, and from the long, flowing sleeves I could see that it was composed of many layers, each beautifully embroidered with geometric patterns. The outer robe was a deep red, and the inner robes of various shades of red, or brilliant white.

He face was framed by a mass of raven-black hair gathered into three buns, sort of a Princess Leia look, and adorned by a gold headpiece set with jewels. It had an emblem of the sun on top, flanked by flowers and birds, and tiny bells dangling here and there.

She looked Asian. Royalty, judging from the haughty expression. And not very friendly.

“Man, I am Ashi. I have been known Ōhirume-no-Muchi-no-Kami, as Amaterasu, and many more. You know me as Reed.”

Reed!

“You are Re...”

“Do not interrupt me,” she interrupted, voice still low, beautiful, serene. She gave me the command with the confidence that I—and every other person—would obey instantly.

Figuring silence was the better part of valor in this instance, I shut up and listened.

“You are a fledgling Dreamer of potentially great power, man. You have birthed a number of machines from your realm in the Dreamlands. And you have even managed to turn time back upon itself to take a different path into the future.

“You are trapped in your own realm and dying.”

Yup, couldn’t argue with any of that.

“Your beloved Britomartis leaped off a cliff in search of solace.”

“How did you...!”

“You will be silent or you will cease, man.”

Serene, quiet voice. Not at all angry, or threatening, or even irritated. Just factual. I didn’t know what she meant by “cease” but I could only think of one possible meaning, and it didn’t sound promising.

“Assist me in completing my present tasks, and I will return you to the Dreamlands as you so fervently desire. You may speak.”

“I... What tasks?”

She waved her hand and the room faded to black.

We were floating in space, and I could see the earth, the moon, and the sun near at hand. We began speeding away from them at an incredible speed, and I watch them shrink to near invisibility as the lens of the galaxy grew brighter and brighter, and still we soared, on and on, the galaxy shrinking, Andromeda coming into view, and shrinking apace. We accelerated and I could see the superclusters of galaxies, and even the distribution of dark matter and dark energy throughout the universe.

Still we sped, and the universe shrank yet again, revealing the galaxy filaments that defined it, stretching like threads throughout all creation. I had been an astrophysicist for decades, and I could sense, somehow, the vast structures we had theorized and probed. I wanted desperately to stop and study what I saw before me, but Ashi dragged me onward.

“Your mind is already trained to understand this in two, and even partially in three dimensions, but you are far too immature to comprehend the totality of the universe in its multi-dimensional existence. This is a four-dimensional bubble of space-time, the realm that you call Wakeworld.”

We sped on, and Wakeworld—the entire universe, to me—shrank until it was merely a bubble, a tiny bit of froth in an n-dimensional void, surrounded by uncountable other bubbles, strings of filaments, raw quantum foam.

Our bubble of reality was adjoined by a host of smaller bubbles; I knew instantly that one of them was the Dreamlands. There were far more than I could count, or even perceive, with my limited senses, but I knew they were there.

And outside of this cluster of bubbles, this local family of universes, or realities, Reed was building a new, larger shell of filament to encompass them all. It was a structure larger than all of existence, in humanity’s terms, and the construction would take longer than all eternity if measured, but in this place beyond the limits of human space and time, it would be immeasurably long, or short.

Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour

“This is the Churn, the stuff of which all realities are made of. And the shell I am birthing will protect Wakeworld, and Dreamworld, and all the realms you have never known, from the dangers of the Churn, the greater reality. You shall help me birth it.”

I floated in awe at what I was seeing, mind racing as I tried to understand what I saw, and explain it with my knowledge of decades of astrophysics. This was beyond astrophysics, beyond even metaphysics. This was raw reality, the abode of Gods...

I looked “up,” beyond the earth and its cluster of bubbles, and sensed a steady stream of tiny bubbles emerging into view, some growing in size as they floated, others merging, or being engulfed, constantly changing and combining into new groupings.

I looked up that stream of bubbles, following the flow up, up to its source, to find an entity larger than my mind could comprehend. It had no face, no solidity, just a constantly mutating collection of orbs of light in colors I could not describe, and from those spheres a constant mist of tiny, almost invisible bubbles—new realms of reality, perhaps of different physical laws that my own—bled like the strings of pearls in a champagne glass, speeding away into the void on currents unknown.

“Yog-Sothoth, the creator of the greater reality,” came Ashi’s voice. “Each of those bubbles is a universe, created by the eternal creative impulse of an unknowing Yog-Sothoth. And all of this multitude of realities could be destroyed, could be unmade even before it was ever created, should Yog-Sothoth so decide. It is beyond time, and space, and our knowing.

“The shell I am birthing will protect our universe and its family of interwoven realms from further collisions with other realms, and from the denizens of the Churn.”

“Is Yog-Sothoth aware of us?”

“Are you aware of the motions of blood cells coursing through your body, or the atoms they are composed of, or the electrons circling those atoms?”

“Is it self-aware?”

“We cannot know; it is beyond even I.”

“And would your protective shell protect us against it?”

“Never. Our reality, even this multi-dimensional space we see around us, exists only by happenstance, and could be unmade before it was ever created at any time. Yog-Sothoth is outside of time and space, outside reality as we understand it, outside our comprehension.”

“How much time do we have to complete the shell?”

“Millenia, or a nanosecond. We are outside time here, and what will be, is.”

“So you already know it will be completed, then?”

“The future is fixed and we cannot change it, man, but we do not know which future it is to be. Unless we work to complete the shell it will certainly never be completed.”

“I will help you, Ashi. What can I do?”

We were back in that shadowed room of gray stone. There was no sense of movement, no noise, we were simply there.

“I will show you,” said Ashi inside my head. “First I will repair your damaged mind.”

I saw lights, felt gravity slip out from under me, and tried to move a muscle to catch myself from falling.

I was frozen, and I could feel her icy fingertips moving stealthily through my brain, my thoughts.

* * *

I was sitting in an old armchair, a crackling fire in the fireplace in front of me. Chester was lying in front—good old Chester, my Labrador retriever! He saw me looking, and banged his tail against the floor, eyes reflecting the red flames of the fire.

I reached forward and scritched his head.

Wait... Chester died decades ago... what!?

“Master Richard, forgive me for bringing you here,” said a man’s voice.

I glanced over to the other armchair—where had that come from? It hadn’t been there a second ago! And Chester was gone now...

“I thought we might be able to have a little chat while Ashi is busy,” he continued. “She’s really surprisingly competent. For a human being.”

“Ashi is... who are you?”

“Like Ashi, I have had many names over the years. Unlike Ashi, I have lived longer than this realm, however, and will surely live after it is long gone.”

He was wearing a crisp, dark-blue three-piece suit, obviously custom-tailored to his tall, lean body, and probably costing more than I ever made in a year. Black leather shoes, polished until they seemed to be afire themselves with reflection of the dancing flames. Bright blue silk handkerchief precisely folded in his breast pocket. White shirt, maroon tie, brilliant gemstone tiepin. Even I had to admit he was unbelievably handsome, and I confess to being a straight cis man and happy with it.

“Is this real?”

“You have heard of Descartes?”

“Of course. I think any competent human being is familiar with Descartes,” I replied, wondering where this was going.

He laughed. “It’s highly inappropriate to use ‘competent’ to modify ‘human being.’ I’m sure every monkey peeling a banana is confident that it is supremely intelligent, but really...” He chuckled. “In answer to your question, if I may borrow from Descartes, ‘You think it is, therefore it is.’

“And now, if I may continue? Ashi’s explanations, combined with your glimmering of astrophysics, have provided you with a very basic understanding of reality. For a short-lived three-dimensional entity only one tiny evolutionary step above an ape, that is. And you will help her complete her shell.

“What she neglected to mention is that her power can only be fully wielded in her own realm, and by completing a new shell she will encompass your realm and all of its attendant realms within her own. She will become, for all intents and purposes, an omnipotent god, able to create and destroy at whim, and eternal. As far as your species understands eternity, at any rate.

“Unfortunately, monkeys can’t be allowed to run about playing with such things, however crudely, and so, Master Richard, you will work with Ashi to complete her shell, but at the same time you will complete a second shell outside of hers—I will show you how to utilize her own power to accomplish it. And when she returns you to the Dreamlands, as she will, I will ensure that Britomartis, alive and well, will be there to greet you.”

He reached forward and tapped me on the forehead, and a rush of information blossomed inside my brain. I understood how to manipulate the galaxy filaments, how to weave them together, how to draw on the raw quantum foam to create dark matter, dark energy, and the filaments need to encapsulate the universe.

I could see the problems with the techniques Ashi used to birth her shell, and saw how to accomplish the same thing with vastly less energy. I also saw that her crude technique was interfering with the balance between the various realms, and one of the causes of the leakage—the “melting,” as Chóng had called it.

I knew now how to utilize the eddy currents created by the construction of Ashi’s shell to draw in more quantum foam, creating a second shell outside the first, invisible yet potent, from the energy Ashi currently wasted through her inefficient, self-taught technique.

“That will be all,” said the man, and waved me away with a languid wave of his hand.

* * *

“That should do it,” said Ashi. “You can utilize my technique now, and assist me in birthing the shell.”

I could sense her peering into my mind, pushing and prodding here and there. As she examined me and inspected her work, I began to see flashes of imagery, sound, bits and pieces of memories leaking from her to me.

Thousands of people kneeling around her, foreheads to the ground.

A dozen men and women tied to stakes, writhing and screaming in the flames rising from the faggots at their feet.

Mt. Fuji in the dawn, glorious and awesome in the reddish tinge of dawn.

Ashi deep under Mt. Fuji in a chamber of incredible antiquity and power.

Ashi pressing the cover down on a ceramic jar full of radiance, so bright it could only have been nuclear.

A host of warriors turning to steam and ash under that terrible fire.

A massive temple complex, and a woman in ornate kimono and headdress walking ever so slowly down a hardwood floor as hundreds of people pressed their faces to the ground in awe.

A rush of Japanese soldiers spilling into the city—Chinese?—shooting, pillaging, raping at will.

Ashi, a rictus of ecstasy etched into her face as she absorbed the fear and the death and the energy of the Little Boy as it burned Hiroshima with nuclear fire.

Nagasaki was next, and she was charged, almost ready. More death, more of Azathoth’s energy!

Tokyo, the third and final city... it would yield hundreds of thousands of deaths in atomic incineration, powering her ascension to Godhood!

Rage.

The end of the War.

The failure of her plan.

A new plan, and nuclear weapons proliferated.

Hunger.

Tokyo would burn once again.

“You will begin at once,” said Ashi, pulling out of my mind and ending the invading memories.

And I was back on the porch, and the parcel delivery guy was just opening his door, getting out and rummaging around in the back to find something, and walking up to me, and I just sat there, unable to speak or move with the terrible knowledge that had flooded into me.

 

N-space

The days and nights flew past.

To the family my condition had worsened: I slept more, I was less responsive, my pulse was unusually rapid. They hauled me to the hospital for a consultation, but the doctor had little to offer. “I guess his mind and body both are just getting tired,” was his feeling, as the tests revealed no change in my condition...

And he was quite right, because there was no significant change in my condition. My mind was just getting as tired as my decrepit body. I was busy.

While my body lay in bed, my mind soared to the limits of our universe and beyond, using my newfound skills to birth filament from quantum foam, creating structures larger than entire universes from nothingness. I could not comprehend the energies I wielded or even the size of the structure I was helping create... Ashi was with me, working in unison at times, or birthing a separate structure by herself to later be joined to the rest.

Thanks to my immaculately dressed visitor I was able to easily keep pace with Ashi. I worked slower than I could, deliberately, both to lull any suspicions she might have, and to have enough energy and time left over to shepherd my own, hidden scaffolding, coming slowly into existence outside her shell.

Why did I do as the mysterious man had commanded? Because I had no choice... I literally could not stop myself from doing exactly as he had told me, try as I might. And I did try, numerous times to no avail.

Ashi’s techniques were so wasteful, so... yes, so primitive... that it was a simple matter to redirect the eddy currents she left in her wake and weave them into that new shell, outside her own and almost indistinguishable from it. Once I set the equations up—what earlier generations would have called spells instead of the constants and “natural laws” that governed our universe—they operated almost by themselves, so I merely needed to check and make minor corrections.

As far as I could tell, Ashi didn’t suspect a thing.

And I had no second contact from “Mr. Handsome,” as I’d taken to thinking of him.

In the attoseconds between wake and sleep, as I traveled from my bed to my post outside the universe, I saw our own galaxy in depth, sampled its diversity of stars and nebulas, soaring past planets fascinating and terrible at speeds immeasurably fast. I understood the distribution of dark matter and dark energy, the four-dimensional structure of the galaxy filaments, the wondrous pattern that the galaxies of our bubble universe showed when viewed from outside the curvature of our own space-time... and I could tell no-one.

My colleagues could never believe the ramblings of a stroke-stricken old man with a tale of Dreamlands, immortal Japanese witches, a monster composed of orbs of light emitting bubbles that were entire universes as we might sweat, or a tree breathe... I could hardly believe them myself.

No matter what I’d heard or seen of Ashi—of Reed—I had no choice. I wasn’t sure how much of what she said was true, or even how much she believed was true. They could have both been lying to me for their own reasons. But one day I saw something that convinced me to at least help her.

She called my attention, pointing to a distant group of bubbles “overhead.”

It was impossible to tell how far away it might be, since dimensions here were unknown and unknowable, but it looked like two very large bubble universes, each with a couple dozen smaller bubbles attached, and a froth of tiny “champagne bubbles” scattered around. Pretty similar to what my own family of universes looked like, in fact.

To the left of it something was shimmering. It looked sort of like confetti swirling, sort of like an aurora, sort of like a long snake, or dragon, approaching that grouping from somewhere else. It swirled over them, through them, surrounding them in a semi-transparent cloud that sparkled in countless colors... and through the cloud, I could see the bubbles melting, breaking into clumps of reality, smaller and ever smaller, vanishing into that cloud.

It was feeding.

Feeding on dozens of realms, of entire universes!

How many people—thinking, feeling, living entities, whatever form they took—were snuffed in an instant? How many people, nations, worlds, stars... galaxies... entire universes, drained dry and consumed like so much breakfast cereal...

I reeled at the thought, unable to fully process the enormity, the horror, of what I was seeing.

“And that’s why we must complete this shell,” came Ashi’s voice. “Until our shell is complete we cannot be safe, only hope that the universe-eater chooses another.”

When I woke the next morning, the sheets were covered in sweat, and my hands were still shaking.

But as powerful as Ashi was, Mr. Handsome was above her, manipulating the situation without even her knowledge. Someone as far above her as she was above me. Probably far, far higher... above Cthulhu? Just whose side was he on, and who wouldn’t “permit monkeys” such as ourselves to build this shell?

Unable to leave my bed, I sifted my memories, especially the memories of the Mythos stories I had read, in search of clues to who Mr. Handsome might be. Above Cthulhu. Interfering with human events. Tall and handsome.

I could find no definite answer in Lovecraft’s work, only more questions, and had no way to visit the library or access the internet.

Furious with fate, trapped between two unknowable forces, I struggled on.

* * *

Weeks passed in Wakeworld. I had no way of knowing how much time passed in n-space, outside our convenient references of time and space.

I sensed a ripple propagating through the developing shell. Ashi sensed it simultaneously, and we both turned out attention to it.

“The Hounds,” said Ashi, standing taller and looking “down” at the rippling shell with disdain. “The Hounds have scented my work, and come to feed.”

“The Hounds? But they move through the corners, the intersection of three dimensions, surely not here!?”

“Fool. Wakeworld has only four dimensions, so that is sufficient for their purposes, but here the very concept of dimension is meaningless. There are no dimensions, or an infinitude, or both at once, and the Hounds move as they wish.”

“What can we do?”

“Fight. Or cease,” she replied, calmly. “One cannot flee the Hounds.”

“How?”

She ignored me and closed her eyes, hands loosely clasped in front of her breast. Gradually the space around her began to glow, and I could make out the ghostly lines of a room... ornate columns, a gold-encrusted throne behind her, a sea of a thousand heads bowed in homage, stretching off into the darkness.

Her headdress began to shine, brighter and brighter, the disc of the sun atop it so brilliant I could not bear to look at it directly. The light doubled in brilliance, and again, and again, until there was nothing but pure light, shining through me and all of infinity.

And in spite of the sheer power of that light, shadows appeared, distortions with long, pointed proboscises, a multitude of eyes, bodies coated with a blue ichor that writhed hideously. The Hounds...!

They slowed as they approached, pressing against that actinic light, driving forward as if into molasses, slower and slower. Their proboscises twitched, claws scrabbled, and they drew ever closer.

“I am Amaterasu, Goddess of the Sun! Flee, filth, from my light!”

Ashi opened her hands, palms out toward the Hounds, and they burst with an energy beyond comprehension. The Hounds had been blindingly illuminated in that actinic light before, but now even that light seemed feeble and gray as this new energy exploded, a nuclear shockwave that blew into, and through, the Hounds. Their silhouettes wavered, abraded down a little at a time in that fire, slowly disintegrating into dust, flaring into nothingness.

“Amazing little ape!” came a quiet voice deep in my mind. “Wielding a fragment of Azathoth and believing that she controls its power.”

Mr. Handsome!

Azathoth! The blind idiot god at the center of creation, the ultimate energy—or the ultimate black hole!

And Ashi had a piece of it!

“Man! Your strength, now, give it to me, or cease!”

“Oh, by all means, little ape!” came the sardonic voice deep in my mind. “Go for it!”

I strained, pouring all of my energy into Ashi, almost blacking out as vitality drained away.

My body grew heavier and heavier, and the dark silhouettes became thinner and thinner, and finally exploded into dust and were gone.

I had the merest glimpse of Ashi, hands falling to her sides, head drooping with exhaustion, and then I was gone.

* * *

When I opened my eyes the brilliance speared through into my brain, and I groaned, squinting. Gradually my eyes adjusted, until I could see through the tears. I was in the ICU. Again.

That blurry figure moving around must be a doctor or nurse.

I groaned again.

“Well, welcome back, Dr. Saxton,” came a warm voice, and a face swam up into my field of view. Bearded, young, rimless specs. “Hold on a second... let me clean that up.”

He peered into my eyes, then dribbled some liquid into them and wiped away the excess.

“There, that should be better.”

It was. I could see much more clearly now, and tell that Dr. Salmani—that was what his nametag said—was maybe in his forties, quite well-fed, and apparently my physician.

I groaned, tried to speak.

“You’ve got some tubes in there,” said Salmani. “Let me get you something to write on.”

He left my view for a minute, coming back with an iPad or something and a stylus.

“Here, can you use this?”

My arms were weak, and it was difficult to lift the iPad so I could see it.

Salmani held it for me with one hand, supporting my right hand—the one holding the stylus—with the other.

He answered the questions I wrote.

“You had another stroke yesterday. It’s strange—you showed all the signs of a massive hemorrhagic stroke, but imaging reveals normal flow and no artifacts that we can find. Judging from the shape your brain is in, it was actually something else—we’re still trying to figure out what—and have it marked down as a cryptogenic ischemic stroke.

“No, I can’t really say, but since bloodflow is normal and there is no sign of prior or existing blood clots, you could be out of here and back home very quickly. Just a few more tests, until we can get a better understanding of what happened.”

I knew what had happened. It might have been a stroke here, but it was actually Ashi, drawing away my power to fry the Hounds.

I let my hand sag, and closed my eyes.

Sleep.

The next time I opened my eyes I was out of the ICU and in a regular hospital room. A double, I guessed, since there was a white curtain next to my bed.

Meg was snoozing in a chair next to the bed.

I moved my tongue around—no more tubes.

“Good morning, sweets. How ya doin’?”

She sat up instantly, eyes wide.

“Oh, Daddy! You’re back!”

She reached out and gripped my hand in her own.

“You had us scared there!”

I gave a weak chuckle.

“Yeah, I thought I’d see if you were really paying attention or not.”

She wiped a tear off with the back of her hand.

“Oh, Daddy. I always pay attention to you!”

“Huh. Never did when you were in school.”

She smiled, still wiping tears from her cheeks.

“It’s good to have you back, Daddy.”

“It’s good to be back, Meg.”

“Don’t do that again, OK?”

“I’ll try, but... did Dr. Salmani ever figure out what happened?”

She smiled a little.

“Nope, not a clue. You’re actually not much different from last month, in fact... he was surprised to see that you hadn’t had a stroke after all, in spite of your symptoms, and astonished to see that you seemed to be even recovering from the last one,” she said. “He said that unless some test reveals something new, you’re going home tomorrow.”

“That’s good! You know I hate hospital food.”

“You haven’t had any hospital food this time, Daddy. IVs don’t have taste.”

“I have many unusual aptitudes, my dear. Hospital IVs taste terrible. Please take my advice and make sure you never need one.”

She gave a little laugh. “OK, Daddy, I’ll do my best.”

Then she was gone, and Ashi looked down at me with her usual serene haughtiness.

“The Hounds are gone, but the shell has been damaged. Repair it. I must rest.”

And she went somewhere else, leaving me hanging in the void, looking down at the shell we had been building.

It was of unknowable size, containing entire universes wrapped up in dimensional bubbles. Our own bubble—Wakeworld—was twenty or twenty-five trillion light-years in diameter, and it was only one of the cluster of bubbles inside this shell. Millions of trillions of light years? Trillions of trillions? How could you even begin to quantify it?

The leading edge of the structure, a film with zero thickness that only existed as a boundary between inside and outside, was melted like a slice of cheese in the toaster... gobbets dripped in strange directions under the pull of unknown forces, holes stretched in its fabric like tears in a stocking, one section crumpled into a ragged wasteland of ridges and shadow.

I carefully excised the damaged portions, returning them to quantum foam, then reshaping it to rebuild the shining membranes: Ashi’s shell had been damaged, but so had my own, and both must be repaired.

Still exhausted from the battle, I pushed ahead, pouring my faltering strength into the task until, finally, repairs were complete. The shell was yet unfinished, but the portion done was dully shining without a blemish, ready for the new construction a new day would bring.

Ashi was suddenly next to me. She nodded once. “You have done well, man. I will reward you by repairing your failing body. You may go.”

I collapsed into the blackness.

“Daddy?”

Somebody was shaking me.

“Daddy? Doctor, help! Something’s wrong!”

It was Meg.

I heard people running, voices, felt hands touching me, somebody pried open an eye and shined a flashlight in.

“Hey, that’s hurts!” I said, twisting away from the light and sitting up.

Meg was staring at me, eyes wide.

“Daddy?”

Dr. Salmani and the nurse were standing next to my bed. He was holding a penlight, mouth open, the nurse was holding my wrist, finger on my pulse, frozen.

“You’re... OK?” asked Dr. Salmani haltingly. “I saw you just now. You collapsed, your eyes rolled up, and the monitor started beeping. Your pulse and BP were through the roof, look at that display!”

“They seem perfectly normal now, doctor,” said the nurse, matter-of-factly.

“...Yes, they do, don’t they...” he mused. “What in the world...?”

“Not sure what your machine thinks, but I feel just fine, doctor.”

“Daddy, I saw you! You fell back, your eyes rolled up into your head, and your body was jerking all over the place!”

“I think you had better stick around another day or two,” said Dr. Salmani. “I don’t know what happened, and until I find out you’re staying where I can keep an eye on you!”

He turned to the nurse.

“I want a complete blood panel, and another MRI scan of his head. Dr. Saxton, how do you feel?”

“I feel fine, doctor. Great, in fact!”

I tried moving my bum left arm and leg, and they moved. Sluggishly, but they moved.

“I can move again. No pain.”

Dr. Salmani gripped my left hand. “Squeeze.”

I did, and he winced.

“That is the fastest recovery I have ever heard of!” he said. “Do it again!”

I did, and he shook his head in disbelief.

“You’ve been in a wheelchair for months, and now, after another apparent stroke, you’re all fine again!?”

Holding onto my hand still, he pulled me up.

“Stand up; let me see you walk.”

I swayed a bit when I stood up, but it passed almost immediately. No dizziness, no weakness in my legs, no nothing!

I took a walk, hands out to catch myself because I expected to fall. Dr. Salmani and the nurse has their arms out, too... Meg was just watching, eyes wide, hands over her mouth.

And I walked. Slowly, one step, then another, and a third... and I spun in place and did a squat thrust, jumping up to tap the ceiling with the fingertips of both hands.

Hot damn! I can walk!”

Ashi had kept her word.

“I am not a religious man, Dr. Saxton, but I have to admit that as a physician I’m having trouble thinking of any other explanation.” He walked out of the room, still shaking his head. “Get those blood results and the MRI to me, nurse.”

“Oh, Daddy! That’s wonderful!”

The ice finally broke and Meg ran to give me a big hug.

“You can really walk again!?”

“Certainly looks that way,” I said, lifting her off her feet with a bearhug and walking a few steps.

“Daddy! Stop it! You’ll relapse!”

“Somehow I don’t think so, but I’ll sit down anyway,” I said. “You’re too big to lug around anymore.”

I sat on the hospital bed, Meg next to me.

The nurse asked for my arm and drew some blood for testing, and scurried off with it into the depths of the hospital.

“So, where are we going for dinner tonight to celebrate?” I asked.

“Oh, Daddy!” she laughed, head on my shoulder, wiping her tears.

* * *

Two days later I was home again, without the walker and without any meds.

Dr. Salmani had been unable to find any reason to keep me in the hospital any longer, and had discharged me on the promise that I would come back a few more times for follow-ups, because he still wanted to figure out how I had suddenly recovered.

Work continued apace on Ashi’s shell, but now that I had finally gotten the hang of it—and a faster technique, thanks to Mr. Handsome—I could handle most of it while my body slept... my mind never slept anymore, whether in Wakeworld or n-space.

I enjoyed my changed situation, eating and drinking tastier things than I’d suffered in recent months, playing with the grandkids, sitting in the rocker on the porch as always, and walking the neighborhood.

I had always loved walking and now that autumn was here and the leaves were beginning to turn it was more beautiful than ever. The wooded mountains, largely covered with conifers, sported brilliant splotches of maple or sumac, and the nights were getting brisk. And it was a delight to just walk, no cane or walker needed.

It seemed the Yamadas enjoyed the deepening autumn, too. I often saw them walking, or ran into them on the riverside path. Quite naturally, we began to talk to each other when it happened.

I was eager to know more about why they were here, and Shingan, and the Dreamlands, and so much more, but they were quite reticent. They said they had been asked to move here to “provide support as needed,” but when I asked what they thought might happen, they hemmed and hawed.

Finally, I got tired of chasing them around the same bush time and time again.

“You mean, you expect another attack from Cthulhu or someone, right?”

He blinked.

“Um, yes,” he finally answered, after a long pause. “Or Amaterasu.”

“No worry about her,” I replied. “I’m working with her now.”

Both of them took a step back, eyes widening.

“With Amaterasu?”

“Things are a little more complicated that they seem in the Dreamlands, I’m afraid,” I said. “Yes, she almost killed me at least once, but I don’t think it was on purpose.”

I sat down on one of the benches conveniently located every so often along the path.

“I should explain. Do you have time?”

“Of course,” he said, and sat at the far end of the bench, warily. Mrs. Yamada continued standing, watching me and the path simultaneously.

I started to explain what Amaterasu was doing, and why it would stop Cthulhu. When I tried to tell him about Mr. Handsome, though, my mouth shut of its own accord... I tried to move my arm, tried to speak, tried to even open my eyes in surprise, and nothing happened. I continued to smile blandly, as if naturally pausing after saying something.

A voice spoke in my head.

“That’s between us, Master Richard,” said Mr. Handsome. “Please do try to stay on subject here.”

I was able to describe the “universe-eater” or whatever it was, although words were totally insufficient to convey the incomprehensible scales involved.

He listened carefully, nodding every so often.

I started to tell him about the memories I had gained from Ashi, and when I mentioned the third atomic bomb destined for Tokyo, he held up his hand. “Wait a minute, please...”

He walked away, one hand on his ear and the other over his mouth... He had an earpiece and mike! He had been broadcasting the whole thing, and was talking to someone about it!

“Someone would like to meet with you, Dr. Saxton.”

“Sure, when?”

“Someone is flying over from Japan, and unless something unforeseen happens, he’ll be here Wednesday.”

“From Japan!? Just to talk to me about Amaterasu!?”

“Yes, especially you, and especially about Amaterasu.”

“May I ask who?”

“Abbot Nyōgen of Ryūzō-ji Temple.”

“Not Shingan?”

“Shingan passed away in the ninth century, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, but we both know he’s alive and well in the Dreamlands. I’ve met him!”

“For any other discussion that might be possible, but if Amaterasu is involved I’m afraid any communication through the Dreamlands is simply impossible. And we’d prefer to avoid electronic communication for other reasons.”

“Who are you people?”

“Until a few minutes ago I thought we were on the same side,...” he said. “Until we hear differently our mission is unchanged—to protect you—but if you’re working with Amaterasu...”

He shrugged.

“Meet with the Abbot, and we shall see.”

* * *

A few days later—astonishingly quickly, considering the Abbot had to make arrangements and fly over from Japan without warning—Mr. Yamada was showing his “father-in-law” around the neighborhood, and we happened to run into each other on the riverside path. I noticed there were a few more people out walking than usual, several of whom seemed to find interesting things to look at within watching distance.

Abbot Nyōgen was very old. He was a lot shorter than I, bald, and mostly wrinkles. Mr. Yamada introduced him, and then stood some distance apart as the two of us sat on the bench together.

“Shingan Oshō has told me much about you, Master Richard,” he said quietly. He spoke with a British accent, and his eyes were almost entirely hidden in wrinkles. “He believes you to be a good man.”

“I believe I am.”

“He also told me of your various encounters, including with Amaterasu, or Reed, as you may prefer, and that you discussed the butterfly effect.”

“He knows far more of those encounters than I, I suspect. And probably more of my involvement.”

“But Yamada-kun tells me that you are working with Amaterasu... and this presents certain... problems... for us.”

I gave him a detailed recounting, and he stopped me time and time again to clarify a point, forcing me to pry out as much detail as possible.

“That would be Queen Himiko,” he explained after I detailed one image. “Second or third century; we already knew she was an avatar. ”

When I was done he fell silent in thought.

“...an eater of entire universes... Now I understand why you work with her, regardless of her other schemes.” He sighed. “We are at the mercy of forces beyond our comprehension, and though Amaterasu claims to understand them, she, too, was once human.”

He straightened, suddenly speaking in a sharper tone.

“What can you tell me about the nuclear attack on Tokyo?”

“It was just a flash, mostly emotion and not imagery, but...” I concentrated, trying to pull up a fuller recollection. “It was an airplane, a jumbo... I can’t see the writing on it, because it flying toward me—toward Tokyo—from the sun. Rising or setting? I don’t know, but it’s over water. Clear skies.”

“Describe the plane.”

“It’s got a bulge in front, I’d guess it’s a 747. Uh, two engines. Two under each wing, that is. The wingtips point up at the ends. No windows.

“No windows? You’re sure?”

“Yes, very. The sunlight is shining off the body.”

“So it’s a cargo plane. Can you tell what time of year it is?”

“No, nothing, just the plane flying toward Tokyo—I’m in the air near Tokyo, I’m sure—over water.”

“Can you tell how far away Tokyo is?”

“Oh, very close. I can’t see it, but I know it’s very close.”

“It’s flying in out of the rising sun, then.”

“Anything on the weapon itself?”

“No, nothing. Just the plane. Oh, wait a second.” I noticed something in my memory, something I had missed at first. “Belem. It’s coming from Belem, Brazil!”

“Excellent! All we need now is the date.”

He stood.

“Thank you, Dr. Saxton! Hopefully this will be enough to stop her.”

I stood as well.

“Why does she want to destroy Tokyo? I thought she was Japanese?”

“She was, or is, of course. A third nuclear detonation in Japan, and the incineration of over a million people, would provide the energy needed to complete her magic, and to achieve her goal. Without that boost of energy it would take her centuries longer to finish by herself.”

“Then stop her, by all means. How can I contact you if I get something more?”

He smiled.

“Just walk down this path, as you always do, and blow your nose... Yamada-kun will be there.”

“I will. Oh, I just realized, the attack will happen when the shell is finished. I don’t think the shell itself needs that energy, but she does, to complete whatever she started during World War II.”

“Become a god in truth,” he whispered. “How long until the shell is finished?”

“Time is tough. Not for some time yet, but when? I can’t say. Yet. Weeks, at least.”

“We need as much warning as possible, Dr. Saxton. Please, please, let us know the second you get anything. If it’s an emergency, blow your nose on the porch, and someone will be there!”

“Abbot,” I said, hesitantly, “if it’s not impolite, may I ask how old you are?”

He smiled. “I was born in 1920, in Shanghai. Your immigration people were quite surprised, too.”

“They probably don’t get many visitors over a century old,” I said. “but I suspect they’d be rather more surprised if Shingan visited.”

“I suspect you’re right,” he replied, and bowed.

We shook, and he walked away down the path with his “daughter” and “son-in-law.”

* * *

I ran into Mr. Yamada every so often, but I never needed to blow my nose.

A week or two later, I stopped to admire an old, particularly beautiful maple down by the river. The hiking path followed the curve of the river, mostly atop the old dyke built about a century ago after the big floods. It was paved now, in rough asphalt, but off-limits to cars. Weekdays in the late morning were pretty empty, only an occasional jogger or cyclist passing by, and I had plenty of time to think, and to enjoy the scenery.

I wondered if I should pick up photography again... I’d dabbled in it when I was at the university and still had my old Nikon somewhere. Probably won’t work after all these years, and nobody makes 35mm film anymore anyway, I thought.

But that tree really deserved to have its picture taken, I was thinking, when the river water suddenly splashed open and three man-shaped figures emerged. They were about as tall as I was when they stood, mostly a greyish-green, but with whitish bellies. Bulging eyes. Long talons with webbing, like they were wearing SCUBA flippers as mittens.

I’d seen them before, on Captain Klot’s ship that night, when they almost dragged me away.

This time I was alone, with no sword, no Britomartis, no Cornelius... I looked about hurriedly for something I could use as a weapon. Three to one... I had no chance.

Suddenly a green form flashed through the air, touching briefly on the back of the Deep One on the right, just as a second form landed in front of it, sword flashing in the sunlight.

The Deep Ones bayed, a terrible croaking voice that brought back memories of that night in the rainstorm, but one ended in a gurgle. The Deep One collapsed, head and body falling in different directions as the two green figures—a man and women, I could see now—landed lightly on the path between me and the creatures.

The Yamadas!

His sword still outstretched toward the advancing Deep Ones, Mr. Yamada reached up and took another sword from the “tripod case” on his back, holding it to me hilt-first without looking to check where I was. I grabbed it.

His attention remained focused on the attackers. The woman—his wife, surely—crouched at his left. It looked like the next fight was going to be a pair of one-on-ones.

The Deep Ones approached slowly, wary of the swords and apparently not eager to fight. They were clearly trying to get to me, though... no matter how they weaved or shuffled, their eyes always checked my position, and they always tried to move toward me.

A noise to my right... I instantly rolled left, springing up into a crouch, sword in defensive pose. There was a fourth Deep One, walking toward me with arms outstretched.

I lifted my sword—a slightly curved cavalry sword, it looked like, not the longsword I preferred—to a neutral position, ready to strike or defend, and crouched a little. I heard the Yamadas fighting, but couldn’t spare the time to look.

The Deep One slowed, staring at my sword as if debating something, then suddenly leapt toward me. I stepped back and rotated my body, swinging my sword outward. The Deep One’s arm swung through the place I’d been standing with an audible swoosh, and I stepped forward into it, my sword slamming down onto the arm.

The blade cut into the ridges on the back of the thing’s forearm, then stuck, and it gave a grunt of pain as it pulled back, damn near pulling the sword from my grasp. There was blood on the blade, but its arm was still flexing. I needed a heavier blade and better aim.

It stepped forward again, feinted with its injured left, and raked its right through the air, just tipping the edge of my sword. By some incredible luck I managed to hang onto it but I wasn’t gripping it securely... if I swung with it now it would slip out of my hand.

Damn. No dagger.

I really needed one right now for my other hand.

No choice.

I flung myself backwards, trusting to my feet to find purchase, and wriggled my fingers on the hilt to get a better grip.

The Deep One followed me, almost within my defensive circle, hands raised to bat my sword.

Why was it trying to disarm me!?

It could have disemboweled me, and instead tried to knock the sword out of my hand!

They were trying to kidnap me again!

In that case...

I braced, and then pushed forward right into the monster’s face, sword first. As I had thought, it made no effort to kill me, and tried to deflect my sword. And failed.

The point ran through its chest as its hands batted helplessly on the blade, and it sagged.

I yanked the sword out and stepped back to see what was happening.

It looked like we’d all won our individual battles. All three Deep Ones were down, although one squirmed a little bit until Mrs. Yamada drove her sword through its chest like a spike.

Mr. Yamada had a long gash across his chest, blood dripping through the rents in his body armor—I hadn’t even noticed the vest until now. Mrs. Yamada sprayed something on it and ran a quick ribbon of cloth around him. Wincing as she pulled it tight, he spoke quietly into a headset.

I sat there just catching my breath.

Certainly never expected to see Deep Ones around here! I guessed there hadn’t been a bear in the area after all. There might be more Deep Ones lurking, though. If they had attacked me at home, Meg and the kids...!

I had to get the sheriff over here! He’d have to believe me if he sees these bodies!

“Mr. Yamada,” I called. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

His wife turned. “That’s why we’re here, Master Richard. Shingan said you might be in danger.”

“Is he here? From the Dreamlands?”

“No, no, just us. We’re just flew over from Japan; no Dreamlands at all.”

“Japan? So Shingan is still active here—I mean, in this realm—too?”

“There is a Ryūzō-ji Temple in Japan, Master Richard,” she smiled. “If you’re feeling better you might consider visiting it one day.”

A large truck screeched to a halt on the nearby road. The embankment was higher than the roadway, so the truck couldn’t get any closer, but it pulled up onto the grass. Four men dressed in random, everyday clothes jumped out and ran up to begin collecting bodies and washing away ichor. They were sanitizing the area!

“Hey! Don’t!” I cried. “I need to show all that to the sheriff!”

Mr. Yamada stood, partially supported by his wife. “Can’t happen, I’m afraid. Too many questions.”

In a surprisingly short time there was no trace of the Deep Ones left... the grass was trampled, and everything was sopping wet, but nobody would guess there had been a life-or-death combat here minutes ago.

One of them took my sword, too, and put it in the truck with everything else.

“Nobody saw any of this?”

“We were able to set up a glamour just in time,” said Mrs. Yamada, buttoning her shirt. They’d both stripped off their ichor-stained—and in his case, blood-stained—outer clothing and changed into new shirts and pants. My jacket was gone, too... a victim of the fight. “It will fade in another five minutes or so, by which time we’ll be all done here.”

“Chóng mentioned a glamour, too... a spell of some sort?”

“Yes. Anyone thinking of coming this way suddenly thought of some reason to go elsewhere. It’s quite handy in our line of work.”

“Your line of work... which is?”

“Mostly,” said Mr. Yamada, “we kill things.”

I chewed on that for a bit.

The four-man team made a final sweep through the area, then piled back into the truck and roared off. I wondered where they were going. They didn’t look especially Japanese, so I guess they could have been some American agency, but who knows? And whether they were or not they certainly weren’t going to discuss it with me!

“You know about Reed’s plan for Tokyo?” I asked, figuring that if they were here to protect me they were probably on the same side in all this.

“Amaterasu, yes,” Mr. Yamada said. “The immolation of Tokyo. We’re working on it.”

“What does this,” I said, waving my hand at the mess around us, “have to do with that?”

“We don’t know. Do you?”

“...No...”

The sunlight flickered, like the shadow of an airplane has passed over.

“The glamour is failing,” he said. “So nice to run into you again, Dr. Saxton!”

And he and his wife strolled away from me, admiring the foliage and conversing in low tones. She pulled her phone out to snap a photo; he smiled and made a V sign with his fingers.

There was a bench just a little bit up the path, and I trudged over to sit down and think.

So... Shingan, wherever he was, had arranged for the Yamadas—and whoever was in that truck—to keep him under surveillance, and protect him as needed. They might have been ninja, for all that they were wearing jeans and flannel shirts. Swords, because guns made a lot of noise. Glamour, because if you can use magic, why not?

Deep Ones... why Deep Ones again? And why were they all trying to get to me? They weren’t trying to fight the Yamadas, they tried to get around them, to me. I walked back home, watching the trees around me so intently for attackers that I almost walked into someone taking a photo right in front of me.

If the Yamadas were right there at the drop of a hat, and that truck and the guys showed up so fast, there must be a lot more people watching me. I never noticed any of them. I mean, I was in the regular Army, not Delta or anything fancy, but it was still a little weird I’d never seen anything unusual.

I guessed they were pretty good at their jobs, whoever they were.

The Yamadas said they were from Japan, but they’d have a tough time mounting a big operation like this had to be in a cozy country town like this... unless they had local help. And none of those four guys from the truck looked especially Asian.

When I got back home I gulped a can of soda water and sat on the porch for a bit.

I had another appointment with Dr. Salmani next week.

Maybe I’d drop by the gun shop and see if I could buy a pistol “for personal protection.” I was a vet, clean record, long-term resident, and as far as anyone knew compos mentis; shouldn’t be a problem. I’d have to take care that Meg didn’t find it and get me locked up as a wacko, and make damn sure the grandkids never saw it, but I had one of those on me for many years and I’d feel a little happier if I had one now. More stopping power than a sword, and from farther away.

* * *

As the nurse drew another blood sample, Dr. Salmani sat looking through my medical chart. My brain MRIs were up on the screen.

He was not happy, and the pen he was chewing on was getting downright mangled.

“You know, Dr. Saxton,” he said, “if I didn’t have your records right here in front of me, I would swear you were about forty, forty-five years old and in excellent health...”

I laughed. “Thanks, Dr. Salmani. That’s quite a compliment for a man my age!”

“It’s not supposed to be a compliment, damn it! You’re not in your forties, and you were in here a little while ago with a massive stroke, apparently, and now you’re walking around like it was nothing! Have you started dyeing your hair?”

“My hair!?” I touched the top of my head in surprise. “No, never. Why, all of a sudden?”

“Because the roots are dark, and they should be grey or white like the rest of your hair. If you’re not dyeing it somehow, then why are you suddenly getting younger?”

“Younger?” To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I didn’t know why I felt better recently, but... younger?

“Are you serious?”

“Well, I meant it as a joke when I said it, but to be honest... yeah, I guess I am serious. It’s the only thing I can think of that explains the changes I’m seeing. Your pulse is slower and stronger than it has been for years, respiration excellent, reflexes, bloodwork, MRI... everything is far better than it has been for a long time. And now your hair seems to be coming back!”

I felt again... yeah, I guess it did feel a bit thicker than before, but...

“Is it really?”

“Maybe I’m just projecting, but it sure seems that way... and all your other stats are getting healthier, too. Even your muscle tone is improving. Have you been working out?”

“No, nothing unusual,” I said, figuring I probably shouldn’t mention sword-fighting.

“Well, I really don’t have anything to say, medically. You’re fine, you don’t need a prescription, and I honestly don’t see any reason to ask you to come back in a week. Will you at least let me know if anything changes?”

“Of course. And if you discover anything in the latest blood sample, let me know? I’m a bit curious myself.”

I left the doctor’s office and settled up my bill downstairs.

That night, after the kids were in bed, I was back at work on the shells with Ashi, as I had every night.

Her memories continued to leak, strengthening my suspicion that she was planning on destroying Tokyo with a nuclear bomb of some sort, finishing what she had started in World War II.

Work proceeded apace.

Both shells were almost done, and Ashi still had not noticed the second shell outside her own. She almost always stayed on the inside, her attention focused on the shell she was birthing whereas I always preferred the outside: as an astrophysicist I wanted to see as much as possible and understand this structure of my universe... and others.

I blew my nose during my morning walk and just “happened” to run into Mr. Yamada and his wife a few minutes later. I warned him that it was almost time. He thanked me, and assured me they’d be ready.

Ashi had already warned me that I would perceive this multi-dimensional space in two or three dimensions, incapable of understanding its true nature, but as I studied it I began to understand—and be able to “see,” somehow—how it all worked. I couldn’t explain it in English, but I could tell that this affected that, and was beginning to understand why.

Ashi called me inside the shell, and birthed the final section herself.

The newborn shell shimmered, wavering like a soap bubble in the breeze, but it was done. I knew that the second shell would also be done momentarily, my equations powering it to completion.

With the shell’s completion, Ashi ignored me, and around her I saw that misty throne room appear once more, her seated on the throne surrounded by thousands of subjects. Worshippers? Her headdress flamed once more.

She turned her attention to the bubble universes, including Wakeworld and the Dreamlands and so many more, and reached out to one to grasp it... and her fingers slipped through it, insubstantial.

She stopped in shock, and tried to grasp a second one. The same thing happened.

A third, and a fourth... her headpiece flared brighter and brighter as she began to panic, flailing but having no effect on any of the bubbles.

“Thank you, Master Richard, very efficient of you. I’ll handle it from here.”

It was Mr. Handsome, speaking deep in his mind.

The shell Ashi and I had so carefully birthed began to shrink, slowly at first then accelerating. I looked about in alarm but it was too late... it passed over me, and I found myself on the outside. It shrank faster and faster, shrinking around Ashi. She struggled wildly against it, her headdress burning brighter and brighter, to no avail.

And shortly I could see that a new bubble had joined all the others: Ashi, in her own bubble universe complete with palace and worshippers, adjoined many of the others, including Wakeworld and Dreamworld.

Her bubble was no longer outside all the others, and controlling them, but simply another bubble realm just like the rest. Trapped.

And all our universes were now contained in that second, outer shell I had birthed at the request of Mr. Handsome! I searched for it, and it was still there, untouched, but it was no longer a thin soap film... it was infinitely hard and impenetrable.

All of our realms had been isolated from the rest of n-space, walled off. Sealing us all on the inside.

Mr. Handsome poured me a glass of brandy. Chester thumped his tail. The log snapped in the flame. “Brandy?”

Speechless, I took it, sipped.

The TV was on... a small black-and-white TV, just like the one I’d watched in this very room over half a century ago...

“Rescue services from Japan and the United States have initiated a massive air and sea search for American Air Cargo flight 346 from Belem, Brazil to Narita, Japan, which is missing over the Pacific Ocean. Experts suggest that the sheer size of the search area will make it difficult to locate survivors, if there are any.

“Police and security forces in fourteen nations in Asia, the Americas, and Europe today made simultaneous arrests of a global terrorism organization, arresting over two hundred terrorists and seizing numerous properties, weapons, and close to two billion dollars in cash...

“In local news, police have asked for assistance in identifying the person or persons responsible for a series of explosions in the upper reaches of the Missalanga River, and an abandoned silver mine near Mt. Peabody. Anyone with information is requested to contact the sheriff’s office or state police...”

“That all worked out rather well, I’d say. All I had to do was nudge you in the right direction and you took care of everything. It would have been most inconvenient to do it all myself, after all.”

“I... Who are you?”

“Tush, tush... you know who I am, you silly monkey.”

“No, I don’t. What is going on?”

“This is a sandbox. A playpen, if you will. Young Cthulhu needs to learn how things work, and creating universes and experimenting with life forms, evolution, gods, and such is just part of the process. Wakeworld, as you so homocentrically call it, is as ephemeral as all the rest, and when Cthulhu is tired of it, it will all vanish like a television turned off, and a new experiment will start. Eventually, after a billion or trillion attempts, Cthulhu will begin to create realms with meaning and purpose, and be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“This really is excellent brandy, isn’t it?”

And I was standing at the top of a cliff looking out over the sea.

“Bee! No!”

Belphoebe screamed as Britomartis stepped off the path into the air, arms held wide as if to welcome a lover. She was only meters from me; I was frozen in shock, unable to move.

The woman in the yellow dress just stood silent, watching.

Britomartis fell.

Time slowed.

I could see her falling, arms still outstretched, plummeting down, down, to the narrow beach below.

She lay, crumpled into a ragdoll, in the screen at the cliff’s edge, one foot lapped by the waves.

“Bee!”

Belphoebe screamed again, leaping down the rest of the path with reckless abandon, eyes fixed on Britomartis, feet somehow finding purchase blindly.

She raced to her body, cradled her head, wept, screamed in rage and sorrow at the sky… and saw me descending the path in her footsteps.

“You! You killed her, again!”

She leapt to her feet, drawing her dagger and running toward me, face monstrous with hatred.

“Oh, my. Slipped my mind in all the excitement,” came a calm voice from behind. Mr. Handsome! But it was Ricarda speaking…

Time stopped.

Britomartis rose silently from the rocky shore, shattered leg straightening, and ascended into the sky, up, up, back to the top of the cliff.

The other women slowly walked backwards back up the path.

Belphoebe stood immobile, face still twisted with hate, but eyes following Britomartis in her flight.

Britomartis reached the top of the cliff, and smiled.

And time started again.

Britomartis began walking down the path, smiling.

“Belle! Wait up!” she called, voice slight and sweet.

Belphoebe slowed, dagger point sagging.

“What…? Britomartis!”

She backed away from me, sheathed her dagger, and carefully walked around me to the path, where Britomartis and the other women were just stepping onto the beach.

Britomartis ran to Belphoebe and hugged her.

“Oh, Belle! It’s such a beautiful day today; the sea is gorgeous!”

“Bee? You’re happy!”

“Of course I’m happy, Belle! I’m with you and it’s wonderful to be alive!”

She twirled around happily, and saw me for the first time

“Master Richard! How did you get here?”

She ran over to give me a hug, too. “We’ve missed you! I wish you could have come with us yesterday! We had a delightful ride through the forest.” She turned to wave at the others.

“Let me introduce you to Poietria Sylvia and everyone!”

Still holding my hand, she introduced me to the three women—none of them had ever heard of me—and explained that Father Perrault was waiting above.

Belphoebe looked around, a frown on her face.

“Where’s Ricarda?”

Britomartis cocked her head.

“Who?”

“Ricarda. The woman who joined us in the woods, when we met Ansell and Tamara.”

Britomartis looked confused.

“There was no other woman with Ansell and Tamara; just the two of them passing by,” said Poietria Sidonie.

Belphoebe started to reply, then thought better of it and just said “Never mind.” Her jaw tightened.

Britomartis shrugged it off. She was as happy as a young child who just got a puppy for Christmas. After the introductions and another hug for me, she scampered down to the water’s edge to hunt for shells.

Belphoebe looked at her in disbelief, then at me.

She walked over to me, dagger sheathed but hand close to hilt.

“You did that, Master Richard, just like before.”

“No, I didn’t. It was the handsome man... Uh, that woman! The woman who was with you!”

“Ricarda,” she said. “Her name was Ricarda.”

She walked closer, staring into my eyes.

“It occurs to me that Ricarda is not much different from Richard,” she said. “And the instant you appear, she vanishes, and Britomartis dies. Again.”

“I... I’m sorry, Belphoebe. It wasn’t me. I’ve been... elsewhere...”

“And now you’re back, and you killed her again!”

“No, I didn’t kill her, and she didn’t die, and she’s back!”

“And if she finds out again?”

“There are only two people who know what happened, and both of us love her. Please, don’t tell her!”

Belphoebe clenched her teeth in frustration, hand clenched on the hilt of her dagger.

“Belle! Come look at what I’ve found!” same a shout from Britomartis.

Belphoebe gave me one last angry look and turned to join her wife, leaving me alone.

END

Richard: Part IV

The phone was beeping and rattling on the nightstand.

Eyes closed and face half-buried in the pillow, he scrabbled around, grabbed it. Dragged it closer.

“What?”

“George, it’s me. Tony. You awake?”

“mrgl... yeah, I guess. What the fuck, Tony!? It’s three in the fucking morning!”

“George, wake up. This is important.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m awake. Now. So what’s so important?”

“Praseodymium metal 75 a kilo FOB Australia. Two-nines scandium metal fucking 2500 a kilo FOB Australia. You hearing me?”

Now he was awake.

“Scandium at 2500 a kilo!?” He took a breath. “That’s like a quarter below market!”

“There’s more, too, if you want the whole thing... the whole rare earth list, dirt-cheap.”

“Is this for real?”

“Remember Pat Wrightson, at Nargun Mining & Minerals?”

“Yeah. We helped him out a few years ago with that ilmenite screw-up. Dropped our profit for the quarter, too.”

“That’s him. He says Nargun will announce those prices tomorrow, his time, and wanted to let us know first to say thanks for the help.”

“You trust him?”

“Yeah, I do... he’s been in the business as long as we have, and he’s always been honest with us. Drive’s a hard bargain, but he’s solid.”

“Jesus... And praseodymium at 75... how much do they have?”

“He says they’ve got a few tons on hand, and can accept orders for any amount. Ton-sized orders, George.”

“Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick...”

Now he was really awake. He swung out of bed and started dressing, phone shouldered to his ear.

“OK, look. Announce a ten percent sale on the whole rare earth list, orders have to be inked today. I’m coming in; be there in about forty minutes. Gotta go.”

“I’ll get on it. I’ve already called in the rest of the guys.”

“Bye.”

He cut the call and trotted out of the bedroom—Kathy was still asleep in spite of the phone call and him getting dressed.

He scribbled a note and dropped it on the kitchen table, then out the door.

As he pulled out of the driveway he dialed up another number.

“Maxine? Wake up!”

“What? Who is... ? Oh, George. Can’t it wait until morning?”

“No, it can’t. Maxine, the bottom’s going drop out of the rare earth market tomorrow. Pull all your buy offers right now, cancel any buys that aren’t signed and sealed, and review any stock holdings we’ve got ASAP. Companies are going to drop like flies when this gets out, and it ain’t gonna be us!”

“Seriously?”

“You think I woke you up at three in the morning for fun? Get it in gear, Maxine! I’m on the road now; be at the office in about half an hour.”

One more number to call: his own broker. But if he told his broker to sell off his rare earth investments the broker would know something was up, and that could spook the whole market. Better hold off just a bit longer. Maybe check the current prices when I get to the office, he thought, and if there’s a profit suggest he pull a few and invest into something else. Maybe Nargun?

* * *

Factor Chóng took another sip of his tea. The waterfall was stunning in the sunlight, falling well over a hundred meters to crash into the bluish-green pool below. Gonville stood beside him silently, admiring the view but refusing to sit down and relax next to his boss.

“How are the new recruits coming along, Captain?”

“Better than expected, sir. They’re all familiar with weapons already, of course, but most of them have never worked in teams before.”

“Any problems?”

“Nothing major. There are a few I expect will be sergeants within a few weeks, and few I expect to find dead in the barracks any day now, but it’s a pretty standard bunch.”

“Good. I wish we didn’t need to hire so many guards these days, but until things settle down again we never know what we’re going to run into. And I’m getting tired of losing good people and expensive goods.”

“They should be ready to go by the end of the month, sir. They’ve discovered the joys of getting regular pay and meals, and they’re beginning to get itchy for a night on the town.”

Chóng laughed.

“You’re saving that for a graduation present, I gather?”

Gonville smiled. “It’ll taste all the sweeter for waiting.”

A whistle sounded behind them, and Gonville at once turned around, and signaled.

One of his men jogged up.

“Sir. One of the far scouts just returned from the north with reports of unknown troops. And machines, sir.”

“Machines?”

Chóng rose and walked over.

“You’re sure he said machines?”

“That’s what he said, sir. He’s at main camp now.”

Gonville whistled again, and turned to Chóng.

“I’ve called the horses, sir. We should go.”

Chóng was already walking down the path at a brisk pace. He never did like waiting.

* * *

Fyodor Il'ych was a mess.

His clothing was torn in places and the sole of one boot had come loose.

He stank, too.

Chóng sat down in front of him anyway, Gonville standing nearby.

“Run over it all again. In detail.”

“We were mapping on schedule, and crested a low range of mountains to the north—here.” He pointed to a rough map on his knees, with general terrain features sketched in. “It’s a low range, mostly forested, and looks down into a long, wide river valley running from the northwest to the southeast, here.”

“How far is this range?”

“It took me two days, and that was pushing my horse a little. I’d guess maybe a hundred and fifty kilometers. I can figure it out more accurately once I bring the map up to date.”

“Captain Gonville, how is the horse?”

“Just tired, sir, not exhausted. I’d say his guess is pretty good.”

“Then what, Fyodor Il'ych?”

The scout continued.

“We heard loud noises, metal and rock scraping and banging, then a loud explosion, and the ground shook. There was a bald a kilo or so down the range, so we headed there, keeping well hidden.”

He took another sip of cold water.

“We left the horses in the trees and climbed the bald, keeping scrub between us and the valley, until we could get a good look. We had our telescopes, of course.”

“And?”

“There was a group of moon-shaped huts, like a half moon with the flat side on the ground, all of metal. A guard tower, probably of metal, but brown. Dozens of men all around. And enormous carts, with wheels the size of a man, and no horses pulling them, carrying rock from a huge pit in the ground into one of the huts. We watched for a while, and apparently each cart has different signs on it, so we could tell that after a cart went into the hut it stayed there for about an hour, then came back out. But during that hour a dozen other carts also went into the same hut... and it wasn’t big enough to hold more than one at a time!”

“...a portal...” mused Chóng. “But not one of mine. Go on.”

“The carts rode down a rough track cut into the side of the pit, spiraling around the side to reach the bottom, where an enormous machine like a scorpion was cutting into the rock, ripping it out in huge chunks, smashing it into pieces small enough to fit into one of the carts, and loading them up. Every so often everything would stop moving and there would be another explosion, and the ground would shake and dust rise, and another part of the pit wall would collapse.”

“How many men did you see?”

“They were moving about, but we estimated about two and a half dozen.”

“Any weapons?”

“We didn’t see any, but the men in the tower seemed to be carrying spears or something. Long metal rods.”

“Rifles,” said Gonville.

“And a pit-mine,” added Chóng. “Not good at all.”

“Do you know what they’re mining?”

“No idea... it’s not iron, that’s for sure. Rock’s the wrong color.”

“Thank you, Fyodor Il'ych. Rest.”

Chóng stood.

“Captain, see that he gets all the food and rest he needs. And get those recruits ready!”

* * *

The sign on the door read “Byrd.” Nothing more.

Nobody working here needed anything more.

The man rested his heavy pack on the floor for a minute, knocked, waited for a snapped “Come!” and went in.

“Boss, we found something you should know about.”

“What’s up, Leyton?”

The woman sat up in her chair, twisting her neck around to uncramp it. “Coffee’s cold, dammit.”

“You know those scouts we sent to figure out where the hell we are?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, one of them just came back in with another load of deer and stuff for the kitchen, but they ran across something else, too.”

“And? You’re eventually going to get around to the point, I gather?”

Leyton smiled.

“Oh, yeah. A whole lotta points.”

He pushed her paperwork to the side, opening up the tabletop, and dropped the pack on it with a thump.

He flipped open the flap.

“Go ahead, Curly. You’re gonna love it.”

She stood, and leaned over to peer inside.

“What the...?”

Leyton reached in, grabbed the thing’s neck, and pulled it up so she could get a better look.

“It’s a velociraptor. Just like fucking Jurassic Park, ’cept with feathers.”

“Holy shit... a fucking dinosaur!?”

“Yeah, I just said that.”

He pulled the pack down a little more, and popped one of the feathered forelimbs out.

“Teeth and claws both. It thinks people are food, but doesn’t know what guns are. Lucky for us.”

“Dinosaurs. Here. Around my mine site.”

“Yup. And there’s something else you’ll love, too.”

“You’ve got more?”

“Oh, yeah.” Leyton rotated the bag to show her the other side of the velociraptor.

The feathers had been plucked from one patch on its neck, clearly revealing the Chinese characters branded into it.

* * *

“Mr. Wrightson, sir? Urgent call from Site 34.”

Pat Wrightson started to pick up the receiver, hesitated, put on the headphones instead.

“What’s up, Curly?”

“Check your mail, Pat. We’ve got a situation here.”

He clicked his mail; there was a message from her, with attachments.

“Dammit, Curly. We just announced prices and orders are piling in. This is a really bad time to discover a problem with the mine.”

“Just open the photos, Pat.”

He did.

A velociraptor.

A fucking feathered velociraptor, a Goddamned ostrich with fangs like a shark.

“What the fuck is this?”

“One of my scouts shot it. Here. In the woods.”

“It’s real.”

“Yeah, it’s real. And that’s not all. Keep looking.”

The next photo was of the thing’s neck.

Pat could read Chinese.

They were numbers in traditional glyphs.

The brand said “No. 53.”

“Holy shit...” he breathed. “A real fucking dino... Wow. OK, hang on a sec.”

He straightened up, switched over to his secretary.

“Jane, set up an immediate, secure meeting for the Executive Board. Urgent, and as soon as possible. In person if they can, or Zoom.”

He switched back to Byrd.

“Curly, can you bring that thing in? I’ll have a heli waiting for you at the plant.”

“Will do. You want me to bring the scout, too?”

“No. And make sure this stays quiet for now. Find out who’s seen it and shut them up.”

“Yessir. I’ll be over within fifteen minutes.”

Carter Burk, the head of Special Projects, walked in.

“Got your call, Pat. What’s up?”

“Site 34, Carter. Here, check these photos.”

He swiveled the display so the other man could read the see it.

“Jane, how many of the Executive Board are in the building?”

“I’m still checking, sir, but so far you, Mr. Burk, and Ms. Davidson.”

“Ask Anita to get up here as soon as possible, please.”

The door opened.

“I’m already here, Pat. Talk to me.”

Pat glared at her aide, standing quietly behind her with a touchpad.

“You. Out.”

Ms. Davidson, head of Global Operations, pointed with her chin.

The aide left.

She stepped up, adjusted her glasses, and checked the screen.

“Well,” she said. “That’s interesting.”

Pat snorted.

“Yeah, we didn’t have enough interesting stuff lately, and I thought I’d liven things up a bit.”

“You succeeded,” she agreed. “So what’s the Chinese say?”

“It says number 53, and it’s written in fanti. Which means traditional characters, like used in Taiwan, or in Hong Kong before the Chinese eliminated them. Could even be pre-War Japanese, for that matter.”

“So we’ve got Chinese of some sort raising feathered dinosaurs near our most important mining operation,” said Carter. “Isn’t that just fucking wonderful.”

“Who knows about this?”

“Just the three of us, Curly Byrd, and a few people there. I’ve already given orders to keep the information there, but we’re going to have to do something about the truck drivers, too, or they’ll get the word out.”

“Is this going to impact operations there?”

“Curly’s coming over now, but based on what we’ve got so far, I doubt it,” said Pat. “We need to accelerate the scouting plan.”

“And beef up security. If there are little dinosaurs running around I wouldn’t be too surprised to discover there are big ones, too,” added Carter. “I know some folks who would be tickled pink to go up against a T-rex. I sure would. Talk about bragging rights! Damn!”

“Yeah, let’s concentrate on the problem at hand and worry about trophy hunting later,” said Pat. “It looks like most everyone is hooked in now, so let me get started.”

He turned back to his computer, and switched it over to the conference system.

“Sorry to interrupt your busy schedules, everyone, but we’ve run into an interesting problem at Site 34.”

* * *

“He was standing at the far side of the pit, holding a white flag,” explained Leyton. “Says he wants to parley.”

The prisoner was wearing leather sandals, a short skirt of leather strips, rough-spun linen shirt, and leather harness.

The guard handed over the dagger.

She examined it closely... hand-made, but quality work. Simple, solid, and very, very sharp. Obviously seen a lot of use, judging from the hilt.

She gestured to the chair, inviting the man to sit.

“My name is Cecily Byrd; I’m in charge here.”

“I am Gonville Bromhead of Penglai, here on behalf of Factor Chóng.”

“Factor Chóng?”

“He owns this land.”

“I see. You don’t look Chinese.”

He laughed. “You have no idea where you are, do you?”

She tilted her head, studying him.

Muttonchops. Looked White. Spoke English with one hell of an accent. British, maybe?

“You’re British?”

“I was, but that’s all past, here.”

“And where is ‘here’?”

“You’re in the Dreamlands, ma’am.”

“The Dreamlands?”

“It’s difficult to explain—you’d have to ask Master Richard or the Factor for that—but basically this is an alternate version of Wakeworld. Of your world. Some things are the same, some things aren’t.”

“Like dinosaurs, you mean.”

“Yes, like deinos, but also like dragons, and ships that sail the clouds, and myths and legends from the real world that have taken shape here. Like magic.”

She blinked.

“Dragons.”

“Yes, quite real, too. I’ve never seen one breathe fire but I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if one did.”

“I find that all quite hard to believe...” she said slowly. “Then again, I’ve seen that dinosaur myself...”

“I was born in 1845, in Versailles. Spent my whole life and my first death in the British Army. And you?”

“I... 1845!? What the...?”

“Yes, like I said, things are a bit different over here,” he smiled.

“I... see... I was born in Hong Kong in 1959.”

“Ah, a proper British woman, then.”

“Uh, no... actually Hong Kong was returned to the Chinese in 1997.”

“You gave it to those peasants?”

“China is a major world power now, I’m afraid, and Britain a minor one. I’m from Australia myself, which is independent of Britain but still part of the Commonwealth.”

It was his turn to pause.

“Britain is a minor power, you say...”

Curly straightened.

“Well, this is all very fascinating, and I will want to talk with you in more detail, but to get back to the point... you say this land is owned by someone? A Factor Chóng? Factor, that means a merchant, right?”

“Yes, this is his personal realm. He would welcome the opportunity to talk with you about mutual cooperation, but demands that you halt all machinery and electricals immediately, or risk destruction.”

“You mean electronics,” she corrected. “So, you’re threatening us?”

“No, not us. Anything more advanced than about the 15th or 16th century will be destroyed by Reed.”

“And who’s Reed?”

“A goddess.”

Curly laughed.

“A goddess. You want me to shut down my operation for your goddess!?”

“I figured you’d say that. I did, when I got here. Brought along a little present that might help,” he said. “May I have my bag back for a minute?”

Curly motioned to Leyton, who handed it over.

“It’s safe; he just had the dagger.”

The man—Bromhead, he’d said—rooted around in the bag for a minute and pulled out a small cloth bag.

He handed it over to Curly who took it gingerly.

“And this is?”

“Just pour it out on the desk, ma’am.”

It looked like white sand with a few specks of red and black mixed in.

“Now clap.”

“What is this, some sort of joke?”

“Just clap, ma’am, you can always get angry later if you still need to.”

She clapped.

The sand began to swirl, dancing up in invisible currents, to form a pale curtain in the air, pulsating.

An Asian face appeared.

“Wang?”

Her voice came out as a croak.

“Wang? Is that really you?”

There was no answer, and the face dissolved into a young boy’s visage. He was smiling, looking up as a child might look up to a loving mother.

“...John...”

She was whispering, eyes opened wide, hand reaching toward the sand.

Her finger touched it, and the sand collapsed back into a pile.

She snapped her head up, furious.

“How did you do that? Who told you about John?”

“Nobody, ma’am. There’s a spell on the sand that just shows memories. No tricks, just magic.”

“Leyton, you try. Will it work for anyone?”

“Of course, until the magic runs out. Should be good for a couple dozen more shows or so.”

Leyton moved closer, and clapped near the pile of sand.

It sprang up into action once more, this time showing the face of a young woman. She was crying.

Leyton silently touched it, and she fell back into the sand.

“It works,” he said dully. “That was Ilsa.”

Gonville broke the silence.

“Please, I realize this is hard to understand, but all of you are in danger here. If Reed finds machinery or electricals, she strikes with no warning, and no mercy.”

“You know we have rifles vastly superior to the British army of the 19th century, right?”

“I’m sure you do, but it won’t matter. She makes things... disappear. There is nothing to fight.”

“So we simply have to turn everything off and go home with our tails between our legs!?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” she sniffed. “I pull this off and I’m promised a VP slot.”

“If you’re willing, Master Richard is waiting nearby to talk with you.”

“You mentioned him before.”

“Master Richard is from your realm, I believe. In any case, he has been entrusted by the Factor to negotiate.”

“Leyton? What do you think?”

“Can’t hurt to talk, Curly. And it wouldn’t hurt to find out more about all this.”

She turned back to Gonville. “So how come you came and not him?”

Gonville bared his teeth in what might have been a smile.

“I guess I’m more expendable.”

She thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’m going. Get a security team together; we’ll take the four-by-four.”

“What’s that?” asked Gonville.

“A four-wheel drive truck.”

“A motorcar? No, ma’am, that’s impossible. I don’t understand why Reed hasn’t spotted you already, but I cannot allow any machinery or electricals near Master Richard.”

“You realize you’re asking us to trust you.”

“Yes. As I’ve trusted you by coming here unarmed.”

“This dagger is hardly unarmed.”

“That’s just a dagger, ma’am. Even the housemaids carry one.”

She thought on that for a minute.

“Leyton, I’m going with him.”

“Do you think that’s wise, ma’am?”

“I’m not very happy about it, but that velociraptor and the little movie I just saw are pretty convincing. If there’s something out there that threatens this operation, I want to know about it.”

“Right. I’ll come with you, of course, with...”

“No, you stay here. You’re in charge until I get back. And no security team.”

“In that case, I’ll get Randy’s team up in the tower, then.”

Curly nodded. Randy and his team were mercs, and would be able to provide some protection even at a distance.

“How far away is Master Richard?”

“Just up the valley, where it narrows and the tree line is close. He’s been watching, I’m sure.”

“Maybe about four hundred meters? No more than half a klick, tops... no problem, Curly,” said Leyton quietly. “Randy’ll have you covered, and Jake’ll go with you. Just to be sure.”

Curly stood and shrugged on her jacket.

“I guess you’d like this back, then,” she said, handing his dagger over.

* * *

Standing in the woods just back from the edge, well hidden, I saw Gonville step back out of the Quonset hut and scratch his nose. He was unharmed and thought everything was safe.

I stepped out of the woods, both arms extended, hands empty.

Very slowly, I made a big production out of removing my sword and dagger. I stuck my sword in the ground, and hung my dagger over the guard, knowing they would be watching from the tower.

I turned around slowly so they could see I wasn’t trying to hide a crossbow under my tunic or something. They’d have to take my word I didn’t have a pistol in my waistband, though. Now that I thought of it, I didn’t have a waistband.

Seemed to be a lot of activity around that Quonset, and up in the tower.

I had no doubt I was in somebody’s sights.

Three people were walking towards me: Gonville, an athletic thirty-something woman with a huge mop of brick-red hair, and a chunky fellow, bald and sunglasses. Clearly a bodyguard. The two newcomers wore matching blue jumpsuits; must be the company uniform, I figured. Gonville stayed in front, trampling down the waist-high grass as needed. We’d picked a place full of low rocky outcrops, though, so there were only a few places he had to wade a path through.

Nobody seemed to be carrying a gun, which was nice, but I noticed the bodyguard had a combat knife strapped to one thigh and a machete scabbarded on the other side. Presumably he knew how to use them, too.

With my longsword I wouldn’t have been worried, but since I’d put my own weapons down I began to feel a little exposed.

No help for it... that’s why I came.

Chóng had asked Kuranes for help, and Kuranes—figuring I’d have a better chance of talking to people from my realm—asked me. A quick flight out on a courier ship, which I suspected was actually a smuggler who owed the King a favor, reports from Chóng to bring me up to speed, and here I was.

Sure would be nice if things worked out right for a change.

They stopped about a dozen meters away, and the woman called out.

“Mister Richard? I’m Cecily Byrd, in charge of this operation.”

“Not Mister, Ms. Byrd. Master. It’s just the way they say things around here,” I corrected her. “My full name is Richard Saxton, formerly of Pennsylvania.”

“I’d like to approach closer so we can talk more freely, if I may.”

“Of course. I’m unarmed, but your bodyguard looks rather dangerous. Perhaps he could stay where he is, with Captain Gonville?”

“Of course.”

She nodded to the man and strode toward me with confidence.

We shook.

“So, what’s all this nonsense about goddesses wanting to blow up my mining operation?” she asked, skipping the formalities.

“Reed couldn’t care less about your mining operation, but she destroys advanced machinery, electronics, and pretty much any technology more advanced than the Middle Ages.”

“How? With bows and arrows?”

“Hardly. I don’t know exactly what she does, but based on personal observation—which almost cost me my life and the lives of my companions—I think she transports a spherical section of reality somewhere else. The resulting cavity is a vacuum, causing a thunderclap as air or water rushes in. If the sphere is sufficiently large, that onrush itself can also cause considerable damage in the surrounding area.”

“Transports? Transports how?”

“I guess the right word would be teleports.”

“Teleports where?”

“I have no idea. Nothing she destroys has ever been found. My suspicion is that’s sent outside this universe.”

“Universe? Outside the universe?”

“Yes. I was an astrophysicist for decades, and I’m using the term universe quite precisely. Entirely outside our bubble universe, into a different reality.”

“That sounds rather like advanced technology to me.”

“A wise man once said any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Presumably the opposite holds true as well.”

“Clarke.”

“Glad to know the classics are still read these days!”

We smiled in unison, but her smile quickly faded.

“You seem very serious about all this.”

“I am. Your entire crew is at terrible risk, and if Reed’s reaction is too powerful it could have repercussions on Factor Chóng.”

“Your man said he owns this land.”

“Captain Gonville is Factor Chóng’s man; I’m merely here to try to help out, since I’m from your realm.”

“My realm?”

“The Earth in 2022. I assume Australia, from your accent... am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong. Where did you say you were from?”

“I retired in Pennsylvania some years ago, but worked as an astrophysicist at the Center for Astrophysics in Cambridge for many years.”

“You don’t look old enough to have retired.”

“I was, there. I’m younger here.”

“Hold on a second...” She reached up and tapped her ear. “Yes... thank you...”

She took a step back and locked eyes with me.

“A Dr. Richard Saxton, retired from the Center for Astrophysics, died of a stroke late last year in Pennsylvania.”

“So I’m dead there... I thought that... Wait a minute! You have an earphone!?”

“Well, yes, and they just confirmed your death over...”

I reached out and snatched the earpiece from her head along with a few stray strands of hair.

“Ow, dammit!”

She swatted at my hand, but I stepped back and threw the earpiece as hard as I could, back toward the base.

Jake jumped forward, knife in hand, ready to gut me, and of course as soon as he moved, the raptors lying hidden in the grass stood up.

They were there for my protection, but it must have looked like an ambush to the people in the tower.

Rifles boomed and a raptor’s head exploded. I leapt back into the woods without a second glance, and the raptors—except for a few lying dead on the ground or writhing in pain—fell back with me.

Gonville, out in the open, dropped flat.

I couldn’t tell if he’d been hit or was just trying to get out of the fire; he’d have to wait.

Jake stood in front of Curly as she stumbled back toward the mine, machete at the ready.

“Oh my God...!”

Curly stopped.

Jake bumped into her and risked a quick glance to see why she had stopped.

Her jaw hung slack as she stared at the gigantic eye far above the mine. It ran its gaze over the mine, the trucks, the excavator, blinked once, and then the largest Quonset—the one with the radio antenna on top—vanished, leaving a semicircular hole where it had stood.

“Get down!” I shouted. “The shoc...”

My shout was drowned out by the thunder, and a blast of wind shook the trees, leaves and branches flying in a maelstrom of sudden fury.

Jake leaned into it, shielding his eyes, but Curly was blown off-balance, skidding across the grass completely out of control.

There was another explosion, and another, and another... until finally there was only the wind.

I looked up.

Jake was on all fours, slowly pulling himself together and raking leaves from his hair.

Curly was sitting, motionless, staring at the mine.

I followed her gaze.

There was no mine.

It looked like the moon... semi-spherical holes of all sizes dotted the landscape, sometimes overlapping each other. A pile of lumber lay untouched, a half-built Quonset behind it sagging, partially torn apart by the wind.

The trucks, the excavator... all gone.

As they began to take in the full scale of the devastation, there was a loud rumble, and the nose of a dump truck appeared from the thin air over one of the holes, popped out like it was coming from a Disney cartoon, and plunged, head-first, into the pit.

It landed with a crash, the screeching of metal, the sound of an engine going full throttle for a moment, then quiet.

“Holy shit...”

I could hear her whisper clearly in the silence.

The birds started chirping again.

Reed had finally come.

* * *

I whistled the raptors back and told them to stay, then stepped out.

Jake struggled to his feet, scrabbled for his knife, shook his head, and watched me.

“Jake. It’s all right,” called Curly. “Let him be.”

“Are you alright?” I asked. “Gonville, you hear me?”

“Yeah, I’m OK,” came a grumble from the brush. “A few cuts, that’s all.”

He stood, brushing leaves and dirt off his clothes.

“Do I need to pick my sword back up, or can we relax a bit now?” I asked, looking at Jake.

He hesitated, looked to Curly.

She nodded.

“OK, but keep those dinosaurs back.”

“They’re just like police dogs. If you’re not a threat they won’t bother you.”

He sheathed the machete, but he didn’t look too happy.

Curly started to walk back toward where the mine had been.

I grabbed her arm.

“Uh-uh, not yet. She’s gonna notice that dump truck in a minute and you don’t want to be anywhere near until she’s all done.”

Curly was already past shock, and staring intently at the holes.

“Wish I still had my earpiece,” she said.

“No, you don’t,” I said. “I threw it right over there, maybe forty meters or so? See anything?”

She turned to look.

“Ah,” she said. “I see. And if I’d had that in my ear at the time, that crater would have happened where I was standing...”

“Yes. It’s a small one, but I imagine it would have killed all four of us, one way or another. So maybe let’s wait until she’s gone, shall we?”

“Is she going to kill me if I have a cigarette?”

“Highly unlikely,” I smiled. “That may be your last pack for a while, though... tobacco’s pretty rare here, and thagweed takes some getting used to.”

“Thagweed?” She held the pack out; Jake took one. She took a long drag, sitting on the grass with her arms on her knees. “Well, I guess I’m not going to make VP after all.”

Nobody even blinked at the final blast. The crumpled dump truck vanished in a sonic boom, cutting a very shallow depression into the larger crater already there, and that was that.

“Anything in that Quonset hut?” I asked.

“Nope. Just some beams and sheeting. It’s the new barracks for the surveying crew.” She stopped. “It was the new barracks. I don’t guess we’ll need a surveying crew just yet after all.”

“You were using a cell then, right?”

“Yeah, we ran optical fiber through the tunnel and had a local WiFi setup here. Good for a couple hundred meters.”

“Physical fiber through the portal? It didn’t ever get cut?”

“No. We tried radio at first but the signal was degraded so badly we couldn’t even use it for audio. Fiber never had a problem.”

“Huh. How did you create the portal in the first place?”

“We didn’t. We found the tunnel in a cave in the middle of our quarry in Australia. Took us awhile to figure out what it was, and we still don’t know where we are, but surveying teams were pretty astonished at the geology out here. They swear there’s no way this all could have happened naturally. And we’ve never been able to match the stars to our own stars, although we do appear to be in the same solar system.”

“It didn’t happen naturally. Factor Chóng birthed it, or had someone birth it for him.”

“Birth? You mean he made it!? He created a whole fucking world? Another god?”

“Oh, no, not at all. He’s just an old Chinese diplomat and trader.”

“The Chinese are mixed up in all this? We found Chinese characters on a raptor...”

“Not the China you know, don’t worry. His China is the Han Dynasty.”

“The Han Dynasty... that’s, um, a long time ago...”

“Yup, sure is! About 100 AD, give or take a few. He’s been here a while.”

“And he made this place himself.”

“Basically, it’s a private universe. It’s connected to various other places through portals—what you called a tunnel just now—but it’s all his private realm. He’s not a god or anything, just the man who controls the portals to get here, or to leave... except for your portal, somehow. It shouldn’t exist, but it obviously does.”

“A whole universe... not just a park, or an island, or even a planet... a whole fucking private universe!?”

“I think so... you said you had the starmaps looked at, so either there’s a really good illusion up there, or it’s the whole shebang.”

She blinked.

“And what about Reed?”

“Reed’s an anomaly,” I started to explain, but was interrupted by Curly.

“This whole fucking place is an anomaly!”

“It’s not, actually, but that discussion would get real complicated real quickly,” I said. “Reed is from our realm, but centuries before us. Centuries before Factor Chóng, for that matter. She was a sorceress in ancient Japan, and now she’s pretty much what we’d call a god.”

“Unlike Factor Chóng, who simply creates universes but isn’t a real god, right?”

“Right. Exactly. Factor Chóng birthed this realm using known spells—think of them as programs and equations controlling reality within the Dreamlands, and with various limitations—but Reed is very close to becoming a god in her own right, capable of creating or altering reality at whim in any realm. And that would not be good.”

“Master Richard? Sorry, but you’d better handle this.”

It was Gonville.

He pointed up the valley, and I could see a group of half a dozen men and horses coming toward us.

Chóng’s men. They’d stayed well back to be sure there were no incidents, but now that things had quieted down they were walking down to join us.

Jake was getting nervous again.

“It’s all right, Jake,” I reassured him. “They’re with me, and that machete won’t help much against arrows.”

He kept his hand on his machete anyway.

“Feel free to keep your weapons,” I said. “Nobody will disarm you... that little thing’s not much different from a dagger, after all, and any kid over ten without a dagger would be a laughingstock here.”

He scowled, but relaxed fractionally.

“I’ve got to get a message back to HQ,” said Curly. “That truck came through, so the tunnel—the portal—must still be open.”

“They can’t be closed,” I explained. “They can be created and destroyed, but not closed.”

“You don’t have pen and paper on you, by chance?”

“No, but someone might...”

I turned to Chóng’s men.

“Anyone have paper and quill?”

There was no paper but someone had a nice piece of soft leather he was planning on making a pouch out of.

Her pen wouldn’t work very well on the leather, of course, but a dagger blade worked just fine. Hard to write neatly, but she managed to get the important points down.

We wrapped it around a rock, and everyone threw rocks in the air until we located the portal. It was invisible, and located above a huge pit in the ground, but vanishing rocks made it pretty clear just where it was.

Jake lobbed the message in, and we retreated to wait, just in case Reed decided to come back for more fun.

I told the men to set up camp for the night.

* * *

“Pat, we just got a rock addressed to you, from Curly Byrd.”

“A what?”

“A rock. It’s got a letter scratched into cowhide on it, telling us to halt operations immediately.”

“Cowhide? What the fuck...? What’s the feed show from the mine site?”

“Nothing. All the cameras and remote instrumentation links went dead suddenly about twenty minutes ago,” said the other man. “We figured it was just a technical glitch, but now this...”

“What’s it say? Read it to me.”

“EMERG. Stop all ops. Mine gone. Drop paper/pencil bag on rope. NO ELECT NO MECH. Sasquatch.”

“Sasquatch! That’s Curly, all right. Nobody else knows that codeword. Do what she says, immediately. I’m on my way.”

He punched up his secretary.

“Jane, get the chopper ready. Cancel everything. I’m off to the mine site.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I call your wife?”

“Yes, thank you. Tell her sorry, but I’ll be late tonight.”

He grabbed his jacket and ran out the door.

* * *

A guard ran up out of the darkness into the firelight.

“Master Richard! A bundle on a rope just fell through the portal!”

Curly jumped to her feet.

We’d been talking for hours, exchanging information about the Dreamlands, Chóng, the King, and even my death. Curly seemed like a nice woman, but obviously a company woman through-and-through. She explained how this area was so rich in rare earths it was flatly unnatural, which struck me as unexpected but rather unsurprising, but she did manage to surprise me when she told me what refined metal sold for.

Dollars, even Australian dollars, weren’t of much use here in the Dreamlands, but I could see this was going to be a disaster for everyone no matter how it turned out.

They’d gut Chóng’s realm, and maybe Dreamlands itself, just like the Europeans had gutted the Americas, or the British Australia. Maybe they couldn’t use tanks or airplanes here, but M-16s and .50-cals would work just fine.

I said I thought gunpowder weapons would attract Reed’s anger, too, but I knew it was just a matter of time until they discovered the truth. As long as they didn’t have electronic sights or other fancy gadgets, automatic rifles would fit right in.

I accompanied her down to the mine site.

The raptors fanned out around us as always, but Curly didn’t pay them much heed anymore. She still didn’t like them getting too close, but I didn’t either... one excited raptor could cost you a few fingers, or the whole hand, if you were unlucky.

I wished I’d been able to bring Cornelius.

A canvas bag was swaying in the breeze, suspended on the end of a rope coming out of thin air: the portal. It wasn’t smack in the middle of the hole, but it was far enough out that it couldn’t be reached easily. I cut a bamboo pole and snagged the bag on one of the branches, pulling it close enough to grab. Handed it to Curly,

“Can we check for electronics?” I asked.

“Excellent idea, I was just going to myself,” she replied. “Bring that torch closer, would you?”

She dumped it out on the ground... a couple notebooks, a handful of pens and pencils, two boxes of rations (ADF CRP HCRP – Beef, whatever that meant), and a first-aid kit. She popped open the boxes and first-aid kit to be sure there was nothing hidden inside; there wasn’t.

“You think they’ve put a bug in there anywhere?”

“I would,” she said. “Pat, can you hear me? I’m here, I’m fine, and I’ve got a lot to tell you. I’m going to write it all down and send it back in a few hours, but if you’ve got a bug in here I need you to tell me where it is. I have to destroy it, and if you can’t tell me where it is I’m going to have to throw everything but the paper and pencils away. Pat? You listening?”

There was a crackle of static from inside one of the ration boxes.

Curly dumped it out on the ground, and it was pretty easily to find the source. A tiny speaker was crackling. No audio, just static.

“Got it, Pat, thank you. Are you sure that’s the only one?”

The static turned off and on again three times.

“Thanks, Pat. I’ll get back to you in a bit.”

She handed me the packet, and I smashed it to smithereens with a few rocks.

We walked back to the campfire, and she began writing furiously.

Realizing I wasn’t needed anymore—now, at least—I wandered off to see how Jake was doing.

He was doing pretty well, as it turned out... he’d just established himself as the arm-wrestling champion of the group, which was pretty impressive considering the competition he faced. There was one guy there who was even bigger than Jake, but after a prolonged bout, Jake managed to pull it off.

A few coins changed hands here and there, and all of a sudden somebody discovered they had brought along a bottle of Chóng’s cheap rotgut. He had a whole line of good stuff, too, all priced as you’d expect from a merchant, but he always remembered to make cheaper stuff for those who wanted it... and his guards always seemed to want it.

A bottle or two was hardly enough to get them drunk, but with only a half-dozen or so to share it between, it was enough to make them all friends.

And for now, that was all that mattered.

* * *

Everyone was up at dawn, of course.

We introduced Curly and Jake to the joys of dried meat and fruit; they returned the favor with hot coffee—coffee!!!—and various tinned and packaged foods nobody here had ever seen before.

Most of it didn’t go over very well, but fruit bits in syrup was a big hit.

We didn’t need the first-aid kit at all, thankfully. Most of her people were simply gone, and the rest just had some minor scrapes and bruises.

I asked to use some of the antiseptic and gauze for the raptors, though. I’d had to put one down last night because it was in such bad shape, but with luck one more would recover if I could keep the wounds clean. I didn’t have an X-ray (heck, nobody did, here), but as far as I could tell she’d be alright. The rest were like us: bruised but fine.

Four dead, though, counting the one I’d put down last night.

I took one of the dragolets out of the cage and spoke my message. I had to let Chóng know what was happening. The dragolet could memorize a few minutes of speech but not much more, so I had to abbreviate quite a bit. The point was, Reed had destroyed the mine, the portal was still open, there was still a threat, and he needed to negotiate.

“Is that a dragon?”

It was Curly, looking at the yellow-green dragolet on my arm. Its talons were sunk deep into the glove, and it was happily gorging on raw deer meat as a bribe.

“A dragolet. They don’t grow much bigger than this even in the wild. This one’s been trained as a messenger... a courier pigeon, basically.”

“To Factor Chóng?”

“Yes, I have to tell him what’s happened, and you need to speak with him directly.”

“I need to update my people, too,” she said, waving a notebook. “OK with you if I send this off?”

“I think we’re going to have to trust each other, or we’re both in for a rough ride.”

“I agree. Gods or no gods, the situation is more complicated than we ever anticipated. Or you, I suspect.”

“Or me,” I agreed. “A lot more.”

I walked with her down to the hole, and we dropped her notebook into the bag. I tugged on it a few times to signal the person at the other end, and let it swing free. It swung about as it rose, and vanished into the portal.

We both had our respective answers within a few hours.

Chóng sent the dragolet back to tell me he was on the way with extensive supplies.

Curly’s people told her she had full authority to deal on behalf of her company, and asked if they could send through guards or anything else.

She declined the guards, but asked for coffee, cigarettes, and canned fruit.

“A bottle of whisky would get things off on the right foot with the Factor,” I suggested.

“Will it get me anything?”

“Just good will. You’ll have to fight tooth and nail for anything you win from him, I’m afraid.”

She added a bottle to the list.

“Things have all settled down now, right?” she asked.

“I think so,” I replied. “Reed’s destroyed everything, and unless somebody brings in more, she shouldn’t bother us again.”

“Do you have any idea how she does that?”

“I have a general idea of what she does, but have absolutely no idea how she does it.”

I was lying, of course. I’d learned an awful lot working with her on the shell, but hadn’t even told the King. It was simply too dangerous.

I still didn’t know where she sent her spherical excisions, but I knew how to do it myself now. A spherical scoop of wilderness, far outside Chóng’s realm, had been reduced to raw quantum foam, returned to the infinite. I could do it myself if I had to.

“Can we build a framework over that hole, to make it easier to reach the portal?”

“Should be simple enough, with the right tools. We don’t have saws or axes here, but Factor Chóng will be bringing some. He said he’s going to set up a temporary camp here.”

“Good. That way I can talk to my own people, too.”

* * *

It took two days for Chóng to reach us, but when he came it was a madhouse. Dozens of workers, guards, cooks, assistants, a handful of deinos carrying the heavy stuff, more raptors, food, and of course hot tea.

Curly and Chóng sat on an ornate rug under an awning, watching the huts being raised and the deinos doing deino things. There was a half-empty bottle of Glenfiddich on the table.

“Never thought I’d see a dinosaur,” she said, taking another sip.

“Never thought I’d see fruit in a can!” he replied. “Later you’re welcome to ride one, if you’d like.”

“I’d love to, thank you. Later.”

They were still feeling each other out, and as far as I could tell they were evenly matched.

The scaffolding was almost up around the portal, too, which was now clearly visible thanks to smoky fires around the pit. Eventually they wanted to fill the pit back in, but that would take time and effort. A timber framework with a ladder would work just fine for now.

Jake had become best friends with Danryce, the huge black he’d beaten at arm-wrestling. Danryce had laughed at his puny machete and shown him a “warrior’s” sword: his monstrous scimitar. Jake, on the other hand, showed Danryce a few close-combat tricks, some judo and some with his combat knife. Danryce could swing a sword or a battle-axe, but he’d never learned the intricacies of knife-fighting, and Jake knew them all.

I was at loose ends... Curly and Chóng could talk to each other just fine without me, and I doubted either one would appreciate my interference. Chóng was a pretty sharp guy, I wasn’t too worried. Still, he didn’t know what Earth of the 21st century was like, and just how dangerous things could get.

I had to keep tabs on the conversation and make sure she didn’t screw him, though, so I just sat in the background and listened.

She’d accepted things were different. She’d seen it with her own eyes, and she wouldn’t be in charge if she weren’t smart. She was also determined to get that mine back open again.

“Suppose we gave you stronger tools, maybe carborundum bits if you can use drills, explosives, and the deposit maps we got made?”

Chóng knew what explosives were, of course, but not carborundum.

I explained, and asked Curly to request a sample map so he could see what it was. He’d never seen one, of course.

“That would be an enormous help, yes,” he mused. “We have plenty of timber and water nearby, and plenty of game. It wouldn’t take long to get lodging built. The mine is above-ground, so it’s just hard labor, and I can get as many laborers as you might need.”

“But manual mining will mean our production drops enormously.”

“If you tell us where to dig, we can open more mines. No tunnels, no scaffolding... very simple.”

“And you could handle everything at this end?”

“Of course, for a suitable fee.”

“What sort of fee did you have in mind?”

“We use gold, of course, and jewels are always useful,” he explained. He reached into his pocket. “In fact, I brought this for you and forgot all about it! My apologies.”

He reached over and dropped something into her palm.

She looked at it and her eyes widened.

“My God! It’s huge!”

“It’s a ruby from Dylath-Leen. Pretty color, yes?”

“It must be worth half a million dollars!”

“Quite possibly. I don’t know what a dollar is, but it’s a beautiful stone. Nice cut, too.”

“That’s quite a gift for only a bottle of whisky.”

He waved her protests away. “Take it, please.”

I doubted the gift—bribe?—would have any effect on the negotiations, but it certainly gave her a better idea of how much wealth Chóng commanded.

“About my fee,” he continued. “I think perhaps barter would be best... I think your cigarettes, and this coffee, for example, would be very well received here. And this whisky is wonderful!”

She leaned forward.

“Just how much tobacco and coffee are we talking about?”

They were finally getting into the nitty-gritty.

“Equal weights?” suggested Chóng.

She laughed. “Even as rich as this ore is, we still have to process and refine it. Yield is roughly on a par with iron from magnetite, in the forty to fifty percent range, and we have to further refine that into pure metal... how does ten percent of ore weight sound?”

“Thirty.”

“Twelve.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Fifteen.”

“I’ll meet you halfway. Twenty. Deal?”

“Deal,” she agreed, “but we need to settle on a minimum daily shipment.”

“And we’ll have to learn more about exactly what you offer, and in what form, but I believe we have a deal. It’s time for the engineers to talk,” he said. “If you ever want a job as a merchant, just let me know... you’d do just fine here.”

“I’ve already got a job as a merchant, but thank you,” she replied.

They shook hands, and Chóng poured them each another shot.

* * *

That night Chóng and I talked for several hours, and I explained my misgivings. The Dreamlands were extremely lucky that this portal had opened here in Chóng’s personal realm, providing some protection, but Penglai was in terrible danger, and so were the Dreamlands, indirectly. He already understood what modern weapons could do even without machinery or electronics, and recognized the threat Curly posed. At the same time the goods they offered would be worth a fortune here, in return for (to him) worthless rock.

I told him how much it was likely worth, recalling that rare metals were used in all sorts of advanced technology from cellphones to supermagnets, and pretty much monopolized by the Chinese. He was happy to hear the Chinese dominated the market, but explained that it didn’t matter what Curly sold it for. He wasn’t their competitor and never would be, and he would make an enormous profit. If they too made an enormous profit, all the better—a win-win agreement was far more likely to last than one built on unfair profit-sharing.

I understood his reasoning, of course, and accepted that he was a successful merchant and I a retired scientist, but I couldn’t get the history of the native Americans out of my mind, and the way the tribes were decimated and their land stolen. I didn’t want that to happen here, and I absolutely had to make sure it didn’t happen in the Dreamlands!

At my request, I wrote a long report to the King, and Chóng said it would be in his hands within a day. It took a lot longer than that to get here when I flew over and I was curious how he could get it there so quickly, but if Chóng wanted me to know he would tell me. Secrets within secrets, all of them: Chóng, the King, Mochizuki...

And me, too. I had a few of my own now.

The next day the scaffolding was done, with a rough-hewn staircase up to the portal.

Curly was the first one up, of course.

I asked to go with her, but she said she needed to go first alone, and set things up.

“Give me one day,” she said, “and I’ll come back with a better idea of what we can do next.”

Chóng agreed that was reasonable, and she left.

We went back to building the camp, and at Chóng’s direction began working on more permanent facilities.

There was already a river flowing through the valley, and Chóng’s men began mapping out water supply, drainage, and sewerage, and checking for evidence of past flood levels. The mine site was a reasonable distance from the river, but only about ten meters of so higher... and the pit was obviously much lower. They had to find a way to prevent possible pit flooding, or at least make sure it could be pumped dry again afterward.

More and more people were arriving, and I discovered that a levelled road was being constructed from Chóng’s palace. It would take another month or two to complete, but when done would make it much easier to haul wagons back and forth. He was investing heavily into the deal.

* * *

Pat ground his fist into his eyes.

It didn’t help.

“This is fucking insane, Curly.”

“Yup, sure is!”

“You’re pretty damn cheerful for someone who just lost their whole project to a fucking goddess!”

“It is what it is, like they say,” she drawled, then sat up straight, leaned toward him. “Look at the numbers, Pat! Yeah, our productivity drops way the hell down because they aren’t using machinery, but no investment, no labor, no utilities, no nothing! All we have to do is send him a bunch of booze and tobacco every so often, and compared to the ore that’s chickenshit, and you know it!”

“Yeah, I understand all the numbers. We’d have to talk to a lot of people about deliveries, but even at lower productivity we could ship a hell of lot quicker and cheaper than China. And make one hell of a lot of money.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The whole thing! Gods running around blowing stuff up; people creating entire universes, which happen to be packed full of rare earth, quite nice of them; dinosaurs; someone from China two thousand years ago; and you’re talking to an astrophysicist who died last year. I mean, Jesus, that’s sort of hard to take, you know?”

“Hey, I was there, Pat. I saw the mine just pop away into nothing. It happened.”

“But your magic dancing sand is just sand.”

“So it only works over there. Whatever. You’ve got the dead velociraptor to prove it.

“Yeah, our Green Team is having a lot of fun with that. They’re demanding I tell them where it came from, and let them go public.”

“Anyone there who actually knows anything? Or are they all just environment protection and PR flaks?”

“Yeah, there is one herpetologist there. He hasn’t said much of anything, but I hear he hasn’t left his lab ever since he saw that thing, either.”

He sighed.

“No way of getting a camera over there, huh?”

“I think that’s a really bad idea, Pat. This Reed detected my earpiece and blew it away along with everything else. I think it’d be a good way to lose a camera, and maybe the whole operation.”

“What, you think Reed would shut the whole thing down?”

“We don’t have a clue what she might do, and neither does this Chóng guy. They’re scared shitless of her, and after seeing what’s left of the mine site, I don’t blame them!”

“So I guess there’s only one way to see what the situation is over there...”

“Yup. You’re going for a trip.”

She stood up.

“I drew up a shopping list for you; all stuff available locally that you can have someone get from town in half an hour. And lose the suit, Pat.”

He held out his hand for the list and picked up the phone.

* * *

The bell rang, three times. Someone had come through the portal.

I looked over to see Curly stepping down the stairs, followed by a balding, somewhat heavyset man in his fifties of so, and two younger men. They were all wearing blue jumpsuits.

This must be her boss, she’d said he’d be coming today. Curly had been back and forth a couple times now, but the situation had rapidly spiraled above her pay grade, and things had been put on hold until he could come.

Chóng stepped out of his tent, and I joined him as we walked over to greet them.

Curly handled the introductions.

Pat Wrightson, her boss and the CEO of the company, with a large envelope under his arm.

Roger Miller, a geologist, with his own bag of tools, apparently. I hoped none of them had batteries...

Alex Stern, Mr. Wrightson’s “assistant.” He didn’t look much like an assistant to me, more like security... and while the geologist was fascinated by the semi-circular pits, Stern’s eyes were flicking over the encampment, the men, and the surrounding area. I guessed he was a bodyguard, or just company security. He was carrying a big square box, the strap over his shoulder.

“Chóng of Penglai,” he said, sticking his hand out in Western fashion.

Mr. Wrightson took his hand, saying “Pat Wrightson for Nargun Mining and Minerals.”

“Perhaps we could take a closer look at the remains of the mine?” asked Curly. “I know Roger wants to get a closer look at the pit.”

“Of course,” said Chóng. “You are welcome to walk about freely. There is a ladder down the side of this pit over there, just in case we dropped anything from the portal.”

Curly nodded to Roger, who scurried off toward the ladder.

Chóng led the five of them toward his pavilion. At this stage it was just a carpet-floored tent to keep the sun off, held up by poles around the periphery. There were curtains all around, but they were rolled up to let the breeze through.

The floor was scattered with cushions and a few low tables.

Suddenly Mr. Wrightson stopped, and I almost ran into him.

He was staring off to my left. I looked that way and saw a few raptors lounging about.

“Raptors, sir,” I explained. “They’re pretty much the same as guard dogs here, but wild ones can be quite dangerous. Like wild dogs or wolves, in fact.”

“Velociraptors,” he muttered. “Jurassic Park in the flesh.”

He tore his eyes away from them and turned to me.

“Do they all have those feathers? I though dinosaurs were scaled.”

“Yes, brighter colors on the males, duller shades on the females. I suspect dinosaurs in your realm—excuse me, on Earth—probably had feathers, too. Probably identical, in fact.”

“Fascinating,...” he said quietly, and began walking after Chóng again. “But they don’t bite people, do they?”

“Think of them as Dobermans, sir. They’re well trained, but unexpected visitors can get quite a surprise. And the wild ones are very wild.”

He nodded, then thumped down on a cushion at Chóng’s invitation.

Chóng waved to the waiting servants, and they came padding out with cool tea and some sugary sweets on tiny little plates.

“Alex, the box, please,” said Mr. Wrightson, holding out his hand.

Stern passed him the box. I could see now it was a pretty standard cooler box, zipper and all.

He unzipped it, and handed it to Chóng.

“A gift for you, Factor Chóng. Something I think you’ll enjoy.”

Chóng flipped back the top and grinned.

“Oh, it’s cold inside! How wonderful! And what is this...?”

He pulled out a bottle of beer, already beading up with condensation.

Master Wrightson had a bottle opener in his hand, and popped the cap off for Chóng, then took one himself.

“This is beer, Factor Chóng, and sharing a beer together is an excellent way to start a conversation where I come from. Cheers!”

He clinked his bottle against Chóng’s and took a healthy pull.

Chóng looked at me, I nodded, and he tried it himself.

“Spicy!” he cried. “No, not spicy... bubbly? This is so much better than the beer we’ve made here. It’s wonderful!”

“Glad you like it, Factor Chóng. It’s the same beer, just has a little more carbonation.”

“Oh, this is just excellent! Master Richard, Mistress Byrd, Master Alex, please, take one. Captain Gonville! Captain, come here!”

Gonville had been standing just outside the pavilion.

He ducked inside and took the bottle from Chóng.

Chóng insisted on opening each bottle personally, obviously enjoying his newfound skill at popping off bottlecaps.

“Captain, bring it in now, please,” he said.

Gonville waved his hand, and a servant brought in a small wooden chest, sitting neatly on a metal tray. It was intricately carved with fantastic scenes of monsters and warriors, and inlaid with gemstones and mother-of-pearl.

“A gift to welcome you to my realm,” he said, holding it out to Mr. Wrightson.

The other man took it, and opened the lid carefully.

“My God! This is exquisite!”

He pulled out one piece after another... chess pieces, hand-carved from red and black wood, each piece decorated with clothing and weapons done in gemstones and precious metals. The bottom of the box, as Chóng demonstrated, had a chessboard built into it that could be pulled out and unfolded.

“Mistress Byrd mentioned that you play chess, Mister Wrightson... perhaps I may enjoy the pleasure of a game later?”

“I would be delighted,” he replied, almost bowing. “This is... incredible. Thank you.”

Chóng beamed.

“What spell did you use to keep the beer cold?” he asked.

Curly laughed. “No spell. The box is just insulated. Keep it.”

“Thank you. Tell me, do you have more of this beer?”

“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Wrightson. “As much as you want.”

“It should be possible to make it here,” I mused. “The technology is pretty old, although obviously it wouldn’t have the same carbonation... Curly, you have any idea?”

“I know nothing about brewing, I’m afraid, but it should be easy enough to find out.”

She wrote something down in her notebook.

“Factor Chóng, please, call me Curly, and this is Pat,” she said. “We’re all friends now.”

“As you wish, Mistress Curly.”

She sighed.

“Now then, about the mining operation,” began Pat, pulling a sheaf of drawings out of the large envelope he’d been carrying all this time. “Here are the geological maps we were able to make...”

* * *

We were still at it two days later, but a surprising number of problems had been identified and dealt with.

The geologist revealed that the face of the pit was perfectly sheared, as far as he could tell with his portable tools, and showed no signed of heat, force, or (as far as he could tell) chemicals or radioactivity. It was just gone, on a perfectly spherical surface.

I knew that, of course, but kept my mouth shut.

Chóng’s engineers, who were more familiar with building (and destroying) fortifications than mining, had no trouble understanding the geological maps, although it was a struggle to identify all the codes and symbols. The geologist had to explain them all in simple English, which was not half as easy as it sounds.

We had pretty good estimates of how many laborers would be needed to dig, what sort of output we could get from this mine, and how many more mines (at a minimum) the area could support, based on the maps. Chóng told me he could provide all the necessities for that many laborers, although it would take some time to get the infrastructure fully in place.

It was going to be a full-fledged mining town.

Pat went back to Earth regularly, and a few more geologists had come through to help out. They brought some explosives with them, and tools tougher than anything Chóng’s people had ever seen. Productivity was going to far exceed any other mine in the Dreamlands.

Then King Kuranes arrived.

He rode in unannounced, although from Chóng’s reaction I guessed Chóng knew he was coming.

Kuranes was accompanied by five other people: his immediate guards Badr, Tilla, and Raul; Belphoebe... and Britomartis.

I leapt to my feet to greet them, delighted to see my Britomartis again.

She was as beautiful as ever.

Britomartis was happy to see me again, too, after so long, but I felt Belphoebe’s glare. She was the only other person who knew that Britomartis had “died” twice, once crushed by a boulder and once by her own hand, stepping off a cliff and falling to her death.

She had died, but both times time had been rolled back to bring her back to life. And while Britomartis, Kuranes, and a few other people knew of the first time, when I saved her, only Belphoebe and I knew of the second.

Belphoebe had never forgiven me for being involved in her death twice, even if they had been written out of history.

Britomartis remembered nothing of her own suicide, and Belphoebe and I would never tell her. It was a painful secret between us, and she hated me for it.

“Commander Britomartis, Mistress Belphoebe... It’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Master Richard!” said Britomartis. “I see you’ve been busy here... there’s a whole town springing up!”

Belphoebe gritted out a quiet “Master Richard” in greeting and stayed stiff in the saddle.

“Britomartis, the King. We must go.”

She walked her horse forward, after the King, and Britomartis followed, mostly out of a sense of duty, I suspect.

Chóng was just introducing Kuranes to the others.

“Kuranes of Celephaïs,” said the King, shaking hands first with Pat, and then Curly. “Formerly of Cornwall.”

“I’m Pat Wrightson. Cornwall? As in, Cornwall, England?”

“Yes, many years ago. I’ve lived here now for quite some time.”

“Hi, Curly Byrd of Nargun,” said Curly. She was getting into the way we identified ourselves here. “Are you a merchant, too?”

“Hardly,” he laughed. “I’m...”

“He’s a local politician,” I inserted hurriedly, and quickly changed the subject by turning to Britomartis and Belphoebe, who had dismounted to stand near Kuranes. Badr and the other two bodyguards had stopped some distance away, out of earshot.

“These are his two right-hand women, Britomartis, and Belphoebe.”

They both introduced themselves.

Curly was taken aback at Britomartis’ scimitars.

“Those swords... you use them?”

“Yes, my beloved twins, Iphis and Ianthe. I am commander of the King’s Guard, and they’ve served me well.”

“The King’s Guard?”

Dammit. I had hoped to have a word with the King first. Too late now.

“Yes,” I broke in. “Kuranes is the king of Celephaïs, quite far from here.”

“So he commands Factor Chóng, then?” asked Pat.

Chóng laughed. “Nobody commands me! But the King and I are old friends, and I invited him to join us.”

I signaled the King urgently while Curly and Pat were looking at Chóng. The King understood, and apparently Chóng did as well, because he immediately added: “Perhaps the King would like to wash up after his ride? Come join us in my pavilion when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Factor Chóng,” Kuranes replied. “I’ll just be a minute.”

As soon as we were out of sight around the corner we stopped. I waved Gonville over to join us.

“What is it, Master Richard?”

“We cannot allow them to enter the Dreamlands, Kuranes. It is dangerous merely allowing them here, in Chóng’s personal realm, but at least we can contain them here, and close the portals entirely if needed. But they could destroy the Dreamlands entirely if let free.”

“With what?”

“With guns and greed. You’re British, you’ve seen yourself how it works. And you, Captain Gonville.”

He sighed.

“You’re right. That hadn’t occurred to me, Master Richard. Thank you.”

“We’ll have to keep their people here to a minimum and guard the portal carefully. In fact, I think we’ll have to guard all the portals to stop people from leaving Penglai freely now, too,” said Gonville. “Donn’s going to hate it.”

“I don’t see any other choice, though,” said Kuranes. “Captain Gonville, will you inform Chóng as soon as possible? And Master Richard, please inform Britomartis and Belphoebe. From now on this is the Dreamlands, and Celephaïs is merely another city some distance from here.”

“They will eventually discover the truth, but we need to preserve this sham as long as possible.” Kuranes sighed again. “I think I’m ready to go back now.”

They returned to find Curly and Britomartis deep in conversation.

“A whole walled city? That’s glorious!” Curly laughed.

“Well, it’s not really a whole city, but it’s a quite large district of Celephaïs,” explained Britomartis. “It’s walled off from the rest of the city with only three gates, which are guarded. By women, of course.”

“So no men at all?”

“Very few. No man is allowed to live there, but a few have been granted special passes to enter.”

“And of course the King is one, no doubt.”

“Actually, no. He’s never been granted a pass, nor Chuang, his chief advisor. Chóng hasn’t either, for that matter.”

“I could exercise my authority as ruler of Celephaïs and demand entry, though,” broke in Kuranes. “I can’t imagine any situation in which I would try anything like that, but in theory...”

While they were talking I signaled Belphoebe.

She glared at me, but grudgingly rose and walked over.

“I know you hate me, but this is from the King,” I whispered, and explained the new secrets we had to keep.

She nodded, and said she’d pass it on to Britomartis.

I noticed that Gonville had seated himself next to Chóng, and they were laughing at something. I suspected the laughter was just cover for the King’s message.

“Skala Eresou began as a temple to Artemis, offering shelter and protection to women escaping violence. It evolved into a nunnery, originally outside the city walls, but as the city expanded, it was eventually swallowed up. The temple and the nunnery are still there, but today Skala Eresou is a center of the creative arts: poetry, song, literature, dance. The Council—all women, of course—runs things.”

“And there are no problems with the rest of the city?”

Britomartis grinned.

“Oh, of course there are problems. Women have always held equal rights here, but to be honest men have the edge when it comes to physical strength, and there is tradition to fight against. The Poietria have their work cut out for them.”

“Poietria?” asked Pat.

“Women who create art. I think it originally meant poet. It’s a title of respect, as I am properly called Commander Britomartis.”

“So there are no male creators?”

“Of course there are! And the best are called Poietes, the male form. But without a pass from the Council, even they can’t enter Skala Eresou.”

“Is there a men-only enclave somewhere?”

“Not that I know of... we can live without men but apparently they cannot live without us!”

Curly and Britomartis laughed; Pat just snorted.

“Perhaps I could visit one day,” mused Curly. “I think I’d like to see Skala Eresou myself.”

“I’m sure we can make that happen,” started Britomartis, only to be interrupted by Belphoebe.

“Celephaïs is quite some distance from here,” she said. “It is not an easy journey.”

“And perhaps we could concentrate on the matter at hand instead of Skala Eresou,” suggested Chóng.

Pat nodded in agreement, very conveniently.

They returned to their discussions.

* * *

The mining town was coming along nicely.

Construction was still ongoing, but everything essential was in place, crude as it was.

Barracks, food preparation, bathing, rails for the ore carts, a cantilevered crane to lift them to portal height, sewerage (rather limited, of course, but now they got most of it), drinking spots, you name it. And a few that weren’t named but had somehow popped up in the shadows.

In theory Chóng knew what was happening, and in theory these were all his people, but he brought in a lot of laborers for one thing or another, and nobody could keep track of it all. His guards kept things reasonably quiet, the mine bosses kept things running reasonably on schedule, and the people seemed reasonably happy.

* * *

Pat grimaced at his newsfeed.

A local station, but he had no doubt it would blow up soon enough.

“The Department of Agriculture, Water and the Environment are seeking any information related to the African sea eagle seen recently in the Whitby region. As Whitby is far inland the bird must have been released locally, and thus far there have been three reports of small animals—dogs and cats—being taken. Australia takes biosecurity seriously, anyone with information is asked to contact...”

He flicked left.

He had plenty of information on that damned bird, and knew exactly where it came from.

“Yeah, it slipped in through our portal from another world, sorry about that.”

Not fucking likely.

At least the double doors were up now, with key-card security. That should help keep things under control.

It would be even better if they could set up a security detail on the other side, but Chóng had insisted that he keep the number of people over there to the minimum. Made sense, he supposed... Chóng’s turf, Chóng’s problem.

Except that now this stupid bird was drawing unneeded attention, and although nobody had connected it to them yet, who knows what might happen next. A couple of raptors wandering through town would certainly stir things up!

* * *

Jake waved for more beer, and slapped a coin down on the counter. Chóng was handling currency exchange, because he was the only one getting goods from the real world. No doubt he made a bundle on the exchange, too, but at least it worked.

And much as he liked a frosty beer, he’d gotten used to warm beer years ago.

He handed Nadeen a bottle.

She had a vaguely Middle Eastern face, short hair, and a stocky, muscled body that he knew from personal experience could be very friendly. She sure wasn’t centerfold material, but damn she knew how to keep him happy.

At first he’d thought it was pretty silly to have women on the guard details, but he’d been learning how to handle all their weapons in friendly bouts and competition, and teaching a little judo on the side, and one day he’d gotten into a wrestling match.

What they called wrestling here was closer to free-form fighting. There were very few “rules,” and it was certainly more than just grappling. Kicks, punches, and throws were common, and a variety of martial arts had crept in one way or another: people could get hurt, or killed.

His size and weight had always given him an edge in both wrestling and unarmed combat—the Australian special forces had trained him well— and he had no doubt he’d beat his way up the ladder pretty quickly. He did, too, knocking out a range of other men without much effort.

Then he came up against Nadeen.

He’d never wrestled a woman before, but everyone else was doing it, so... why not? They sparred and grappled a few times and it became clear that he’d have to really get his head in the game if he wanted to win.

He wanted to win, and he pulled out all the stops.

She still won two out of three.

She didn’t win the competition, but she came damn close.

And afterwards the two of them got a lot closer.

She was a hard woman, didn’t take shit from anyone, and he could appreciate that. And she seemed to like him, too, which was nice.

They started spending a lot of time together.

* * *

“Hey, Tom? Take a look at this shipping report, would you?”

Tom walked over and peered into the monitor.

“Hmm... what? That’s a hell of a lot of tobacco!”

“Uh, yeah. Nargun is importing it legally and paying duty on it, but a 20-foot container full is an awful lot for a mining company, don’t you think?”

“You sure about those numbers?”

“Yeah, pretty sure... I followed them back as far as I could and the export documentation and all seems legit. Matches perfectly.”

“Smuggling?”

“They sure aren’t smuggling tobacco! As it happens, though, both Agriculture and Customs inspected it, and everything’s perfect. And Nargun’s never been on anyone’s watch list that I can tell.”

“Weird... Send those over to me, would you? I want to dig into it a little deeper, and maybe pass it upstairs.”

* * *

“Yes, I know someone who would be interested in such a thing. May I see it?”

He was sitting in the back of a fairly dark tent, two well-armed men next to him. Sid couldn’t really make out his face, but he could tell it was middle-aged and bearded.

He pulled the revolver from his shirt and held it up. Popped open the cylinder and rotated it, showing the six rounds inside.

“This is a .38 Special. I can give you two boxes of ammo, too, 110 grain, fifty cartridges a box.”

The seated man nodded, dropped a glinting gemstone on the tabletop. Pushed it forward with one finger.

“Two,” said Sid.

“This, and this,” said the other, adding a smaller gem to the first.

“Deal,” said Sid, laying the pistol and ammo boxes down and picking up the gems. “You need more?”

“I’m a businessman,” said the man, opening the boxes to verify all the cartridges were there. “You sell, I buy.”

They nodded to each other and Sid stepped back outside, heading back to the mine, and the portal.

* * *

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, setting the loupe down on the counter. “It doesn’t appear to be artificial—it has a reasonable number of inclusions and lattice deformations—but it’s new to me.”

He picked up the gemstone and turned it back and forth, admiring the rainbow of reflections.

“Where did you get it?”

“A friend of a friend,” said the other man. “He said it was a ruby from some place called Dylath-Leen.”

“No ruby I’ve ever seen,” said the jeweler. “Specific gravity is too high, too... I don’t think it’s fake, but I don’t think it’s a ruby, either.”

He bounced it on his palm a few times.

“Three hundred?”

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not stolen, you said you couldn’t find it anywhere. And if it’s that rare it must be worth a lot to someone, right?”

“Hmm.” The jeweler bounced it again. “OK, four-fifty. No more.”

“Five, or I’m out the door.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Reeves. Five, then.”

They shook, and money changed hands.

* * *

“Yes, ma’am. I’d like to resign,” said Jake.

Curly sat back in her chair, looking at his leather clothes and sword.

“You’re staying here, then?”

“Yes, ma’am. I fit here, not there.”

“I’m not surprised, to be honest. I’m attracted to a few things here myself.”

She stood, stretched her hand out.

“I’m happy to accept your resignation, Jake. Let me get some papers drawn up. Among other things, we have to find a way for you to leave our employment safely. The Australian authorities would be rather upset with us if our employees started vanishing.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You going to be around for a few more days?”

“No plans on leaving anytime soon, ma’am. I’ll sign what you need.”

“Thank you. It’s been good having you with me, Jake. I’ll miss you.”

“Thank you. Uh, one thing, ma’am... could I ask you to have someone pick up my sunglasses, from my quarters? I sorta miss them...”

“Sure, Jake. I think you’ll be the only man here with sunglasses.”

* * *

“Things seem to have stabilized somewhat, Pat, but we need to boost production,” said the woman on the screen.

“Look, Anita, I know this isn’t what we’d originally planned for, but the whole situation is way, way outside our wildest dreams,” said Pat. “Chóng is keeping up his end of the bargain, and I can’t see any way we can make this work without him.”

“We need to double output, Pat. We have buyers hammering at the gates.”

“Well, tell them to go hammer somewhere else, dammit! They’re still getting more, and cheaper, than from the Chinese!

“Do you need more money? More people? Tell me what you need, Pat, I’ll get it.”

“I’ve already got too many damn people, and your money’s no use over there.”

“What do you mean, too many people?”

“First we needed mining engineers and mechanical engineers to get the mine back up and figure out how to improve mining at their end, and mesh their output with our processing line. Then our environmental people starting whining about that damn dinosaur and the geologists needed to prospect the area, and of course we needed guards to keep them safe. And the guards need things, too, especially since we can’t afford to let them run around telling everybody about dinosaurs and magic and everything.

“So now we’ve got a whole damn town there, just like the Wild West. We know there’s smuggling going on, Chóng knows there’s smuggling going on, and we’re both trying to stop the whole damn train from flying off the rails.”

“OK, OK, relax. I hear you.”

“Sorry, Anita. I know you’re head of Global Ops, but this is a completely different situation from dealing with Arab oil or African diamonds or whatever. And it’s getting way, way bigger than we can handle. I took this project myself because it was so important, but I really need to give Curly a promotion, with freer rein to get things on track.”

“How about I call Prince & Waters, that private military company? They have the men, certainly, and their costs are acceptable.”

“More men? And probably armed, too... no, that’s just making the problem worse.”

He ran his hand through this thinning hair.

“Give me a week or two, can you? Let me talk to Chóng and see what we can do.”

“I can hold the rest of the Board off for ten days, Pat, but I don’t think much beyond that. There’s talk of asking for your resignation as CEO.”

“Ten days... Yeah, thanks. I’ll get back to you.”

* * *

Nobody really knew how it started.

Most of the people who were in the middle of it were gone, along with much of the town.

More neatly rounded pits.

Buildings sliced with geometrical precision, arc-shaped chunks missing.

No doubt a lot of people, too.

I sighed.

I knew it would come to this, once Wakeworld got its hooks into the Dreamlands.

Greed, human nature, whatever...

Gonville and Chóng were quiet, looking out at the devastation and the few people wandering the ruins looking around.

“As near as we can tell it started over a woman,” said Gonville. “Somebody—probably from the other side—started pawing a woman who wasn’t interested, and she knifed him. A fight broke out, and it turned into us versus them. Nobody was allowed to bring guns here, but somebody did, and they used it.

“By the time the watch got there in force there were already a dozen people down and two buildings were burning.

“The guard had a radio or a cell phone—something else that’s forbidden—and called for help. A dozen guards came through the portal with larger guns, to be met by arrows.

“And in the middle of it all, summoned by the radio or the gunfire, Reed appeared.

“Thirty seconds later it was all gone.”

Chóng was silent.

“Do you have any idea how many people died?” I asked.

“Half the town is gone, and most of the mining operation,” said Gonville. “At least a grand dozen, maybe two or three times that. We may never know.”

“Even one is too many,” said Chóng quietly. “This is an abomination. My abomination, my greed, my folly.”

He slowly walked toward the portal. The rails for the ore carts still ran out of the portal and into the yard, where a few carts still stood, forgotten. Reed had ignored everything but the radios, of course, but when she scoops out a hundred-meter hole for each radio a lot of other things get scooped, too.

No doubt someone would be along shortly from Nargun to find out what was happening, assuming they didn’t already know. They must know their guards had left their posts and crossed over. They surely knew the guards hadn’t come back, and that the ore carts had stopped.

I closed my eyes.

There must be something I could do.

I expanded my perceptions, rising above the mine, above Penglai, into The Churn, looking down at the interconnected bubbles that were my reality. The bubbles, yes, but I should be able to see the portals, too... I focused on the mine, examining it in detail, and there it was... a faint, glowing line twisting off in bizarre curves toward Earth. Australia. That had to be it.

I touched it, felt its substance and its energy.

Reed could sense modern technology, somehow. I should be able to, too... I’d seen her do it time and again.

I turned my attention to Australia, zoomed in on Pat’s plant... trucks, computers, smartphones, electricity and radio waves everywhere... how to... maybe this...? Yes! That was it, that’s how she does it!

And it was adjustable, too, to some extent. I could change the sensitivity, whether coarse enough to skip everything but nuclear reactors, or fine enough to detect a single flashlight battery.

After that it was a simple matter to modify the portal, to adjust it so that items passing through would be automatically transformed into a corresponding form here, if there was one. Or just vanish entirely. It would turn a computer into an abacus, a tank into an armored ram, a radio probably into dust. It was impenetrable to modern technology. No longer would Reed sense forbidden items and destroy. No longer would she kill.

Guns. What to do about guns.

They weren’t in common use in the Middle Ages, but gunpowder was already known... And there were a few home-grown harquebus in the Dreamlands, and he’d heard of a matchlock design. He couldn’t keep out anything that was already here, much as he wanted to. He could prevent night-scopes and laser sights and other electronics easily enough, but optical scopes, rifled barrels, ammo cartridges—even machine guns—would get through.

There was no help for it.

But why was the portal twisted so strangely? Why not a reasonably direct line from Penglai to Australia?

He was trying to interpret an n-dimensional path with a 3-dimensional mind, based on his own perceptions.

He needed to see more.

He followed the portal, probed into it, examined it from the inside, the outside, and the other side, twisting through normal space into other spaces, through other dimensions.

It became clearer.

It wasn’t twisted at all!

It followed the minimum-energy geometry of n-space, an ideal link between this point and that one, a connection linking two realities.

Why hadn’t he seen it before?

They weren’t bubbles at all!

His grasped the totality of the local cluster, saw it for what it truly was, and saw beyond it into The Churn, and Yog-Sothoth.

And beyond Yog-Sothoth...!

My God!

But that meant...!

* * *

It thought about the current development. Of all the trillions upon trillions of simulations It had run, of all the countless constructions of natural laws and physical constants It had trialed, of all the diverse entities It had created and observed, this was the first time one of Its avatars had sensed the reality outside the simulation, and returned to It.

It was aware of every avatar, from molecules that could barely be termed living to nebular creatures spanning light-years, and of course including every lifeform in this Earth and its cluster of universes, knowing their thoughts, their memories, their actions, the motion of every molecule, in that perfect simulation that was created, completed, and destroyed in an instant. It ran millions of simulations concurrently, aware of the motion of every atom, of every event and thought in all the universes, raw information feeding Its voracious appetite for understanding.

It was mildly interesting to see how the cross-pollination of Wakeworld and the Dreamlands progressed. It had seen it all before, of course, and knew how it would turn out even before the simulation completed. Richard and so many others were aware of Itself as Cthulhu, as entities throughout the universes so often did, sensing incompletely that which their minds could not comprehend.

But for one of Its simulations to see beyond Cthulhu and Yog-Sothoth, to comprehend It, aware...

That was unexpected.

It decided it warranted a closer look.

It changed one of the minor parameters, the millionth digit of pi, and ran the simulation again. Richard never achieved awareness.

It changed another parameter, even less important: What type of beer Richard preferred.

Richard never achieved awareness.

It changed the course of a single raindrop in Berlin at nine P.M. on October 21, 1847.

Richard never achieved awareness.

Only this one singular set of parameters led to this result.

It must be one of the keys It was searching for.

It deleted awareness of Itself from the portion of Itself that was Richard, and let the simulation continue.

* * *

I opened my eyes.

This portal, at least, was locked now. Nothing more advanced than what was already here could enter.

I walked over to join Chóng.

“Reed is done with us, Factor Chóng. We can rebuild, and forbid entry entirely.”

He looked at me.

“Master Richard. How can you know what Reed thinks, or does?”

“I do,” I said. “Ask the King, or Chuang, or Shingan. There will be no more radios or machines here.”

“And guns?”

I shrugged.

“The Dreamlands already has guns, Factor. Whether they come from Wakeworld or are made here, the guns cannot be stopped.”

He sat down heavily on a nearby log.

“I must think on this, Master Richard. Leave me, if you will.”

I did.

END

Richard: Part V

“I’m dead, you know,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence of the room.

The fire still crackled away merrily, and the enormous black dog in front of it whacked its tail against the stone hearth, no doubt expecting some attention at the voice.

The King turned to look at Master Richard.

“Well, this is the Dreamlands... many of us are dead, or were dead, or were never alive.”

“No, I mean I actually died, back in Wakeworld. I lived my life, grew old, and died.”

Richard’s voice was soft, conversational, as if he were discussing his laundry.

“Master Richard, you’ve been... odd... of late. What’s bothering you?”

Richard didn’t answer immediately, but seemed to be thinking, or listening.

His head tilted a little, his eyes focused on something far, far away.

“I’m not sure any of us were ever alive,” he said quietly. “What is life, after all? Just a brief flicker between nothingness and nothingness again.”

The King frowned, and picked up the decanter of red wine, reaching out to refill Richard’s goblet.

“I think perhaps you need a little more wine, Master Richard. And perhaps I should call for some amusement? Or would you...”

His words trailed off as he noticed that Richard was leaning to the side.

His whole body was angled a little, and as the King looked more closely he realized that Richard was no longer seated on the chair at all. Or his feet on the floor.

He was floating in the air, only a few millimeters, and oriented ever-so-slightly off the vertical of the room.

“Master Richard? Richard!”

There was an audible crack, like an arc of static electricity, and Richard dropped down again, suddenly seated solidly, feet on the floor.

“Excuse me? My thoughts were elsewhere...”

“Try some more wine, Master Richard. Another excellent red from the moon orchards, with the barest hint of lilac and strawberry.”

Richard picked up his goblet, swirled the wine, smelled, drank a mouthful.

“Oh, yes, that is quite good! Thank you.”

He set the goblet down again, paused, then “I’m sorry, I’ve just recalled something very important that I must attend to. If you’ll forgive me?”

“Of course, Master Richard. On the morrow, then.”

Richard rose, bowed his head the merest fraction in respect to King Kuranes, and walked out.

The King watched him leave, then rang a small silver bell.

Master Chuang appeared shortly.

“He did it again,” said Kuranes. “He was floating above the chair, and his up and down were not mine.”

“Did he talk about it?”

“He didn’t seem to be aware of it... he talked of death.”

“Again, death,” said Chuang, pacing with hands clasped behind his back. “Something happened to Master Richard. Something to do with Factor Chóng and that problem in Penglai. Or perhaps even earlier... You heard Belphoebe’s tale about their trip to see Poietria Sylvia, the mysterious woman, and how he may have been involved in the death of Britomartis.”

“But we can’t tell how much of that was true!” countered the King. “Nobody experienced what Belphoebe did, nobody remembers Ricarda, nobody saw Britomartis fall off that cliff... nothing!”

“But Master Richard did suddenly appear at Poietria Sylvia’s home... Do you think he’s hiding something from us?”

“I have no idea,” said the King, “No idea at all...”

* * *

Britomartis was just about to leave the Pinnacle, speaking briefly to the guards at the lower gate, when Richard approached from the park in front.

“Oh, good afternoon, Commander. Beautiful evening, isn’t it?”

“Master Richard! Yes, lovely. I’m just leaving.”

Richard handed over something heavy looking, wrapped in a small cloth.

“Here, I saw this today and thought it would be perfect to replace the broken one.”

She took it, asking “What is it? Nothing’s broken, I don’t think...?”

She opened the cloth to reveal a beautiful ceramic teapot, decorated with flowers and bluebirds.

“A new teapot, of course,” said Richard. “Clive mentioned you liked bluebirds.”

He nodded to the guards and went through the gate, walking up the incline to the Palace.

Britomartis stood staring at him.

She had no broken teapot, although she did indeed like bluebirds.

And who was Clive?

It was a short walk home.

She absent-mindedly set Richard’s gift on the shelf, handed Belphoebe the fresh-baked loaf she had bought on the way home, and closed the door behind her.

It had been a long day in the hot sun, checking the new ballistae on the Pinnacle and making sure they were ready for use at a minute’s notice. They were the primary defense against aerial attack, and while Celephaïs had not suffered attack from the air for over a century, she took her job as Commander of the King’s Guard seriously.

She dropped her twin scabbards on the floor, stripped off her sweat-stained leathers and clothes, and headed for the bath.

Belphoebe, who usually would be out in the woods or the mountains hunting or tracking, was at home this week, and they looked forward to their evenings together.

After she bathed and dressed in more relaxing clothes, Britomartis joined Belphoebe in the tiny garden. Their home was very small, one of four similar homes in a single stone-walled structure in Skala Eresou. From here it was only a short walk to the Pinnacle, where Britomartis spent much of her day, or to the Avenue of Boreas and the gate through the city walls.

Dinner was fish, spitted and cooked over the fire, with rice and fresh vegetables, all purchased earlier that morning from the city markets, washed down with chilled ale.

Later, Britomartis plucked at her lute, humming, her head resting on Belphoebe’s leg. Belphoebe stroked her hair gently.

“Is all well with the ballistae, Bee?” asked Belphoebe.

“Well enough, Belle. They all know how to use them already, but there are always last-minute problems getting them set properly. The concrete on one foundation was badly laid, and it took most of the day to get it done properly... we should be able to mount that one tomorrow or the next day, weather willing.”

“Good. But you seem to be worried about something else.”

Britomartis set the lute down and sat up, turning to face Belphoebe.

“Belle, there’s something strange about Master Richard.”

She held up her hand, stopping Belphoebe’s outburst.

“Yes, I know you don’t like him. He’s a strange man... but he did save my life, after all.”

Belphoebe fell silent, flushed with anger but unwilling to reveal that terrible secret to Britomartis: that she had died not once, but twice.

“I saw him today, in the minaret atop the Pinnacle, and waved. He seemed not to see me, but just stood in the window, staring out to sea. He didn’t move at all throughout the entire day, that I could see, but when I met him later, leaving the Pinnacle, he seemed perfectly normal.”

“He is a strange man, if man indeed, Bee. Let him be, and let us enjoy this night.”

“But I’m worried about him, Belle!”

“Let Chuang and the King worry about him, Bee. He is not your problem!”

“I suppose you’re right,” sighed Britomartis. “Maybe I’ll make some Tang white... you want some?”

“Some hot tea would be wonderful, Bee, thank you.”

Belphoebe stood and walked to teapot. “Let me help you,” she said, stretching her hand out to take the teapot.

Their hands collided, and the empty teapot smashed to pieces on the floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” cried Belphoebe, dropping to her knees to pick up the pieces. “I loved that teapot.”

Britomartis stood in shock, hand over her mouth.

“Belle... when I left the Pinnacle today... Master Richard gave me a new teapot. He said it was to replace the broken one...”

Belphoebe’s hands stopped moving. “Master Richard, again...”

“But how did he—”

“Where is this teapot?” asked Belphoebe, cutting her off.

“I left it at the door...”

Belphoebe dropped the fragments onto the floor again, and rose, walking to the door to pick up the cloth sack.

She opened it, pulled out the teapot, held it up to the light.

“Bluebirds. Your favorite.”

“He said someone named Clive had told him I loved bluebirds,” recalled Britomartis. “Do you know anyone named Clive?”

“A strange name. No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

Belphoebe placed the teapot back on the shelf, and went back to pick up the pieces of the shattered one.

“I think I’ll have more ale, instead of tea.”

* * *

“The Godsworn,” said the woman at the door, opening it to usher in Tovari Beklamandalee, Godsworn of Nath-Horthath, and one of the most powerful men in Celephaïs.

He was dressed in the same simple robes as all Godsworn of that god wore: dark red, with the black and white lightning streaks running through the fabric. His head was bare, and shaven but for a single forelock.

“King Kuranes,” he said, bowing.

King Kuranes rose from his throne and stepped down the stairs to greet the Godsworn personally.

“Godsworn Tovari, thank you for coming.”

He shook the man’s hand—an old custom he still practiced at times, and one that only a few of his closest friends accepted—and guided him toward the cushions waiting to the side.

“Tea?”

“No, thank you,” replied the Godsworn. “But if you have some water...”

“Of course.” The King turned to the waiting servant and nodded; the servant bowed his head briefly and trotted off, returning shortly with a decanter of ice water, condensation already dripping down the sides.

“I see the walls of the temple were cleaned last week,” said the King, pouring a goblet of water himself for the Godsworn. “The turquoise is more beautiful than ever.”

“It is a tribute to the glory of Nath-Horthath, and Celephaïs herself. It would be grander still if the statues along the Street of Pillars were similarly cleaned and polished, however.”

“Yes, well, I shall tell Artificer Marcus to look into it. He’s been busy of late with, um, a rather difficult matter.”

“The new ballistae, you mean.”

The King laughed. “Not a secret anymore, I gather... Well, no matter. It will do no harm to let our enemies know we’ve installed new ones, and might well do some good.”

“Are you expecting an attack of some sort?”

“No, not at all. Just being prudent.”

“I see. So it has nothing to do with why you wanted to see me, then...”

“No. This is rather a more delicate matter,” said the King, sitting up straighter and setting his teacup down on the table. “It’s about Master Richard.”

“Master Richard?”

“Something strange is happening. Something that no doubt involves the Gods, and as such may be more a matter of your realm than mine.”

“Strange? Strange how?”

“Please, walk with me,” invited the King, standing. “It would be best if you were to see it for yourself.”

Kuranes led his guest out of the throne room of the Palace of the Seventy Delights, to the stairs leading up into the Minaret of the Stars, the highest point of the Pinnacle.

The stairs wound up steadily, with small landings every so often for weary climbers to rest, before finally reaching the uppermost chamber, a hexagonal room with openings cut into in each wall.

One of the windows faced the Celephaïs Strait, and it was there that Master Richard stood immobile, staring out into the sea. His back was to the door, and his feet were well above the floor. His body stood tall, but was at about a twenty-degree angle from vertical... he hovered in mid-air, seemingly unaffected by gravity.

“He doesn’t notice us at all,” said the King. “but may suddenly speak, as if talking to someone else.”

The Godsworn approach slowly, studying Richard.

“He is not entirely in this world,” he said. “His feet do not touch the floor, and he stands at an angle to it.”

“Yes. That is part of the problem. If you touch him you will see another part.”

The Godsworn slowly stretched out his hand to Richard’s arm, pressing his fingertip gently into the fabric of his tunic.

“Touch his skin,” suggested the King.

The Godsworn moved his fingertip to Richard’s hand, as if to stroke it... and his fingertip sank into it.

He jumped back in astonishment.

“His flesh...! It’s... it’s not there!”

“He’s been like that now and again for several weeks now, and it seems to be getting more frequent. His clothes still hang on his body, but he can no longer be touched, a phantom.”

“Does he eat?”

“Nothing that we offer him. The morning dew, perhaps, or the fragrances the wind carries.”

“Master Richard!” called the Godsworn.

There was no response.

“He does seem to be breathing,” he mused. “Does he blink?”

He stepped closer, to be able to see Richard’s face, and staggered in shock.

“His face...!”

The Godsworn turned to King Kuranes.

“My King, I think perhaps we might best continue this conversation at the Temple.”

“The Temple? But why not here in the Palace?”

“Now it is my turn to lead you, and say it would be best for you to see it with your own eyes.”

They walked down the stairs, this time with the Godsworn in the lead and the King behind.

“Should I call Chuang as well?”

“Yes, by all means, but no one else.”

As they entered the Palace proper, the King called out commands, summoning Chuang to the main gate, and calling for three horses to be readied.

By the time they reached the front gate Chuang was already waiting, along with Britomartis and a six of the King’s Guard.

“I will escort you, Lord,” she said. “Where are we bound?”

“To the Temple of Nath-Horthath, at once.”

“Yes, my King.”

She turned to her swords, directing two of them to clear the way, but the King called them back.

“I think we can just ride, Commander. There is no need for haste, is there, Godsworn Tovari?”

“Probably not...” Tovari said, almost to himself.

The group rode down to the Cirque of the Moon, and the Street of Pillars running from the Pinnacle to the sea docks.

The people parted at the sight of the King and his retinue, stepping back to let the horses through, pulling back carts and wagons.

The King was no stranger to the city, often walking or riding through it on some business, or merely enjoying its pleasures, but for him to ride the Street of Pillars with the Godsworn was unusual, for it was no sacred day.

And with beautiful Britomartis, and Master Chuang!

A hubbub of conversation sprang up behind them.

The Temple was located in the Cirque of the Moon, flanked by the hanging flowers of lelai trees on one side, and the brilliantly colored lily pads of one of the ponds of the Necklace, fed by the crystal-clear waters of the Hippocrene Spring.

The turquoise temple was brilliant in the sunlight, carven from a single block of the blue stone by master artisans over countless years, its surface incised with ancient T’picytl glyphs running in columns down in walls. Very few of the city’s residents could read T’pictyl; neither the King nor Britomartis were among them.

Chuang, however, knew the lines from the sacred books well.

They told of life, and death, the balance, and the evanescence of all things.

The Godsworn dismounted with surprising agility in spite of his age, and waved the Godsworn at the entrance out of the way.

“Just you and Master Chuang,” he said, leaving the King to shrug helplessly at Britomartis and her guard.

The Godsworn, followed closely by King Kuranes and Master Chuang, strode briskly through the enormous room, and straight into a doorway into the pedestal supporting the “eternal flame,” a conflagration of red and orange flames that produced no heat and burned forever without fuel nor smoke. As they passed under it, leaving astonished Godsworn and worshipers in their wake, he felt once again the sense of spiritual peace and comfort it radiated.

The King had never been inside the inner temple before. He doubted that Chuang had, either.

It walls were of rough-hewn stone, a dramatic difference from the stunning turquoise of the outer temple.

Godsworn stopped in the halls, bowing to the High Priest as he passed, and raising their eyes to wonder at the appearance of two interlopers into their sacred temple.

Ahead, the hall ended at a huge gold door, inlaid in onyx with a single character in T’pictyl.

“What does it say, Chuang?”

“It just says ‘ka,’ but I have no idea what it means, my lord,” he replied.

The High Priest lifted a finger at the robed Godsworn standing on either side of the door, and they silently slid the massive bolt to the side, and pulled open the door.

Inside all was darkness.

The Godsworn guarding the door handed each of them a sunstone, wiping it dry so it began to emit the equivalent of torchlight... they must keep them charged and ready at the door.

They stepped inside and the door slammed shut behind them.

They heard the bolt slide into place with a dull thud.

Ahead of them was a simple stone doorway, with steps leading downward into shadow.

The Godsworn strode into the stairway, descending at a normal walking pace, obviously unafraid of the darkness.

The stairs were spiral, just like the stairs of the Minaret of the Stars, but the King realized the radius was vastly larger... they could no longer be under the Temple, and as they walked ever deeper he wondered if they had somehow walked below sea level. How could such a structure have been built under Celephaïs, and when?

The city had been here for thousands of years, but even as King he had never heard the faintest whisper of such a thing.

The Godsworn stopped, and took a small key from his belt, inserting it into a tiny, innocuous hole in the wall.

A click, a grinding noise, and the wall slid back to reveal... light.

It was a huge chamber, brilliant with radiance after the relative darkness of the torchlight from the sunstones, and the King shadowed his eyes with his hand for a moment.

The light came from a giant face carven into the wall of the chamber.

A man’s face, a handsome, perfectly normal man.

“This is the true face of Nath-Horthath,” said the Godsworn. “Few have seen it over the years, and none but myself and Godsworn Vivocheç, the abbot here, in the last hundred.”

They looked at the carven face in astonishment.

It was the face of Master Richard.

As they watched, it slowly blinked.

* * *

Tovari led them back up the stairs. The Temple and its Godsworn were usually silent, and now the King and Chuang fell silent as well, staggered by what they had seen.

He knocked on the bolted door, and called out to open it.

The bolt slid back immediately, and the door opened once again.

As it was closed and bolted behind them, the Godsworn led them through the hallway to a small room.

It looked out onto the waters and flowers of the Necklace, though the window was barred.

“Please, sit,” he suggested, waving his hand at the scattered cushions. “I will have some tea brought, and we may talk.”

The King and Chuang sat cross-legged, across the low table from the Godsworn, who kneeled facing them.

“How is that possible...” began the King, but Tovari held up his hand, cautioning him to silence.

“Please, wait a moment, until our tea has arrived and we may talk freely.”

“Of course, of course,” muttered the King, relaxing a fraction.

Two young acolytes came in bearing trays, one carrying a large pot of hot water, teapot, and cups, and the second a plate heaped with fresh fruit of all varieties.

“That will be fine, thank you,” said the Godsworn as they started to kneel down at the table to prepare the tea. “I’ll take care of it.”

One of the acolytes—a boy, thought Kuranes, though it was difficult to tell with shaven head and shapeless robes—looked surprised, but they both bowed and left.

The Godsworn carefully measured tealeaves into the pot, and poured in the hot water, swirling it gently, pausing, then filling their cups a little at a time in rotation, so that each cup received a little of the first, second, and last pour. Filled, he handed the first cup to the King, and the second to Chuang, taking the third for himself.

He savored the aroma of the tea, and took a sip.

Opened his eyes.

“So, King Kuranes... you see the difficulty, now.”

Kuranes held the edges of the teacup in his hands, slowly rotating it on the tabletop, It made a quiet scratching noise as it turned.

“Yes, quite... How old is that... that... face?”

“Older than Celephaïs,” said Tovari. “The Books say that the Pinnacle is newer... and that the face of Nath-Horthath has never moved.”

“But it blinked, didn’t it? I saw it blink.”

“Yes, Master Chuang, it blinked. We all saw it,” said the Godsworn. “To my knowledge that is the first time it has ever been seen to move at all... we thought it a carving.”

“Master Richard’s face... but you said it predates the city, which means many thousands of years. Richard only came to us recently, called by Reed’s stratagems.”

“Did he? I wonder...” mused the Godsworn.

“There is no doubting that face,” said Chuang. “Time and space, cause and effect, reality and dream, all are fluid here... but while Reed strove to become a god, Nath-Horthath is one! Is Richard, then, an avatar of the god, come among us in the flesh?”

“The gods have always walked among us, but Master Richard...” The King fell silent, then looked into the Godsworn’s eyes once more. “What can we do? What should we do?”

Tovari lowered his teacup.

“I have no idea. I have never met my god face-to-face, or touched their hand with my own.” The teacup clinked on the tabletop. “I must summon the Council, and investigate the earlier, more cryptic Books. It may have nothing to do with us at all.”

“Or it may.”

“Yes. Or it may foretell the end of all,” agreed the Godsworn. “As with most sacred books, ours also tells that when the time has come for the Dreamlands and Wakeworld and all the myriad universes to be returned to the nothingness that birthed them, Nath-Horthath shall return.”

“All? What comes after?”

“Only the gods would know, but the Books talk of new universes born of the forgotten dreams of this one.”

The teapot gave a tiny rattle.

Chuang quickly set his own teacup down and looked out the window at the waters of the Necklace, waves rising.

“Earthquake!”

The cups on the table began to dance and the stone floor itself bucked beneath their feet with a terrible roar that they could feel in their bones, walls swaying, Godsworn shouting, through the window—bars shattering—people screaming, terrified horses galloping in search of safety, walls and statues swaying and toppling, the Palace itself, high on the Pinnacle, rose-glinting fragments spinning off into the air, a maelstrom of birds in the air, crying in fear and surprise, and the sun, shining brightly and serenely as ever, looking down on it all.

The floor gave one final shake, the smallest hiccup of an earthbound titan, and fell still again.

The King jumped to his feet, followed immediately by Chuang.

“I must go... Celephaïs!”

“Go, Kuranes, and succor your city,” said the Godsworn. “I fear the worst may come to pass...”

The two of them raced through the Temple and stopped outside the entrance.

Britomartis and the guard were waiting, calming their horses.

The damage did not appear to be as bad as they had feared, although they could see fallen statuary and terrified people and animals. Beyond the wall, in the Cirque of the Jade Bull, smoke rose from fires here and there, but far and few between.

The King looked up at the Pinnacle, at the Palace. It seemed unharmed, although they had seen fragments falling to the earth below.

There was something strange, though... the King stared, trying to discern what had changed.

“The Minaret of the Stars,” whispered Chuang. “The Minaret is gone...”

Kuranes looked where it should have stood... and saw the figure of Master Richard, floating untouched in the air above the broken remnants of the tower, still staring into the waters of the Celephaïs Strait.

* * *

Someone was calling me.

I looked around.

Nobody.

Oh, down there...

I found myself floating in mid-air, and realized this must be a dream.

Strange to be aware that I was dreaming.

I drifted down to stand next to him.

It was Kuranes.

“Master Richard! You can hear me!”

“Of course I can hear you, Kuranes... I’m right next to you.”

“I mean... You’ve been floating up there for a week now, never moving even in the wind, never talking, or answering when we call...”

“I was...? A week?”

I laughed.

“You’re jesting, of course. I couldn’t survive a week without eating!”

I looked around... I was standing on a pile of stones, some building must have collapsed, I thought.

Where was I...? Oh, there was the Palace of the Seventy Delights!

And that was the King’s Aerie... so this must be... the Minaret! The Minaret of the Stars!

But it had been destroyed!

“What happened to the Minaret?” I asked in confusion.

The King didn’t answer, but just looked at me, and slowly raised his hand, finger outstretched, to mine.

I watched it approach, wondering at his unusual solemnity.

It came closer, slowed, touched the back of my hand... and passed through, still faintly visible through my flesh.

“What!? Kuranes! What happened to you?”

He withdrew his hand.

“Not me, Master Richard, not me... something has happened to you.”

“But I don’t remember anything...”

“What do you remember?”

“Well, I just went up to the Minaret a little while ago to watch the sunset, and now it’s gone!” said Richard. “Oh, but of course. This is all just some silly dream, and I shall awaken shortly.”

“You climbed the Minaret nine days ago, Master Richard, and have been floating in the air since.”

“I have? But what happened? To the Minaret, I mean... it’s gone!”

“There was an earthquake yesterday, and it fell.”

“An earthquake!? Here in Celephaïs!? But you’ve never had earthquakes!”

“No, we never have.”

The King waved toward the Palace.

“Can you come with me, Master Richard? I would talk at more length.”

“Of course, Kuranes, I’d be happy to.”

I looked over toward the Palace, and saw Chuang and Britomartis waiting there.

“Master Chuang, Britomartis, why the long faces? You were not so unhappy this morning when we talked.”

Chuang just bowed, but Britomartis reached forward to grasp my hand in hers.

I felt her, and she lifted my hand, squeezing it between both of hers.

“Oh, Master Richard! We were so worried!”

Kuranes stared at her hands holding mine.

“Commander, you can feel him? Touch him?”

She turned, still holding my hand.

“What? Of course I can! Why?”

I gently removed her hands from mine.

“The King tried to touch me, and couldn’t. This is a most bizarre dream indeed...”

“Dream, Master Richard? But this is no dream!”

“Oh, of course it’s a dream,” I laughed. “Look, here is a rose,” and I held out the red rose I held in my hand to her.

She backed up, staring at it.

“How did you...?”

“It’s a dream, of course! Roses, butterflies, a crimson bird, it’s all just a dream!” and as I spoke, they were simply there, as if they had always been there, as real as the Pinnacle itself.

“And the Minaret of the Stars, too!” I turned back to see it soaring to the sky once again, newly built bricks of rose-red quartz and coral instead of the pink marble of the Palace itself.

I laughed. “Quite a funny dream, don’t you think?”

Britomartis backed away from me.

“Richard, when we met the other night at the lower gate, you gave me a teapot, to replace the broken one, you said. What did you mean?”

“Exactly what I said... your teapot was broken, and you needed a new one, so I thought I’d pick one up for you.”

“But my teapot didn’t break until later that night!”

“It didn’t? But I saw...”

I fell silent as Britomartis told the King and Chuang what had happened.

“He said somebody named Clive had told him I liked bluebirds, but I don’t know anyone named Clive,” she ended.

“He said Clive? You’re sure about that?” pressed Chuang.

“Yes, definitely.”

He turned to the King, who was staring at me.

“Master Richard, Chuang and I have had you watched all day, every day... you never left the minaret, while it stood, and never moved after it fell. You were there when Britomartis left that day.”

“I find the minaret a good place for thinking.”

“But you met Britomartis at the lower gate.”

“Yes, of course. And gave her the teapot.”

“When did you buy this teapot?”

“Why, as soon as I knew she needed it!”

“When was that?”

“When I met her at the gate she mentioned it was broken.”

Britomartis spoke up: “I did not. I said nothing of a teapot, because it was not broken!”

“And you had the teapot in your hand at the gate already,” said Kuranes.

“Most strange,...” I said.

It was Chuang’s turn to ask a question.

“Master Richard, who is Clive?”

I was quite surprised; he of all people should know.

“The King, of course. Clive Rains.”

The King staggered.

“How did you... nobody knows my name, except Chuang. Who...?”

“I don’t know,” I said, thinking about it. “It’s just something I know; don’t know where I heard it...”

Chuang straightened up, looking straight into my eyes.

“Master Richard, what would you of us? Speak, Nath-Horthath!”

Nath-Horthath... Nath-Horthath... their god. Why did he call me that...?

The name echoed, reverberating in the still air like distant thunder, the Pinnacle shaking with confined energy on the verge of bursting forth.

Nath-Horthath... Why, yes, I am Nath-Horthath!

No, I am more than Nath-Horthath... I am Richard, and I am Kuranes and I am Britomartis...

A giant eye appeared in the sky above Celephaïs: Reed.

Huge cavities began to appear in the Palace, the Pinnacle throughout the city of Celephaïs, leaving destruction and gaping voids in their wake, massive thunderclaps, sonic booms as the air rushed to fill the sudden spheres of vacuum.

The Pinnacle itself began to tilt, crumbling in upon itself, the Palace wobbling, collapsing, rose-colored walls sliding into oblivion.

Chuang lost his balance, slipping off the increasingly steep slope of the Pinnacle’s uppermost face.

Britomartis grabbed the King’s arm with one hand, and a nearby elm with the other, supporting them both against certain death, until the elm itself slowly uprooted, toppling with them into the flaming ruins of once-proud Celephaïs.

Chuang, King Kuranes, Celephaïs... all gone. Britomartis, gone.

I floated in the air as the sea, towering dozens of meters above the city’s walls, came crashing in to drown their screams and pleas before it plunged steaming into the red gash that had opened in the earth, spewing lava and smoke.

I felt every soul, every thought, the searing pain of every death, every loss... because they were me.

I am every one of them, I am Reed, I am the earth itself, Wakeworld and Dreamworld, Cthulhu and Yog-Sothoth, I am the All.

The eye looking down at the destruction from above—Reed—jerked, and began to crumble into ash from one corner.

It blinked, or tried to, and the eyelid turned to black dust, blowing away in the whirlwinds of destruction.

The massive walls of Celephaïs shook, and shivered, and exploded into clouds of sand, to dust, to nothingness...

And as the universes folded in on themselves in their uncountable numbers, as galaxies and electrons collapsed to the raw stuff of creation, and all was dark once again, I knew the truth.

I was All, and there was nothing else.

I was All, and alone, and had been alone for an eternity, and for an eternity to come, for time did not exist here, only the Now that always was and always would be.

I had created universes, and galaxies, and suns, and worlds, and life, dividing myself into ever smaller fragments so I could no longer recall my eternal, solitary existence, until once again my unquenchable desire to know, to understand reassembled me in the eternal cycle.

I could not flee, because there was nowhere... only me.

I could not weep, for I had no eyes; could not end myself because there was nothing other than this. Death only had meaning for life, and I was not alive, I merely was, and always would be.

Was I any more real that the myriad of people, of living things, or worlds and universes, that I had created? Or was I but a dream, an idle whim of some entity as far above me as I was above humanity?

Outside of me there was nothing. No sound, no light, no vibration... nothing. Did I have an outside and an inside? I could not tell—there was only my Self, and nothing and no-one to hear me.

I could not bear it.

I exploded into a billion billion fragments, a Big Bang of anguish to escape self-awareness, and as my consciousness split, diminished, I saw Celephaïs once again coalescing from the darkness, Kuranes and Chuang and lovely Britomartis solidifying from the darkness back into existence, and—

“Why, Master Richard, you’re weeping!” said Britomartis.

“I was suddenly so very sad,” I said. “But I cannot recall of what...”

“A bad dream,” she laughed, and handed me another cherry from the basket. “What wonderful weather it is today! Everything looks greener, and fresher, and even more alive!”

There was something, some memory, hovering right at the edge of my awareness, but I couldn’t recall what it was.

A daydream, no doubt.

I bit into the cherry.

It was delicious.

END

Donn: The Iranon

Bent over under the punishing weight of the basket on her back, Lara paused as the sun was just breaking over the mountains. She needed to reach the market and set up her stall before the first customers came, and before the sun got too hot... the sun would spoil her fresh corn. Her basket weighed more than she did, though, and was heavy enough and tall enough to make walking a complicated trial in balance and strength.

She needed a quick rest, and a quick drink of water.

She sat down very gently on a rock at the side of the road, taking care to keep her load balanced, and let out a sigh of relief as the bottom of the basket came to rest on the rock, taking the weight off her back and legs.

She wiped her face with the towel hanging around her neck, and took a swig from her bamboo canteen.

What was that music...?

She listened, entranced.

It was a lute, of course—the lute was the traditional instrument of Oonai, and almost every house had one—but whoever was playing it was a master. The music carried her through the storm, crashing waves hammering her boat, to a serene sunset as the storm clouds passed, and an island of peace and warmth welcoming her from the tumult.

A man’s voice had begun to sing, a poem set to music, words that bypassed her ears and etched themselves upon her heart, bringing tears to her eyes.

A donkey brayed; she snapped out of it.

She’d be late!

She leapt to her feet and walked away hurriedly to the market.

Behind her, Lubayd the 42nd Iranon continued to play and sing his latest work.

* * *

“Time for lunch, Lubayd,” called Basaaria.

The Iranon laid down his quill and twisted his neck back and forth to relax taut muscles, then stretched, arms high, fingers interlaced as knuckles cracked.

“Yo! Coming!” he answered, and rose from his kneeling position at the low table.

The table, a huge, slightly oblong cross-section of a monstrous oak, was strewn with manuscript, quills and inks, a flute, two deerskin fingerdrums, and two empty wine mugs.

He peered into the mugs to make sure they were really empty, grabbed the closest one, and walked out of the room.

His wife was just pouring tea, the children—ten-year old Eshan, with tousled hair and new bronze band on his tanned arm, and two-year old terror Nausheen, playing with the multi-colored beads woven into her braids—already seated. He took his place at the head of the table and waited for his wife to take her seat at the other end. Large serving plates were grouped in the center, with a small plate and utensils in front of each of them.

The plate in front of mischievous Nausheen was considerably larger, and (relatively) unbreakable. They all had teacups, of course, but he set the wine mug down next to his plate and looked expectantly at Basaaria.

“Lubayd, enjoy the tea, and leave your wine for the night,” she suggested. “I’ve some wonderful Pelin’gui tea that I know you’ll enjoy.”

“Bah! Tea is for women and children, wine for a working man!”

“But Lubayd...” she began.

“Wine, woman!” he demanded, cutting her off and waving his mug for emphasis.

She sighed and fetched a jar of wine from the kitchen, pouring his mug full. She made to take the jar back to the kitchen, but he grasped the lip of the jar, pulling it down to sit on the floor next to him.

“Leave it here, woman. I’ll need something to wash my meal down with, won’t I?”

Silent, she nodded and took her place at the foot of the table once more.

He lifted his mug to take a drink, but stopped at her voice.

“Lubayd! The prayer!”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he mumbled, and set the mug down again.

He stretched his hands out to grasp the hands of the children, who grasped their mother’s hands to complete the circle.

“Let us give thanks to the One for all that we have today,” he intoned. “Let all find peace under Her blessing. So be it.”

“So be it,” echoed the others.

“A most brief prayer,” said Basaaria, obviously displeased.

“Even the gods prefer brevity,” he replied, draining half the mug in one gulp. “Let us eat!”

He used his dagger to stab a few pieces of meat on the serving plate, pushing the slices off onto his own plate with a finger. He licked the finger appreciatively.

“Very good!”

He used the serving spoon to load a pile of stir-fried vegetables onto his plate, then cut off a smaller piece of meat with his dagger.

“Venison?”

“Yes, fresh from the market this morning.”

He nodded, poured another mugful, and then reached over to pour some into Eshan’s cup.

“No, not Eshan! He’s too young,” protested Basaaria.

Lubayd laughed, and picked up his mug again.

“Drink, boy! A little wine never hurt anyone! Drink!”

The boy made no move to pick up his cup, flicking his eyes back and forth between mother and father nervously.

“Lubayd, no, please!”

“Drink, boy!”

Helpless, the boy picked up his cup and raised it hesitantly to his lips.

He touched his lips to the edge of the cup and took the barest taste, quickly lowering this cup again.

“Thank you, father.”

“Not to your liking, eh?” laughed Lubayd. “It’ll come to you. Man needs his wine!”

Leaving his plate half-full, he staggered to his feet, jar in his hand.

“I’m off to the market to think. Can’t concentrate here with all this ruckus. Need to concentrate on my work!”

Basaaria, wiping goat milk from Nausheen’s chin and clothes, watched him stumble out the door.

* * *

The tavern was dark, as taverns usually are, but raucous as always.

Lubayd held court at his usual table, a half-empty mug on the table in front of him and a half-naked woman on his lap. The usual coterie gathered around, praising his skill and urging him to keep singing.

He drained the mug in a single gulp, belched, and gave the woman a pinch on the bottom that earned a far louder squeal than it deserved. She loved his company for the same reason almost everyone else did: he was fun to be with... and he paid for everyone!

“Ho! I see we have a visitor with us today!” he cried, waving his mug in invitation to the man. “Come, join us!”

The thin, weather-beaten man picked up his own mug from his table, and walked over, taking a seat on the bench facing Lubayd. “Donn of Dylath-Leen, a trader.”

“Come to buy our wine, have you?”

“The wine of your fine city is always in demand, Iranon,” said Donn. “I’m sampling your wares now!”

He raised his mug to show his sample, and the onlookers, pushing up to be nearer the Iranon, laughed with him.

“You’ll find the wine and light of Oonai more to your liking than the brooding towers of Dylath-Leen, I think!”

“Your wine and your music are spring water to a parched heart,” countered Donn.

“Oh, and a poet to boot!” laughed Lubayd. “Master! Fill Master Donn’s cup! Fill everyone’s cup!”

The tavern keeper and one of his serving girls came running with wine jars, refilling all the cups around the table and calculating the cost to be added to the Iranon’s tab.

He held out a new mug of fresh wine, from his special stock, to Lubayd, who hurriedly drank down what was left in his hand and exchanged the old mug for the new one.

“Thank you, Iranon,” said Donn, taking a sip from his refilled mug.

Lubayd didn’t seem to hear him, his head moving slightly up and down as he hummed a tune to himself, keeping time with the beat. He fingers tapped on the table lightly.

“Oh, yes... that’s a catchy ditty, that is...” he murmured, and looked up at the ceiling as he played with a new composition.

“Play for us, Iranon!” came cry from one of the women seated next to him, hand on his shoulder.

He took another drink of wine, then picked up his lute, the priceless instrument played by the Iranon himself, the first Iranon of Oonai, with orichalc inlay and the finest ghastgut, and strummed out a chord, drunken fingers slipping on the frets as he recited doggerel for the crowd.

"An heir, a son!" he cried
Proud yet graying,
And struggled each night
With wives by the dozen
And even a cousin.
Alas! That once virile member
Is now only an ember.

They roared with laughter.

No names, of course, but they all knew it was about the King of Oonai, now past his prime and still with no male heir to assume his throne. He had wed well over a dozen women, and taken several dozen more as concubines, but had yet to produce any child, let alone a male one.

Lubayd sloshed more wine into his mug, and raised it to his lips.

It collided with a mailed hand, spilling over his chest.

“An ill-chosen song, I think,” came a quiet voice.

The surrounding laughter stopped and suddenly his audience discovered they had urgent business elsewhere, melting away.

Lubayd stood to face Captain Björk of the guard.

“Ah, Captain... I, uh... It’s just a harmless ditty, sir. Not about anyone at all!”

He wobbled a bit.

The captain turned him around and pushed him toward the door.

“Time to go home, Iranon. And mayhap time to think of different songs to sing.”

Lubayd’s shoulder his the doorway, and he grabbed it for support, then staggered into the street, mumbling to himself as he went.

The tavern was silent behind him.

* * *

Someone was hammering on the door.

Lubayd opened one eye, squinting in the afternoon sunlight.

“Open! Open in the name of the King!”

He heard someone—Basaaria—run to the door and throw it open.

“Yes, my lord, what...?”

“Silence!” came a roar of anger. “Where is the Iranon?”

“My husband is resting, my lord. I...”

“Your sot of a husband is collapsed in a drunken slumber, as always,” said the other. “And the King commands.”

“Yes, my lord. At once, my lord!”

Terrified, Basaaria ran to him, shaking his shoulders to awaken him.

“Who...?”

“The King, Lubayd! The king is here, with the Guard!”

“The King...? Here?”

He sat up, head pounding, room spinning.

Two soldiers pushed into the room and grabbed his arms, frog-marching him barefoot and ragged, out into the street. They threw him down onto his knees in front of the King’s palanquin.

“Iranon!”

He looked up at the King, gold crown radiant in the sunlight.

“You are a drunkard, and worse, you have insulted me,” said the King. “You are no longer the Iranon, no longer Songmaster to the King, and you shall no longer mouth such words.”

He waved to the guards.

“Cut out his tongue.”

He gaped in disbelief.

Basaaria threw herself to the ground in front of the king.

“My lord, please forgive my husband! Flog us for our error, and banish us, but please, my lord, please do not take my husband’s song!”

The King twitched his chin at Lubayd once more, signaling the guards to proceed.

A guard stepped forward with dagger in hand, and she grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back.

“Kill her,” said the king.

The guard dropped his knife, catching it in his left hand and plunging it up and into her chest.

“My... Lubayd...”

Blood spurted from her mouth as she clutched at her belly and collapsed.

“No! Mother!”

Ten-year old Eshan, his own small dagger clutched in his hands, leapt at the soldier.

Taken by surprise, the solder lifted his arm in defense against the sudden thrust, catching the blade on his forearm. Training told, and his dagger thrust once more, into the boy’s chest.

He fell to the ground without a word.

Teeth clenched in agony, Basaaria reached out her hand to touch his head.

“After you cut out his tongue, torch it all,” said the king, and waved to his carriers. The palanquin rose and moved smoothly down the street toward the palace. “Oh, and bring me Iranon’s lute, of course.”

Lubayd screamed in agony and struggled to escape from the men holding him to the butcher’s blade.

* * *

Donn’s cart, pulled by two horses, was full of wine jars, each sealed with wax and marked in dark red paint. He walked alongside, making sure the horses stayed calm and the wine jars safe.

He had finished buying the wine that morning—quality wines that would fetch a good price in Hlanith or Lhosk—and had just picked up the promised jars. Each jar was huge, almost up to his shoulder, and far heavier than he could move alone. The trip back east would be a slow one, he thought, and wondered how many guards he’d have to hire this time.

It was nice of that musician—everyone called him The Iranon, some sort of traditional position, he gathered—to buy him lunch and a few mugs of wine, even if it was just tavern piss. He thought again of the lute the man had played... that must be worth more than a dozen trading trips!

He sighed.

Probably some sort of sacred treasure, and they’d skin him alive for touching it or some such nonsense.

Better stick to trading.

Just up ahead there was a crowd of people, smoke billowing up into the air... a fire!

Local residents had formed bucket brigades, pulling water from a nearby fountain and dousing a few houses—the houses standing next to the one burning! They ignored the conflagration, instead doing their best to stop the blaze from spreading.

In front of the burning house lay three bodies—a woman and a boy, lying together in a pool of blood, her hand resting on his face, and a short distance away, a finely dressed man covered in blood, still moaning and writhing in pain.

Donn hesitated.

It could be dangerous to pry into unknown affairs, even here in Oonai, city of wine and music.

But there was something about that man...

He stopped in shock.

It was the Iranon!

Should he help the poor man, or... ?

No matter what may come, he thought, I cannot leave him to die!

He ran to the man, and pulled him up.

The other made no effort to stand on his own, almost drowning in his own blood, face caked with blood, tears, and sand.

Donn half-carried, half-dragged him to the cart and dropped him in like a sack of potatoes, then grabbed the whip from the front and snapped it.

His horses, already nervous from the flames, broke into a trot, and Donn ran alongside, pulling them down an alley and away from the fire as quickly as possible.

He heard the wine jars bumping into each other and grimaced.

I might lose a jar or two, he thought, but what of it? Who would cut his tongue out, for Ech Pi El’s sake? And why didn’t anyone try to help him?

He looked back. Nobody was following them, nobody seemed to care.

He threw a blanket over the man and kept the horses moving, but slowed a bit to try to save as much of his investment as possible. There was already a wine-stained crack on one jar, and if he lost too many he’d not recoup his costs on this trip, let alone turn a profit.

He had to get out of Oonai and do something about that wound as soon as possible.

* * *

A little cauterization, some potions, and a minor spell from a local Godsworn were sufficient to stop the bleeding and get the Iranon back on the road to physical health, but it was months before he finally began to take an interest in life again.

He could still speak to some extent, but it was extremely difficult to understand him, and he generally found it easier to just feign being a mute, and communicate through gestures, or writing.

Donn learned his story, that he had once been an almost sacred poet and musician in Oonai, the 42nd person to hold the name Iranon, and that his family had been killed and his tongue cut off because he lampooned the king.

He was no longer the Iranon, and wrote that he could no longer use his own name, Lubayd.

They decided that henceforth he would be Hakim.

Donn did make a profit on that wine after all, following the desert route south to Meroë instead of the more-traveled road east to Thran and Hlanith. And as they traveled his companion left more and more of himself in the past, and became dour Hakim through-and-through: mute Hakim of the panpipes, from some unknown hamlet in the Stony Desert.

He rarely smiled, except to children, and never wept. He never drank liquor again.

Over the years they even visited Oonai again, and silent Hakim kept his thoughts to himself as he noted a new house standing where his had once stood, and listened to market gossip about the king in his sickbed, and the epic battle between a wife and a concubine, both with sons they claimed were his.

* * *

It was freezing, and the wind from the Peaks of Thok cut through their furs like a knife.

Hakim huddled closer to the boat’s gunwale, trying to snuggle down out of the wind while keeping his body folded up as much as possible to retain the last vestige of warmth.

There was little shelter on the boat, and no point trying to warm themselves with a fire—the wind would carry all the heat away.

Donn, wrapped in furs without with only the merest glint of his eyes showing, sat square in the middle of the deck, looking as dead and immobile as the figurehead on the prow. Hakim knew he was watching their cargo, though, no matter the cold.

They’d traded their jade, wine, and dried fruit and meat for pelts in Sinara, and assuming the boat got them safely to onyx-walled Jaren on the coast, and they could hire a ship, they’d turn a good profit in Lhosk. Or even Celephaïs!

The road to Sinara had finally opened now that the siege was over and the besieging bandits from the mountains around Mt. Hatheg-Kla scattered.

They’d heard stories of the atrocities the bandits had wrought on the villagers of the region, and seen for themselves the crumbling fortifications and half-shattered gates of Sinara. The townspeople said it had been on the verge of being overrun entirely, after a long siege and continuous attacks, until Britomartis of Celephaïs had snuck into the bandits’ camp and killed their leaders, then attacked them from the rear with her troops while the defenders rode out on that final, famous sally that scattered the bandits for good.

Their shipment of food and drink had been the perfect choice for visiting merchants, and that jade sculpture from Ilarnek proved quite useful in settling on mutually agreeable terms with the lord there.

Rather than try to find more pack animals and pack sufficient rations to survive the snow-covered passes once again, they’d decided to hire a boat down the River Xari to Jaren. The ice was clear all the way, the rivermen reported, although still study enough to support a man’s weight along the banks. Unless the temperature dropped considerably, which would be quite unexpected for this time of year, they should be able to reach Jaren in about a month, they said.

A month was a long time to be floating down the river, but the boat would be stopping at villages along the way, or to replenish supplies, and it was certainly easier than driving a caravan through the drifts!

The riverboat was designed for the relatively shallow waters it navigated, equipped with a sail and oars for use when needed (usually when traveling upstream), but now just moving with the current.

After it flowed past Sinara, the Xari, fed by the countless streams flowing into it from the mountains, began to settle down into a powerful river, growing wider and deeper as it flowed to the sea. In the spring, as the snows melted or in the storms of autumn it turned into a monster, smashing boats and inundating riverside villages, but the snows were still crisp, and the river languid in the cold.

The captain—a grizzled bear of a man everyone called Rufe—pushed the tiller over, guiding the boat toward the starboard bank.

“We need more wood for the fire.”

“Hey, Rufe!” called one of the crew, “Maybe a nice fat deer, too?”

“Won’t find many fat deer this time of the year,” laughed the captain, “but we might as well stock up a bit if we can. Gettin’ tired of fish.”

The boat crunched into the ice shelf, splintering it up into thin plates of translucent cold.

The hull grated on the bottom; dry land was only a meter away, assuming there was indeed dry land under the packed snowbank overhanging the ice.

Gen and B’tolo jumped into the snow, bows in hand, and headed into the woods. Donn and Hakim joined Rufe and another crew, Jerem, with axes.

“There’s a likely one there,” said Donn,” pointing at a fallen tree.

He walked over for a closer look.

“Looks like it’s been down a year or more,” he said. “Don’t see any rot, either.”

The other joined him and looked more closely.

“Sure, looks fine to me,” agreed Rufe. “Not real happy about those claw scars, but the bear that made them is long gone.”

He turned to Jerem and Hakim.

“You two want to get started on the branches, and me and Donn’ll work from the bottom up.”

Jerem grunted assent, and began hacking branches off. Hakim waded through the snow toward the top of the tree, lopping off a few saplings on the way, and set to work there.

Donn and the captain squared off on opposite sides of the trunk and began chopping into it with alternating swings, settling into a repeating thud-thud-thud rhythm of axeblades. Chips flew.

After they were done with the trunk, hours later, they got out the wedges and began splitting it into more easily handled pieces. The stove on the boat could handle pretty big chunks, but it was a lot easier to throw in smaller chunks than a hundred-kilo log.

As they were sitting on their work and resting, they heard footsteps crunching through the snow, and looked up to see Gen and B’tolo trudging back to the boat. Gen had the body of a doe draped over his shoulders, but the stains on B’tolo’s furs made it clear they’d taken turns.

“Looks like we’re having venison tonight!”

“A good, healthy doe, captain,” said B’tolo. “We wanted the buck—a real prize, and a beautiful rack—but he took off as soon as we got close enough to spot him. The doe wasn’t so smart.”

“The doe ain’t as heavy, neither,” grumbled Gen. “Woulda taken both of us to haul that buck back here, even if we butchered him there.”

“Where do you want us to do it, Rufe? Shouldn’t take that long here, once we get a frame set.”

“It’ll be getting dark soon,” said the captain. “Let’s get back on board and push off again. Never can tell what might be waiting in these woods.”

“Yup. I’ll get a frame set up on the stern, then,” said B’tolo, picking up an armload of cut wood and walking toward the boat. “C’mon, Gen, get off your ass!”

Gen hefted the deer on his shoulders, settling the weight.

“Pity you don’t have muscles of a real man, B’tolo.”

“I got all the muscles I need right between my legs, which is more’n you can say!”

“Pity you only need that much!” retorted Gen, treading the beaten path to the boat. “Why, the last time I was in Lhosk...”

Their bickering voices faded into the wind.

“Best we get back to the boat, too,” said Jerem. She gathered her own armful and followed the pair.

The rest of them followed suit, and after a few more trips they were all back onboard and drifting with the current once again.

It was still freezing, and the wind from the Peaks of Thok still cut deep, but sizzling hot venison and tea helped.

* * *

By the time the onyx walls and towers of Jaren came into view the river was wider than they could see across. It split into numerous channels here, dotted with small islands that appeared and vanished again with the changing tides and seasons.

The river was quite deep where the quays of Jaren stood, and a stone breakwater made sure the worst of the current stayed outside. It was late winter, so there were only two other riverboats and three ocean-worthy ships moored. It took a good ship and crew to brave the northern seas at this time of year, and even river travel could be deadly for the inexperienced.

The captain swung the boat expertly up against the quay, and Jerem and B’tolo jumped ashore to tie up the hawsers fore and aft, pulling the boat up closer to the stones of the quay.

Three guards walked up to greet them as the finished.

“Welcome, Rufe. We didn’t expect to see you back until the ice melted,” said the older man, apparently in charge.

“Sergeant O’brina, good to see you’ve survived another Jaren winter!”

The guard chuckled.

“I expect we were warmer here with our hearths than you with you little stove!”

“Aye, I expect you were, Sergeant O’brina, I expect you were,” replied the captain. “These traders—Masters Donn and Hakim of Dylath-Leen—hired us to bring their pelts to port, and here we are.”

“Ice clear all the way to Sinala?”

“Was when we came through,” replied Rufe. “It’s getting pretty thin along the shore, too... If this weather keeps up I’d expect the spring floods to be starting up in a week, maybe ten days or so.”

“So you’ll be staying awhile, then.”

“Yup, ’fraid you’ll be stuck with me for a while. Not gonna row all that way against the floodwaters unless someone wants to pay me to do it!” said the captain as he handed over a small bag. “Harbor tax.”

The guard hefted it once. It clinked.

“Thank you, Captain. You’re free to enter the city.”

Donn stepped forward and nodded his head in greeting.

“Sergeant O’brina, Donn of Dylath-Leen,” he introduced himself. “Where would I find the captains of those merchanters?”

“That one’s from Inganok,” he said, pointed at an ugly black ship that made Donn’s skin crawl. “The other two, though, might be available. The one with the red pennant is an independent trader from Baharna and farther south who comes through every few years; the double crescent is, of course, one of Chóng’s ships.”

The black ship was difficult to make out clearly in the winter sky, a blob of darkness that ate the wan sunlight and shadows, hiding all detail. He’d heard tales of Inganok ships and their crews, and had little desire to find out that truth behind them. Strange men with long, narrow eyes, long-lobed ears, thin noses, and pointed chins, they brought most of the onyx used in Jaren.

Chóng, on the other hand, had an excellent reputation as far as he knew. An honest merchant who would scrupulously stick to the terms of the bargain, but never gave as much as a speck of dust away for free. Donn figured he’d rather have honest and tough than potentially deadly.

He knew nothing about the trader from Baharna, but why take the chance? Chóng’s reputation made him the first choice.

“Hakim, can you handle the cargo? I’ll try to arrange passage on Chóng’s freighter.”

Hakim nodded, and turned back to watch their furs being unloaded onto the wharf.

They could rent storage space in a shed if necessary, but it wouldn’t hurt the furs any to sit on the wharf for a night, either. As long as nobody stole them...

Donn hunched his shoulders into the wind.

Rufe had said today was warm and spring coming, but the icy wind slipping inside his coat sure didn’t feel like spring to him.

He couldn’t wait to arrange transport and head to the nearest tavern for some warm ale in front of a fire.

Chóng’s ship—the Blue Duck, it said—was a four-masted caravel with a square sail on the foremast and lateens on the other three. It was in good shape. Not new, certainly, and not especially clean, but Donn could see that everything was in the right place and looked ready for use. Damage from some collision—or battle—had been properly repaired, the rigging and sails were old but well-maintained and properly furled, and the watchman huddled on the stern deck noticed me immediately. Alert in spite of the cold.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen. Is the captain aboard?”

“Not likely in this cold!” he snorted. “He’s at the Scruffy Cat, drinking and warming his toes, I don’t doubt.”

“Thank you,” Donn replied. “I tell him to bring you a cup of something hot.”

“And someone cute and warm to bring it!”

Donn laughed and trudged back through the wind toward the town.

There were a few alehouses and inns facing the wharf, and the third one he looked at had a dirty sign reading “Scruffy Cat,” with a carved statue of a mountain lion next to it.

He pulled open the door and stepped in, slamming it shut behind him and standing for a moment to let his eyes adjust.

It was an average tavern, maybe a touch smaller than most... a dozen wood tables scattered across the sawdusty floor, oil lamps burning on the walls and stanchions, a few barrels and kegs lined up behind the counter, two dozen customers sitting at tables or standing in front of the stone fireplace, a serving woman with a platter, and a mustached old man behind the counter wearing a leather apron and a scowl.

I decided the old man was the best place to start, and plopped a coin on the counter to lubricate conversation.

“Ale, please.”

“We got two: light and dark. Which one ya want?”

“The stronger one.”

He cracked a smile, revealing that his scowl wasn’t a permanent facial feature and that he was missing a few teeth.

“That’d be dark, then. Warm ya right up, it will.”

He picked up a mug and held it under the tap on the larger barrel, filling it with a stream of black ale. He wiped it briefly with a rag and handed it over.

Donn was impressed. It was filled almost to the brim. An honest innkeeper!

He hoisted it in thanks, accompanied by a nod, then turned to survey the room.

“Where would I find the captain of the Blue Duck?”

The innkeeper pointed to three man eating dinner at a table off to the side.

“The one with the ferret on his shoulder.”

“Thanks.”

He walked over to the table, and caught the man’s eye.

The captain looked up, obviously wondering what he wanted.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen. I just got in from Sinala with a load of furs. I’m looking for transport to Hlanith or Lhosk.”

“Chow of Lhosk. You just asked about the Blue Duck, so you already know I work for Chóng. We’re heading back to Hlanith as soon as our load arrives, which should be tomorrow, weather permitting.”

“Hlanith would be perfect. We’ve a pretty big load... took up most of Captain Rufe’s boat.”

“You came down with Captain Rufe? If he trusted you, I think I can trust you, too. If it fit on his boat, it’ll fit in our hold. Just furs?”

“Just furs. Fleshed, stretched, and dried. Bundled without any frames.”

Chow nodded.

“Easy to handle, then... and in this weather, no pests hiding in the fur, either.”

“If they’re hiding they’ll be there ’til spring,” agreed Donn.

The captain waved his dagger, a piece of meat still hanging off the tip, at one of the other men.

“Qway, go down and see how much he’s got, will ya?”

Qway, a short, black man, didn’t look happy.

“C’mon, cap’n... lemme finish my food while it’s hot at least!”

The captain hmphed.

“Eat. And when you go why don’t you relieve Tom on watch, too.”

Qway almost snarled as he bit into a hunk of bread and tore off a mouthful.

Captain Chow ignored him and waved at an empty spot on the bench.

“Sit, Master Donn. Will you join us for dinner?”

“Gladly, Captain, thank you. My partner will be here soon, too... he’s arranging storage for the night.”

“Plenty of room.” The captain waved his arm. “Kinçalla! Some food for Master Donn here, and another on the way!”

Kinçalla—the innkeeper, as it turned out—called out a long “He–ya” and vanished into the back room.

Captain Chow lifted his own mug to Donn in a toast.

“To spring, may She come soon.”

“To spring,” echoed Donn, bumping his mug into the other’s.

They each downed a gulp; Chow slamming his now-empty mug onto the tabletop, and Donn holding his ready for seconds.

“Master Donn, you like goat meat?”

“Not my favorite, but I’ve had worse.”

“Well, tonight it’s goat meat, I’m afraid. Kinçalla only serves one dish, and tonight that’s it.”

“If it’s warm, I’ll eat it and be happy,” said Donn, taking another sip of the ale. “There aren’t a lot of inns to choose from when you’re on the road, and I’m always on the road.”

“A man after my own heart,” smiled Chow. “Kinçalla! Three more ales!”

He turned to the woman still quietly at the table, eating steadily while they talked.

“Alanna here hates goat, don’t you?”

She nodded, chewing steadily on something as she did.

“Alanna hales from down south.”

“You mean, like Baharna and Dylath-Leen? I’m from Dylath-Leen; spent a lot of time in the region.”

A serving woman appeared to drop a large plate of steaming meat and potatoes, drenched in some brownish sauce, in front of Donn.

He nodded, and pulled out a dagger, picking up the fork she’d handed him with the other.

“At least it’s hot!”

As he cut the meat he glanced at Alanna.

“So where’re you from? Tharalion? Zar?”

Alanna set her fork down, and abruptly stood. “Sorry, I don’t feel well.”

She turned and left Donn stunned behind.

He turned to Chow.

“What...? Did I say something wrong?”

“She’s not one for looking back, Master Donn. Might be a good idea not to mention it again.”

He stared into his mug for a moment, then took a slug.

“So you grew up down there, did you?”

“Yes... I travelled through the area with my father for years,” answered Donn, still wondering at the sharp reaction to an innocent question. “Like me, he preferred the land to the sea, but we visited Zar, Thalarion, and Baharna several times over the years. After he passed I continued his business, but rarely go to sea.”

“But you seek passage with us.”

“The routes to the south are impassible until spring, and I’d rather pay you to ferry my wares south now than wait here for the geese to come honking.”

Chow nodded, then looked up toward the door.

Hakim had arrived, and stood in the doorway brushing off snowflakes. He shook himself like a bear, his furs shedding caked snow easily.

Donn waved, catching Hakim’s eye.

He walked over to join them, shedding furs as he came.

“My partner, Hakim. He’s mute.”

Chow raised an eyebrow but nodded to Hakim as he approached.

“Chow of Lhosk.”

Hakim wriggled his fingers at Donn, who spoke for him: “Hakim of Dylath-Leen.”

He turned to Hakim and explained that Chow was the captain of the Blue Duck.

“Hakim says the furs are safe for the night, and we can load them any time tomorrow. Or even tonight, if you’re in a hurry.”

“Tomorrow’s fine,” said Chow. “Our own cargo should be here and loaded tomorrow, if all goes well. We can leave as soon as the cargo’s ready.

“Kinçalla! More ale! And another meal!” he called, receiving a muffled “He–ya!” from the back room in reply.

The serving woman brought over another mug of ale for each of them, and cleaned up Alanna’s leftovers.

The three of them turned to discussing the weather (colder than usual, but nobody had lost any toes yet), the Siege of Sinara and Britomartis, and the excellence of the ale—mostly Chow and Donn, but every so often Hakim would contribute something via Donn.

Hakim was dressed in browns and greys, and moved very quietly. He could make sounds, of course, but few people could understand him and it was generally easiest to just remain silent. Most onlookers assumed he was dumb in both senses of the word and tended to ignore him entirely. It was painful to be left out, but at the same time he’d picked up a lot of valuable information because it never seemed to occur to people his hearing worked fine.

They dickered over the charges, and reached an agreement that nobody was entirely happy with but everyone thought reasonable. The Blue Duck would sail to Hlanith, replenishing food and water somewhere on the jungled Kled coast a few times.

They arranged a room at the Scruffy Cat; it turned out that Captain Chow and his men were staying there, too, except for the poor soul on guard duty on the ship.

Later that night, they decided to check on their furs once more before retiring for the night. Captain Rufe had recommended that warehouse as trustworthy, but it never hurt to be sure. And being suspicious had saved them more than once already.

The skies were mostly clear, with a few ragged clouds scudding across the night sky.

The snow crunched softly underfoot and an unwary step could lead to a nasty fall, but at least it wasn’t snowing. Perhaps the weather would be good tomorrow after all.

The warehouse was only a few hundred meters away, and they could clearly see the warm glow of the firepit in front, and the silhouettes of the two guards on duty huddled in front of it. They looked cold, but no asleep.

They walked up quietly, and were pleasantly surprised when the guards noticed them before they got very close. Good ears, Donn figured. And apparently they took their jobs seriously, he realized, noticing that they both had their swordbelts strapped on over their furs, and there was no sign they’d been drinking.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen,” he called. “My partner Hakim was here earlier with our cargo.”

“Master Donn, Master Hakim,” replied one of the guards, taking his hand off his sword. “Bu-Cholis of Jaren. All is well here.”

“So I see. Our first time here in Jaren, and we just wanted to check.”

“No problem, Master Donn. Need to check inside?”

“No need. Thanks.”

He turned to Hakim, who nodded agreement.

The guards seemed to know what they were doing.

They walked back through the snow toward the inn.

Suddenly Hakim grunted and grasped Donn’s arm, pulling him into the dark shadow of a building.

Ahead of them, in the alley next to the Scruffy Cat, Donn could make out three blots of even darker shadow.

People.

They stood and watched for a minute—the three men were talking in low tones.

Donn could barely hear the rumble of their voices but could only make out a scattered word here and there.

He started to move closer but Hakim pressed his hand against his chest, holding him in place.

He glanced at Hakim, and saw that he was straining to catch every word.

The three decided whatever they had been talking about, and slipped silently away again.

Hakim let his hand slip, and took a deep breath.

“Paper,” he spit out, mangling the word that nobody but Donn could have understood.

“Let’s get inside,” said Donn, checking to be sure nobody else was lurking in the night. They walked back to the inn. There were still a few people at the tables, drinking, but not the three men they’d just seen.

Captain Chow and Alanna were gone. Donn thought some of the drinkers might be his crew, but didn’t know for sure.

They went up the narrow stairs, to their room.

As soon as they closed the door, Hakim whipped out his slate and began writing on it with the soft gray stone they’d found. It wasn’t very easy to read, but it was a lot faster—and cheaper—than using parchment and a quill every time. Hakim could no longer pronounce “slate,” so they’d settled on “paper” instead.

Slave catchers from Sisters, he wrote. He had to erase every so often to write new words, because the slate was so small.

The Sisters of Mercy... they ran orphanages throughout much of the Dreamlands, taking in children orphaned by war or disaster, or abandoned by starving families. And, in return for raising the children, they kept them as slaves. The practice of slavery was outlawed in a number of cities and kingdoms, including Celephaïs, but the Sisters were everywhere.

As were their brothels.

500 bounty for woman. Tonite. Alanna?, Hakim continued.

“They must be after Alanna,” said Donn.

Hakim nodded.

“Tell Chow?”

“Of course. We swore long ago to fight this,” agreed Donn.

He rose and stepped into the hallway.

There were several doors, and he had no idea which one belonged to Chow.

“Captain Chow!” he called. “There’s a small problem with our cargo, and I need to speak with you!”

There was a loud thump from the room across the hallway, and the door opened a crack.

After checking to be sure it was really Donn and not thieves, Chow stepped out, naked blade in hand.

“Master Donn.”

“Captain. Sorry to bother you, but we just went to check on our furs and there’s something we need to discuss.”

“Here? Now?”

“It’s quite important... Could you join us for a minute?”

Quite suspicious at the unexpected invitation at such a late hour, Chow looked into their room to see Hakim sitting unarmed on a bench, slate held up for him to read: Slavers. Sisters. Tonite.

Donn leaned close and explained what they had seen and overheard, in whispers.

Chow touched his hand to his brow as he nodded his head in thanks. He tapped on two other doors along the hallway, whispering to the crew who answered. Alanna and two other women were in one of the rooms. They moved to the captain’s room, with a few other crew in attendance, while four more went back downstairs wearing light armor and grim expressions.

Tom, the man who’d been on guard on the Blue Duck, snuffed all the lamps along the hallway, and they waited in the dark silence.

An hour passed before they heard a faint thump, the sound of a padded ladder hitting the edge.

Chow checked his men, catching their eyes to be sure they’d all heard it and were ready.

The shutters on the women’s room were suddenly thrown open and two men leapt in, swords raised to strike. The waiting crew met them with drawn sword and axe, killing one instantly and hacking the sword arm of the second to leave him sitting on the floor, gritting his teeth in pain and anger.

Another man jumped into the room Donn and Hakim were in, holding a long, curved knife in each hand. Donn, standing against the wall to the side of the window, stuck his dagger into the man’s ear and he collapsed on the spot.

Outside, he could hear the sounds of another short fight—Donn guessed the four men he’d seen earlier had circled around to see who might be waiting on the ground below. And found them.

In a short time the lamps were lit and the bodies counted.

They had no casualties, although one of the men outside had been hit by a falling ladder. Only one of the slave catchers was still alive: four men had broken into Alanna’s room and the rooms on both sides, plus the lone man on the ground was five.

Chow squatted in front of the survivor, who snarled “We have a slave warrant for Sasha, you bastards!”

“Perhaps you should have brought that up before you jumped into our rooms with weapons drawn,” countered Chow. “We know how to deal with robbers.”

“Nobody here named Sasha,” added one of the crew.

A slave warrant gave them flimsy cover to recover escaped slaves as missing property. Slave catchers were generally despised, but with a warrant they could usually count on the local guard to back them up, even if the warrant was issued elsewhere—as it almost always was.

“How many people in your party?”

“Only us four,” the man spat, and was rewarded with a fist to the face.

“Another lie and you’re a dead man,” said Chow. “How many?”

The man spit out some blood and growled, “Five.”

The innkeeper showed up behind them, looking into the room.

“Thieves?”

“Robbers broke in,” said Chow without taking his eyes off the bound prisoner. “We’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll bring some sawdust for the floor,” said the innkeeper. “I charge extra to get rid of bodies.”

Chow smiled. “The sharks’ll take care of it all.”

He turned back to the captive.

“Now, what are we going to do with you?” he asked.

Alanna, face still hidden in her cowl, sprang forward, dagger in hand.

Chow caught her arm, barely saving the fallen man’s life.

“Not now, not now,” he admonished. “Besides, his artery’s cut and he won’t last long. Let nature take its course, my dear.”

She struggled, but even as she tried to pull her hand from Chow’s grasp, the man on the floor slipped away, eyes rolling up into his head. Unconscious, and soon to be dead from blood loss.

“Dammit! I wanted to find out how he tracked us!” complained Chow. “Nobody should know who she is!”

Captain Chow stood, shaking his head.

“Well, we’d have thrown him in later anyway... pity, though. There might be more of these vermin about.”

“Master Donn, Master Hakim, perhaps some warm tea before we retire for the night?” asked Chow, holding his arm out in invitation. “Alanna, would you join us?

Donn agreed, leading the way back downstairs.

As they passed the doorway to the kitchen, Chow stuck his head in and asked for a pot of tea.

“That was more than three men. They didn’t mention any more?” he asked once they sat down.

“They didn’t say. There were only three then, but... there might be more watching even now!”

They scanned the few remaining guests in the inn. Nobody seemed to be listening, but on the other hand how many people were still sitting in an inn’s tavern this early in the morning?

Alanna watched them through the vapor rising from her cup.

“I despise slavery, too, although I’ve been fortunate to avoid it thus far,” added Donn.

“As do I,” agreed Chow, “But it is unusual for a man, a trader, to involve himself in their affairs. They are known for their long memories.”

“Some things cannot be stomached,” growled Donn. “Slaver or brigand, they’re all the same to us.”

“Thank you.”

It was Alanna, a soft voice on the verge of a sob.

“If they had taken me back to Zar... I would rather die!”

Donn laid his hand lightly atop hers.

“So you are Sasha, then? Well, they won’t take you back. Not while we’re here, at least.”

“Sasha is what they called me. It was never my name!” she said, face lifted to reveal eyes bright with tears.

The captain drummed his fingers on his teacup.

“I wish we’d be able to question him, find out where he got his information.” He thought for a moment, sipping. “I think we’d better plan on leaving as soon as possible.”

“We’ll get loaded at first light,” said Donn, glancing to confirm Hakim’s nod. “But they know where we’re headed, in any case.”

“Oh, they won’t bother us at sea. We can outrun or outfight vermin like that,” snorted Chow. “But they may be waiting for us in Hlanith.”

“No way to get word there in advance?”

“Not anymore... I used my last dragolet at Midwinter,” said Chow. “What I can do, though, is put a man ashore and stay at sea a day or two so he can make some preparations.”

“That sounds like an outstanding idea,” smiled Donn. “And if there is someone waiting we can give them a proper welcome.”

* * *

Chow posted a guard for the night, although there were only a few hours left until the pale sun crept up out of the ocean.

Donn and Hakim rose with the sun to find that the bodies had all vanished. Captain Chow just said he cleaned things up a bit and left out the details. Recalling his comment about sharks, Donn figured he didn’t need the details anyway.

The guard at the warehouse had changed, but the new guard was awake and alert, too... he was busy chopping wood for the firepit in front of the building.

“Morning to you,” called Donn, pulling an empty sledge behind him over the ice and snow. “We’re here to pick up our cargo.”

The guard rang the bell, letting the owner know they’d come—the owner knew their faces, and would let them in.

The three of them stood near the fire, warming their hands.

“Heard some slave catchers were in the Cat last night. That have anything to do with you?”

“Strange, I didn’t hear a thing,” said Donn. “We came out here late last night to check, and went to sleep right after.”

“Huh. Could’a sworn I heard swords.”

“Can’t imagine what slave catchers would be doing around here in the snow!” laughed Donn.

“No, me neither... strange, though...”

The owner trudged up, looking quite unhappy to be dragged out of warmth to the freezing warehouse so early in the day. He confirmed that Donn was indeed the man who had stored the cargo yesterday, and since he’d paid in advance (of course!) was free to reclaim his goods.

Donn and Hakim loaded the sledge with furs and hauled it back toward the waiting Blue Duck.

The crew was already hard at work, prepping the ship for departure and checking stores. Apparently Captain Chow had sent a messenger to the cargo hauler he had been waiting for, and had them break camp in the middle of the night to arrive early this morning.

Most of the goods he was loading were furs, too, and Donn noted that they seemed about the same quality as his own—or maybe just a bit worse.

He grinned in anticipation of the bargaining waiting for him in Hlanith, determined to sell his better furs for more than Chow could get for his selection!

They pushed off well before noon.

As soon as the city was out of sight five large bags, roughly man-sized and man-heavy, were dropped unceremoniously overboard.

* * *

The weather was beautiful, but even in the sunshine the wind slashed through Donn’s furs. There was ice on the ropes and rails, and it could be dangerous walking the decks. The cabins weren’t not much warmer, but at least you could get out of the wind.

That same wind caused a fair amount of chop, and as the boat rode the waves up and down and up and down and again and again, Donn recalled exactly why he preferred land routes. He wasn’t seasick, quite, but he wasn’t happy, either.

Hakim, on the other hand, seemed largely insensitive to the wind, legs dangling over the side of the stern castle, playing various sea chanties on his panpipes. His face and hands were exposed to the wind, red and chapped, but he played on... and in spite of the wind, his tunes carried clearly across the deck.

The crew knew the words, of course, and throughout the day often hummed or sang along under their breaths.

Even Captain Chow was in a good mood, and the freezing north wind billowed their sails, speeding them on their way.

Donn occupied himself by fishing off the stern, donating his catch, minor as it was, to the cook.

He was used to Hakim’s pipes, and often found himself humming along with tunes he knew. Although crew, Alanna often spent her free moments sitting nearby, listening or watching the waves. They gradually began to speak to one another, and discovered they both loved music, and sunsets, and the spicy rice cuisine of Zar, smothered in red peppers and octopus.

He’d spent some years in Zar in his youth and they talked of places they’d been or people met. They’d moved in different circles, but overlapped enough to have shared memories.

She revealed that Alanna was also a false name, chosen to help hide her from the slave catchers. She hesitated when he asked, but finally revealed that her real name was Pensri. She said it meant “maiden of the moon” in her mother’s tongue.

Donn thought to himself that with long, black hair framing her round, Asian face, the name was perfect. He kept his thought to himself, though.

A few idle days later, the captain turned the ship west, toward the Kled coast.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m getting tired of salt beef and fish. Some fresh game and fresh water would be right nice about now.”

Everyone heartily approved his opinion, and the rocky coastline came into view later that day.

The captain ordered the anchor and the longboat dropped, and let the crew select a party of six to go ashore. Neither Donn nor Hakim was invited, and so they watched the longboat plow through the whitecaps toward a tiny, stony inlet that offered some protection from the surf.

The crew left one man to watch the boat, and vanished into the trees.

Most of the crew took advantage of the stop to enjoy napping or fishing, noting that the captain himself was stretched out on the stern castle enjoying the sun.

When the lookout tried to clamber down from the crow’s nest, though, the captain warned him to finish his shift, without even opening his eyes. He was keeping a close watch on his ship even if he did seem to be napping!

In the late afternoon the men appeared with two deer, and pushed off to bring back the fresh-caught game.

They battled their way back through the surf to the ship, and the rest of the crew helped them climb back aboard, hoisting up the deer carcasses and the longboat. The cook had already set up a frame for the deer and got to work at once with his knives.

Qway, the short-tempered Pargite, had a bloody cloth wrapped around his head.

The captain looked concerned.

“Trouble?”

One of the other crew laughed.

“No trouble, Cap’n. Poor Qway here was so eager to get that buck he rammed his head into a tree!”

Qway stomped off below to laughter.

The anchor came up, the sails down, and the ship moved back asea as it caught the wind.

A few days later the crew began to spot farms on the coast, and Captain Chow ordered them to drop anchor. They were still well away from the harbor, along the settled coastline north of the city.

“Tom, I want you and Qway to go into the city and set things up.”

The crew encircled Chow, listening closely.

“We don’t know if those scum are waiting here or not, but damned if I’m going to help them. I could put her ashore here easily enough, but we just don’t know where they might be hiding, or how many of them there are.”

There was a rumble of agreement from the crew. A few of them had experience with being press-ganged, others with slavery, and as paid crew they hated slavery as much as they loved their freedom.

“Most of all, she’s one of us, and we protect our own,” he continued. “Don’t bother looking for them... if they’re there at all they’ll be doing their best to remain unnoticed. Go to our branch there and talk to Factor Raibel. If Factor Chóng is around, by all means get him involved. We’ll need a way to get Alanna off the ship to safety, because they will surely bring the guard and demand to inspect us.

“Raibel knows the city better than me, ask him what to do, and one of you come back here and tell me how he wants to handle it. If you aren’t back in three days I’m heading to Lhosk instead.”

Tom and Qway nodded.

“OK, get the longboat in the water, then,” he commanded, and half a dozen crew got the longboat loaded and launched.

He turned to Donn.

“Do you want to go in with them now, or come with us? I can even unload your cargo here if you insist, but I’d rather use the big wharf in Hlanith.”

Donn and Hakim looked at each other; Hakim wriggled his fingers.

“No reason to go to all that trouble, Captain. We’re happy to sit here fishing for another day or two.”

“Good.” Chow turned to the rest of the crew, still standing around and listening. “What are you all still doing here? Back to work! Get this all squared away, and make her shine! You know Raibel wants his ships neat and clean!”

They scattered to their tasks.

Two days later the lookout called down from the nest: “They’re back, Cap’n!”

Captain Chow pulled out his telescope and scanned the shore.

Qway was there with somebody else.

The other man pulled off his hat, showing his face more clearly.

It was Factor Raibel, the man managing the Hlanith branch of Chóng trading empire.

“Launch the longboat,” called Chow. “I’m going with you this time.”

The crew took the longboat to the pebbly beach, picking up Qway and Raibel and ferrying them all back to the Bue Duck.

Factor Raibel was a tall, thin, silver-haired man with drooping mustache and no left hand.

He greeted most of the crew by name as he came aboard, and stopped when he noticed Donn and Hakim.

“Raibel of Lhosk,” he introduced himself.

“Donn and Hakim, both of Dylath-Leen.”

“Captain Chow has told me what happened,” he said. “Thank you for helping avert a rather awkward situation.”

“Of course, Factor,” smiled Donn. “It is every honest man’s duty to prevent robbery.”

Neither of them mentioned the slave catchers or the Sisters of Mercy.

Raibel gave a slight bow and walked with Captain Chow up onto the stern castle, far enough away to talk without being overheard.

To avoid any suspicion of undue interest—and, indeed, they had none—Donn and Hakim walked to the prow to admire the clouds.

Chow called for some tea, which the cook brought promptly, and after about half an hour called for Donn and Hakim to join them.

He explained what they’d cooked up: they would sail for Chóng’s dock as usual, expecting that any slave catchers would see them and gather there. At the last minute the ship would turn and instead dock on the spit—a long, thin strip of land that served as a breakwater for the main harbor, and had its own wharves and warehouses. While it was only a short distance away by water, it would take anyone a considerable time to get there by land, even on horseback.

Raibel would make sure that all the available boats would be busy during that time, which would give the crew of the Blue Duck enough time to unload Donn’s cargo, with Alanna hidden inside a bale of furs. A waiting horse-drawn cart would transport them and their cargo to one of Chóng’s warehouses where Alanna could emerge safely.

Even better, Raibel agreed that he would purchase Donn’s furs at an excellent price, to repay him for his cooperation.

Donn thought about it, and spoke privately with Hakim for a few minutes. Hakim smiled and shrugged his shoulders, letting Donn make the decision.

“I’ve never dealt with slave catchers or the Sisters,” said Donn, turning back to Chow and Raibel. “What is the usual bounty on a recaptured slave? And who is in charge of buying and selling slaves for the Sisters in Hlanith?”

The two others bristled at his questions, but he reassured them.

“I have a different suggestion,” he said, and explained his idea. It only took a few minutes for them to agree, smiles all around.

“Take the factor back to shore,” called Chow to the crew. “Qway, go with him and make sure he gets back to Hlanith safely.”

He called out in a louder voice, “We’ll be sailing into Hlanith tomorrow morning. We’ll be mooring at Chóng’s dock as usual, but there will be some surprises this time.”

He called the crew closer so he didn’t have to shout, and explained in detail before regaining his usual captain’s voice: “All right, everyone back to work! Raibel was quite unhappy with those crusty foulers portside!”

The crew was not thrilled to be chipping barnacles from the hull, especially when still at sea, but they had ale and companionship to look forward to the next day. And since the ship was fully loaded, most of the barnacles were well underwater where they couldn’t be seen—or removed—without beaching or drydock.

When the longboat came back it brought with it enough mutton and fresh vegetables for the night, and Captain Chow ordered one of their kegs of ale opened.

* * *

The next morning everyone was up with the sun, and the Blue Duck picked up speed with the morning breeze, heading toward the towers and smoke of Hlanith on the horizon.

About half an hour later they were approaching the breakwater, and the captain all but one lanteen furled, cutting their speed to a crawl. The harbor was crawling with ships, boats, and houseboats, and Raibel (and Chóng!) would be most unhappy if they rammed somebody on the way in. It cost money, and more importantly, good will, and to a merchant the latter was perhaps more important than the former.

The docks were already swarming with sailors, longshoreman, merchants, guards, and layabouts. Raibel had opened up a space on the wharf, and Captain Chow’s sure hand brought the ship to kiss the wharf with barely a bump. The dock crew grabbed the hawsers and wound them up right around the bollards, but the ship had already burned most of her momentum and there was almost no need to snub her at all.

As soon as the Blue Duck was still, Donn and Alanna jumped ashore, together with half a dozen sailors. Hakim stayed with their cargo, helping the crew get started unloading the ship.

They walked down the wharf toward the city proper, and almost immediately were stopped by a group of armed men, accompanied by city guards.

“We have a warrant to reclaim stolen property, namely one slave going by the name of Sasha,” cried the bearded man at the head of the group.

One of the guards nodded. “The warrant is valid, I’m afraid, and he claims that woman is the stolen slave.”

Alanna dropped her hood, exposing her face.

“That’s her!” cried the man. “That’s Sasha! Look at this picture!”

He waved a hand-drawn picture of her, and it was indeed a close match.

Donn smiled.

“Yes, I know this is the stolen property,” he explained, standing between her and the slave catchers. “And as an honest man I am bringing her to the city guard myself, to hand her over and claim the bounty.”

He turned to the guard sergeant.

“Sergeant? May I ask you to escort us to the guard office to deliver her to the proper authorities?”

The sergeant, at a loss by the way things had suddenly changed—he had been expecting a fight, based on what the slave catchers had told him—nodded. “Of course, Master Donn... it’s just right ahead.”

“Hey, I have the warrant! That’s my bounty!” shouted the other man.

The sergeant pushed him aside; obviously he had no love for the slave catchers, and now he treated Donn with the same derision. “Master Donn has said he will turn the slave over, and that means he gets the bounty. Get out of the way.”

They marched down the street, making a strange procession with Donn and Alanna in the center, surrounded by multiple layers of armed men: first sailors, then city guards, and finally slave catchers straggling along behind, determined not to be left out of any payment.

“Captain? Master Donn here has recovered stolen property in accordance with the warrant issued by the Sisters of Mercy, and wants to claim the bounty.”

The captain, a scarred warrior who looked like he would rather be sleeping, looked at Donn, and Alanna.

“You are the slave known as Sasha?”

“I am,” she admitted quietly.

“And you deliver her, and claim the bounty offered by the Sisters?”

“Yes,” said Donn, and waved Alanna forward.

“Well, that’s that, then,” said the captain, and waved his hand at the slave catchers standing in the doorway. “Off with you now. Warrant’s done now.”

They left, grumbling.

The guard captain counted out ten gold pieces, told Alanna to sit on the bench next to his desk, and chained her leg to it.

“Sorry, girl, but there’s no helping it. The Sisters will be here to collect you shortly.

“And you, Master Donn,” he snapped. “Your business is done. I’ll thank you to get out of my sight now!”

“Ah, but there are still two small matters to take care of, captain...”

Donn handed back the ten gold, and reached into his shirt to draw out a small bag that clinked.

He counted out another ten, twenty, thirty gold coins, and added them to the growing pile on the captain’s table.

“I believe a slave may be purchased from the Sisters of Mercy for two hundred grams of gold—in this case, forty gold coins, I think you will agree after examining them—and the city guard has an arrangement with the Sisters that allows such transactions to be handled through the city guard, correct?”

The captain looked at him quizzically.

“Yes...”

“Then I now claim this slave as my own,” announced Donn. “Free her, please.”

The captain slowly freed the slave, then pulled out parchment and pen and began to write out a receipt. Donn handed him a rolled parchment: “Here, let me save you the trouble, captain. I have one already prepared.”

The captain took it and scanned it, then suddenly stopped and looked at Donn in astonishment.

Donn smiled.

“I stand witness,” stated the guard captain abruptly. “You have legally purchased this slave, and the Sisters no longer have any call on her.”

“Thank you, captain,” said Donn, pulling Alanna to stand next to him.

“And one final thing, if I may... would you be so kind as to witness my statement of emancipation?”

“With pleasure, Master Donn, with pleasure!”

“As legal owner of the slave known as Sasha and as Alanna, I hereby declare her a free woman, and no man’s slave!” announced Donn in a voice that surely must have carried to the Blue Duck.

The captain bowed to her.

“Mistress, it has been a pleasure to meet you this day,” he said, laughing at the astonishment and discomfiture of the slave catchers.

“I, too, shall stand witness,” came a voice from behind. It was Raibel.

“Factor Raibel! You’re part of this plan, too?”

“Yes, captain. Master Donn here is a friend,” said the factor, and stamped the receipt showing purchase and emancipation with his personal chop. 

Donn turned to Alanna, taking both her hands in his.

“One final thing I must ask,” he said, in a much lower voice. “Pensri, I would take you for my wife. Will you marry me?”

Her answer was distorted because she was trying to weep and kiss Donn simultaneously but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind what it was.

END

Donn: The Search for Princessa

Chapter 1

“Come in, come in,” welcomed Chóng, inviting Donn and Hakim in with a wave of his hand. “Sit; let me pour you some tea.”

“Thank you, Factor,” said Donn, taking the bench to one side as Hakim sat on the other.

Chóng got out two more blue porcelain cups and filled them with an aromatic yellowish tea. He handed Donn a cup, then Hakim.

“It’s called Spice Nectar, comes from the Hills of Glorm. Nice, don’t you think?”

“Glorm? Up in Yann?”

“Close. Over the mountains west of Yann. I just got a few samples, and I think it’s wonderful. I’ve asked Factor Talurah to set up a large order.”

“Talurah of Dylath-Leen? Smart woman,” said Donn. “I hear her name every so often in the markets, usually when people discover she’s outwitted them in a trade.”

Chóng laughed.

“That’s why she works for me, Factor Donn,” he said. “In fact, that’s why you two work for me, too!”

Hakim waggled his fingers, and Donn translated.

“A mutually beneficial arrangement, he says. And I certainly agree.”

He took another sip of the tea.

“Cool and spicy, with a sort of minty aftertaste... quite refreshing!”

Hakim nodded, and held out his cup for a refill, which Chóng was happy to provide.

“So,...” said Donn, setting his cup down, “we came as soon as we got your message in Lhosk.”

Chóng picked up a small bowl on the floor next to him, and handed it over.

Donn looked inside curiously.

“Oh, my! Princessa!”

It was a small chip of Princessa, the fabulously valuable wood famous for its iridescent colors and ever-changing patterns, scattered with tiny crystals that captured the light to glitter like stars.

“May I?”

Chóng nodded his permission, and Donn carefully picked the chip up, holding it to the light to fully display its rainbow of color. He turned it a few times in admiration, that gingerly handed it over to Hakim so he could get a better look.

“A beautiful piece... must be about two centimeters long!”

Princessa was valuable not only for its beauty, but also for its extreme rarity. It came from a small shrub that grew in the southern climes, and had never been successfully cultivated. They were discovered in unexpected places quite by accident, often making their owners astonishingly rich before withering away, usually by being brutally harvested, or simply because they died so quickly.

They left no known seeds, and roots and branches all died rapidly no matter how carefully they were cared for.

Even tiny bits and pieces were treasured, and the largest pieces were no more than short twigs, usually smaller fragments like this one. It was traded and handled more like a gemstone than a rare wood.

Hakim deposited the chip back in the bowl and handed it back to Chóng.

“What would you say that’s worth, Donn?”

“Well, beautiful color, good size... I’d say somewhere between a hundred and, oh, about three hundred grams of gold or so. It’s a seller’s market, after all.”

Chóng nodded. “I’d say no less than two, but a pretty piece for sure.”

He reached down and picked up something. Thirty or forty centimeters long and maybe ten or twelve thick, it was wrapped in a silk cloth. Silently, Chóng held it out.

Donn cocked his head and took it with both hands.

It was quite a bit heavier than he’d expected, and felt rough through the silk.

Holding it in his right hand, he carefully folded back the cloth with his left.

He and Hakim gasped in unison.

It looked like a piece of firewood, the sawed-off branch of a tree.

And it was Princessa.

If that chip was worth hundreds of grams of gold, this would be worth... whole kingdoms!

He very carefully set it down on the table, and let his breath out with a sigh, staring at it.

“Gods! A whole branch!”

Chóng took another sip of tea.

“Yes, a nice, large branch. Quite obviously from a nice, large tree.”

Donn and Hakim exchanged a quick glance.

“A Princessa tree...” he whispered.

“A Princessa tree,” agreed Chóng. “And I want you to find it for me.”

Donn and Hakim exchanged glances again.

Donn picked up his cup and held it to his lips. Lost in thought, it took him a moment to notice it was empty.

Chóng stretched out his arm, holding the teapot toward Donn.

“More tea?”

Donn held out his teacup.

“Where did it come from?”

“You mean, who did it come from, I think... if I knew where I would’ve already sailed.”

“Yes, sorry. Here in Lhosk?”

“No, not here. Captain Bikal of the Celestial Whore says he got it from a local chief on a nameless isle in the Sunrise Shore, near Cydathria. Traded his longboat and two swords for it.

“According to Bikal, the chief found it in a shipwreck, something they found on the reef after a storm. He said there had been no survivors—although Bikal is pretty sure they’re cannibals, which would explain why there were no survivors—and he knew nothing more about it.

“Bikal went to look at the site of the shipwreck, but over a year had passed and there was nothing to see but some scattered planks. No idea what kind of ship it was, or where it might have come from.”

“That’s not much to go on, is it.”

“No, but the Captain has added comments to the sea chart of the area around the isle, and we know those waters well... ships sailing the Theth–Cydathria–Mnar–Thul route pass through there often.”

“Is Captain Bikal still here?”

“He’s in Rinar, and he’ll be there for at least another few days. He’s off to Dylath-Leen, Khem, and then up the Yann to Perdóndaris to meet Talurah.”

“A long voyage,” mused Donn. “I envy him the Yann, though... always a beautiful river.”

“Here’s the sea chart,” said Chóng, unrolling a sheet of parchment. “This is Aphorat on the right. These two large islands to the north are Tallawiggu, to the west, and Bokim; apparently none of the others have names.”

He tapped on one of the smaller islands, depicted with a narrow protected harbor.

“This is where Captain Bikal found it. He sent a party ashore for water and provisions, and gave the natives gifts to ensure his safety. Turned out the village chief liked drinking, and invited him to the village for a bout, which is when he saw the Princessa. It was on a little table to impress visitors.

“A little haggling and he walked away with it. He cancelled his planned voyage to Ilarnek and went straight to Rinar. That cost me some gold for lost contracts and spoilage, but it was the right decision.

“He and Factor Hernández used the portal to come here. Hernández says there’s been no gossip about Princessa or treasure down there.”

Donn and Hakim studied the chart.

“I’ve been through here many times,” said Donn. “My father traded all along the southern coasts, and I sailed with him for many years.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been to this particular island, though.”

Hakim signed something.

“Hakim’s right, of course... we probably don’t need to talk to this village chief anyway, unless he’s got something else from that shipwreck that might help pin down what ship it was, or where it came from.”

“Bikal said he checked that out pretty thoroughly. He offered the chief more presents if he had something else, and he and his crew went over the shipwreck site thoroughly.

“The chief said there was nothing else, and the ship, as I mentioned before, was already obliterated.”

Hakim signed something again, and Donn turned back to Chóng when he was done.

“How much of a hurry are you in? If we use the portal we’ll be able to talk to Captain Bikal, but our own ship will be stuck here in Lhosk.

“I’d prefer to either go there, talk to him, and come back here, if that’s possible, or just set up a meeting with the Captain somewhere along the way. Dylath-Leen, or Baharna, for example.”

“Use the portal, and come back after you’ve talked with Bikal and Hernández,” replied Chóng. “It might take weeks for you to meet up with the Captain somewhere else.

“Have you ever used the Rinar portal before?”

“No, we haven’t... why?”

“It can only handle one person at a time. No horses, not much freight. A raptor could go through, but not a deino.”

“Fine,” said Donn. “We just want to talk to them; we’ll leave everything here.”

“It will be a memorable experience, I think,” smiled Chóng. “Gonville!”

Gonville, Chóng’s mutton-chopped right-hand man, appeared in the doorway almost instantly—he’d obviously been waiting just outside.

“Yes, Factor?”

“Drop a message to Factor Hernández in Rinar and tell him that two visitors will be coming through.”

“Yessir. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to get ready.”

Chóng nodded and Gonville vanished down the hall.

“Get ready?” asked Donn.

“It’s rarely a good idea to suddenly appear in a portal without sufficient warning,” said Chóng. “Hernández has arranged his defenses quite adequately, I think, but it would be best to avoid unpleasantries.”

“Of course, of course.”

Conversation turned to Donn’s most recent venture, a short trip through Carcassonne and the towns and villages of Sarrub. Chóng was most interested in what Donn and Hakim had seen during the trip, and if anything had felt different from past travels on the same route.

They were deep in a three-way conversation about the apes of the Sarrub jungle when Gonville returned.

“All ready, Factor.”

“Excellent,” said Chóng, standing up and gesturing toward the two traders to follow Gonville. “Tell me, Master Donn, are you afraid of heights?”

“Heights? No, why?”

“Good, good. And Master Hakim?”

Hakim shook his head as Chóng bared his teeth in a smile.

“Just curious,” he said. “Gonville, would you be so kind...?”

“Yessir, I’ll take care of it.”

Gonville led them to an iron-barred doorway, nodding to the guard there and opening the locked gate with his key. This wing of Chóng’s palatial headquarters had stone walls. The hallway was lined with doors and lit with torches, with two troopers on guard there although all of the doors were barred with iron and bolted shut from this side. None of them were labelled that Donn could see, but Gonville obviously knew where he was going.

He slid back the bolt on one door, seemingly identical to all the others, and ushered them into a small room with a low flight of stairs in the center. They climbed to about a meter and a half, with a platform at the top.

There was something blurry in the air in front of the platform.

“The portal opens vertically!?”

Most portals Donn and Hakim had used were like doorways that you just walked through... this one wasn’t.

“You just step into the portal from the ladder. And on the way back, your feet hit the floor here, and you have to duck under the portal.”

“I’ve never seen a portal like this!”

Gonville smiled.

“Factor Humaydah wanted it this way, and Factor Chóng—once he tried it out—loves it. He’s thinking of adopting the design in other portals as well.”

Hakim grunted, and Donn translated his signing: “Seems very inefficient for moving goods, he says. I agree.”

“Ah, but it’s not for moving goods. It’s for moving people, safely.”

“OK, whatever,” replied Donn. “Just up the stairs and step through?”

“That’s all!” said Gonville. “Oh, by the way, be sure to close your mouth when you go through.”

Donn glanced at the other to see if he was joking, but kept climbing the stairs. First Chóng, now Gonville, he thought. They’re hiding something...

He looked down into the portal... there seemed to be some sort of curtain, something of rough-spun cloth, blocking the view.

He glanced at Gonville again, who just gave him a big, toothy grin.

Donn shrugged, closed his mouth, and stepped off the platform.

He fell. He expected to fall, so that didn’t surprise him, but he also expected to land on the floor a meter or so below... and he didn’t.

Bright light, falling... he spasmed, waving his arms wildly, searching for something to grab onto, adrenaline pumping in panic.

And suddenly a rope smacked into his face, and more across his body, and outstretched limbs.

He felt the ropes give, stretch, rebound, and then plunge down a second time as Hakim fell to join him, his foot smacking into Donn’s head.

As movement gradually died out, he pushed Hakim’s foot away and took a look around.

They were in a net!

Hakim sat up.

“You OK down there, Master Donn?”

“No thanks to you, Gonville! You could’ve warned us!”

“What, and take all the fun out of it?”

“Fuck you, Gonville! You owe us beers.”

“Enjoy yourselves in Rinar, gentlemen! Safe voyage!”

The net suddenly twisted as two men pulled it over to the side.

“Welcome, Master Donn, Master Hakim. The Factor is waiting for you.”

They helped the two of them climb out of the net.

Donn stopped for a moment for a better look.

It was a clever idea... the portal was in the middle of a tower, with a movable net underneath to catch visitors. When no visitors were expected, they just pulled the net out of the way, and visitors fell to the floor... which was covered in spikes.

Presumably there was a higher level they could use to enter the portal from above, ending up in Chóng’s palace.

“Thanks for putting up the net,” he said to the two men as he pointed the spikes out to Hakim. “Damn near pissed myself.”

One of the men chuckled.

“Everyone tries it blind the first time. And yeah, a few do.”

“This was all Gonville’s idea, wasn’t it?”

“The drop? No, that was Humaydah’s idea. Now that Factor Chóng likes it so much, though, it’ll never change.”

“Anyone bite his tongue off?”

“Not off, entirely. One guy was spitting blood, though.”

Donn snorted, and followed the man down the stairs to meet Factor Hernández.

The Factor was a fairly young man, probably in his early forties, thought Donn. Must be a real go-getter to be Chóng’s factor in Rinar. The city was a major hub in Chóng’s trading empire, the principle gateway between Thul and Cuppar-Nombo in the east, and the rest of the Dreamlands. A lot of dealings with Mnar, too.

Clean-shaven, except for a thin mustache, black hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders... he was brimming with energy, and stood from his desk as they entered the room. About the same height as himself, he figured.

“Come in, Master Donn, Master Hakim,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “Factor Chóng told me you were coming.”

“Factor, thank you for having us. And for putting up that net!”

The Factor chuckled.

“Your first time, then? Sort of an initiation ceremony here... hope it didn’t bother you.”

It wasn’t an apology, Donn noticed, just a polite comment.

“You can go,” continued the Factor to the monocled man seated at the desk with him. “Finish up the calculations and I’ll get back to you later. And make sure they check each one, individually!”

“Yessir,” mumbled the man, apparently an accountant, as he hurriedly collected his paperwork and scuttled out of the room.

“Please, sit.”

The Factor waved them to chairs and poured four cups of tea.

“Captain Bikal will be here shortly; I sent a runner for him as soon as Gonville told me you were coming,” he explained. “He’s down on the docks getting his ship ready.

“I heard that you’re familiar with Cydathria and Theth.”

“My father was a trader all along the southern coast. Home was Dylath-Leen, but I got my sea legs about as soon as I could walk, and spent most of my youth at sea, with him.”

“And now you work for Factor Chóng.”

“Nominally I’m still an independent trader,” agreed Donn. “but yeah, pretty much just for him.”

“Why still independent, then?”

Donn shrugged. “We like it this way.”

“I see.”

Hernández took the hint and dropped the topic, turning to Hakim instead.

“And you are from Dylath-Leen as well.”

Hakim nodded.

“Any chance of the two of you telling me how you met?”

They exchanged glances, and Hakim shook his head.

“Ah, perhaps another time, Factor...” he said.

Just then the thud of boots echoed in the hall, and they looked up to see a scruffy sailor step in. Baggy blue pants, leather belt, stained linen shirt, red bandanna wrapped around this head, one gold hoop earring.

“Cap’n Bikal, sir, at yer service.”

“Come in, Captain, join us,” invited Hernández.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen, and this is Hakim, also of Dylath-Leen.”

“Bikal of Baharna.”

Hakim signed a greeting, as he always did even when the other person couldn’t understand him.

Bikal took an empty chair and accepted the cup of tea from Hernández.

“Factor Chóng sent us, Captain,” began Donn. “He showed us that Princessa, and asked us to find out where it came from.”

“Ain’t seen nothing like that ever before,” said the captain. “Knew the Factor here would wanna see it.”

“I certainly did, Captain Bikal,” said Hernández “You made the right call to come straight here.”

“We’ve got your chart,” said Donn, unrolling it on the tabletop for all to see, “but we’d really like to hear the whole story from you, if you’ve got the time.”

“Yeah, sure. Cullus’ll get the ship ready without me jus’ fine. Not much for me to do there anyway, just counting boxes and shit.”

Captain Bikal went over the story again, but there was little new information.

“Gorolka—he’s the chief, big, solid guy, ’bout my age—said it was a three-master, but that don’t mean shit. Awful lot of ships with three masts in those waters. And it had a figurehead, some kinda mermaid.”

“Again, not much help... every other ship’s got a mermaid on her.”

Hakim signed Donn briefly.

“Did he mention, was the mermaid painted or anything?”

Bikal thought for a moment.

“Musta been... he said it had blue eyes and red lips.”

Hakim nodded.

“That mean something to you, Hakim?” asked Donn.

Hakim shook his head, signing.

“He says no, just trying to get as much information as possible,” explained Donn. “I don’t see it making much difference either way.”

He pulled the chart closer and studied it.

“I haven’t been through these isles for a few years... you go through here regularly?”

“Couple times a year,” said Bikal. “Why?”

“Anything changed recently? New currents, whirlpools, pirates? There used to be a big Gnorri city over here,” replied Donn tapping the map. “They still there?”

“The Gnorri? Yeah, I always go through there... got a little deal going. Much obliged it if you’d not fuck it up, though...”

“No problem, no problem. I don’t intend to bother them at all.”

“Pirates, yeah... I hain’t run into any, but there’s been some rumors in the ports about ships going missin’ more’n usual.”

“Cydathria? Or just the Sunrise Shore?”

“All along the Cydathria coast, they says. Last time we was in Aphorat the Guard was all worked up, talking about armed patrols.”

“Aphorat? A navy?”

Bikal laughed.

“Shi-yut. Those fools couldn’ sail nothin’ bigger than a laundry tub!”

Donn laughed with him; even Hakim smiled.

“We haven’t lost any ships in that area for some time,” said Hernández, “but about half a year ago one of our smaller merchanters—the Bottlenose, under Captain Dirjaless—went missing and hasn’t been heard from since. It could have been pirates.”

“One ship in half a year doesn’t suggest pirates,” mused Donn, “but it certainly could be... have you heard anything from other traders passing through those waters?”

“Not much, and that includes a lot of the single-ship independents. There are rumors, but nothing we’ve ever been able to pin down.”

“So we have no idea whose ship that might have been, then. The one that carried the Princessa.”

“None. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the Bottlenose, though. She was only a brigantine: two masts. Assuming that villager was right about what he saw.”

“Well,” said Donn, “I guess we’re about done here. I’d hoped to get more information from Captain Bikal, but there’s just not much to go on, is there?”

“Sorry, wasn’t much help, was I?” said the captain. “I’ll be off, then. Gotta make sure they stack them crates proper.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Factor Hernández. “Safe voyage.”

Captain Bikal left, and the Factor turned to Donn.

“Captain? Back to Penglai, or will you join me for dinner?”

“We’d be delighted to join you, Factor, thank you,” smiled Donn. “Our ship isn’t ready yet either, back in Lhosk, and we might as well enjoy ourselves while we wait!”

Factor Hernández stood, and waved them toward the door.

“You know,...” continued the Factor thoughtfully as they walked “the Bella is here right now, and she could get to the Sunrise Shore a lot faster than your big ship from Lhosk. Fast, shallow draft, nimble... You’re welcome to use her instead, if you like.”

“The Bella? Don’t think I’ve heard of her before... who’s the captain?”

“That’d be Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris. Know him?”

“Know of him, but never met him,” laughed Donn. “That’s your smuggler, right?”

“Please, Captain,” soothed the Factor. “We don’t smuggle goods, as I’m sure you’re aware. The Bella is a fast courier for special deliveries, that’s all.”

“Of course, of course,” smiled Donn. “But if Captain Gunnarsson is willing, that’d be excellent.

“Hakim, you agree?”

Hakim made a few quick signs.

“He asks how big it is, and how many people it can handle. Good question.”

“He normally runs with a crew of himself and three, I believe. It’s big enough to carry another half a dozen people in relative comfort, or a couple dozen if they’re all friends.”

“Hakim wonders if we should bring along some troopers, and I’m thinking another sword or two wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“I can loan you a few convoy guards. Their pay’s coming out of Chóng’s wallet anyway!

“I’ll check with Captain Gunnarsson and see who’d be a good choice.”

Donn looked surprised: “Why would he choose the troopers?”

“He’s very secretive, as you might imagine. And with good reason, as I suspect you may come to understand.”

“I see,” said Donn.

Hakim snorted a little hmph in response.

* * *

Captain Gunnarsson showed up the next morning well after dawn.

His twin braids hung below his shoulders, ropes of blonde-and-grey hair twisted together with threads of different colors. His bristly mustache was more grey than blonde, but his pale blue eyes revealed no trace of age.

“Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris” he said brusquely, and looked straight into Donn’s eyes.

“Donn and Hakim, both of Dylath-Leen,” he replied. “Hakim cannot speak.”

“Heard things about you, Captain.”

“And I of you.”

“The Factor says you can be trusted. I trust the Factor, but can I trust you?”

Donn raised his eyebrows.

“Seems to me, since we’ll be on your ship, the question is whether I can trust you,” he said. “We’re here at the request of Factor Chóng himself, and if that’s not enough I guess we’ll have to use our own ship after all.”

“That’d be the Nausheen.”

“That it would.”

“Strange name for a ship.”

“Yes it is.”

There was silence as they locked eyes for a moment, and then Gunnarsson nodded.

“I’m not much on talking,” he finally said.

“I want a fast ship with a good captain, not someone to talk to.”

Gunnarsson smiled. “Bella is the fastest ship you’re likely to find anywhere.”

“And the best captain?”

“The Bella’s never been caught, and there are few ports we haven’t been to, one time or another.”

It was Donn’s turn to nod.

He stretched out his arm, and they exchanged a wrist-shake. Gunnarsson stretched out his other arm to Hakim for another.

“Well, now that you’ve worked all that out, sit down and join me in a cup of tea,” invited Hernández. “Captain Gunnarsson, Factor Chóng and I would like you to help Captain Donn here. A very large piece of Princessa turned up recently, and we want to find out exactly where it came from.”

“You don’t know where it came from? And you want me to run around looking for it?”

“Considering how much Princessa is worth, I think it’d be a good investment. So does Factor Chóng.”

“You know I’ve got some promises to keep over in Despina. Certain people there would be very upset if I had to put them off.”

“I know, and I’ll talk to them myself.”

“It’s that important?”

“Yes, we believe it is.”

“What’s the destination?”

“The Sunrise Shore.”

Gunnarsson sat up straight and suddenly looked interested.

“I see. OK, tell me more.”

The Factor didn’t seem at all surprised at his sudden change of heart, and they filled him in on the situation.

“I know those waters well,” said Gunnarsson. “Even met the chief, Gorolka, at a big festival on Tallawiggu. Never been to his island, though.”

“That’d be the harvest festival?”

“Yes. All the islands come to barter, drink, settle grievances, and seek brides.”

“I’ve heard of it many times but never been there. Should I?”

“Not much reason to, unless you plan on concentrating on the Sunrise Shore... It’s a good place to meet them all, but trading’s better if you visit the islands separately.”

Donn nodded.

“Do you remember what this Gorolka had to offer?”

“No,” said Gunnarsson. “And that means it was nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Hakim and I can defend ourselves but we’re not troopers,” continued Donn. “How dangerous are those islands?”

“Most of them are fine, nothing that can’t be handled with smiles and a few presents. There are a few cannibals, but they usually like presents, too. Safest to stay offshore until after we get some things sorted out with the locals.”

“Pretty much the usual, then.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” the other agreed. “Two or three troopers should be fine, I think. This is mostly a scouting trip, right?”

“Right.

“The Factor said you pick your own people. That’s fine with me, but when can you be ready?”

“This evening fast enough?”

“Excellent!” smiled Donn. “I figured it’d be tomorrow morning.”

“We’re moored on the east end, right near The Dancing Crow. I’ll let the crew know you’re coming.”

Donn pulled out his money pouch. “How much do you need?”

Factor Hernández pushed Donn’s hand back down.

“This is all on Factor Chóng’s tab. Gunnarsson, just let me know. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Factor.”

Donn put his pouch away again. “So, I guess we’re done?”

“Guess so.”

Hernández broke in with a quick word. “Take two dragolets with you. It’d take a while for them to get here and be to be able to do anything, but might be a good idea. One for me, one for Factor Chóng in Lhosk.”

“An excellent idea,” agreed Donn, and Gunnarsson nodded in agreement.

“Well then, we’ll be there before sunset,” said Donn. “That good?”

“That’ll be fine,” said Gunnarsson, and the two of them stood. Hernández stayed seated, sipping his tea as Gunnarsson left.

“Gunnarsson’s a good man,” he said. “A better sailor than I’ll ever be, and quite possibly a better trader as well.”

“There are a lot of stories about him and the Bella.”

“I suspect many of them are true,” agreed Hernández. “So you’re an independent trader, right? How come Factor Chóng sent you?”

“We—Hakim and I—have been independent for quite some time, and ran into Chóng’s people so many times that eventually it just made sense to work together. I found my first wife on one of his ships, as it happens.”

“Found your wife?”

“Long story. I hired the Blue Duck for a season’s worth of furs. And my Pensri was also on that ship... Captain Chow and Factor Raibel made it possible.”

“Raibel? Of Hlanith? I trained under him a few years ago!”

“Yes, that’s him. Very nice man.”

“He never struck me as nice,” snorted Hernández. “Efficient, yes, but not nice.”

“I was a customer, not a trainee, after all.”

“So you were, so you were... and I must admit, now that I’m a Factor with my own trainees I can’t fault him. Can’t fault him at all.”

Donn laughed.

“Did you train Hakim?”

“No, no. He and I, um, encountered each other on the road, and found it most convenient to join forces. We’ve worked together since.”

He glanced at Hakim’s flashing hands.

“He wants me to add that I saved his life,” he said. “That’s true, I suppose, but over the years I think he’s saved my life more times than I’ve saved his.”

Hakim waggled his fingers in negation.

“Yes, yes, I did save his life the first time we met, I admit it. Are you happy now, Hakim?”

Hakim flashed a grin of satisfaction.

“Factor Chóng told me to give you whatever you wanted,” said Hernández. “That’s quite a vote of confidence.”

“As I said, we’ve worked with him for quite some time now. We agree on a lot of things.”

“And even though you’re independents, you came through the portal from Penglai. That tells me more than his letter, to be honest... he doesn’t let just anyone wander around his network.”

“His network? He has so many portals that you call it a network?”

“Just a turn of speech,” smiled Hernández. “Perhaps best not to place too much import on it.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Donn set his empty cup down on the table and exchanged a quick glance with Hakim, who nodded.

“Thank you for introducing us to Captain Gunnarsson, and the excellent tea, Factor. If you’ll excuse us now, we must make ready for departure.”

“Of course,” said the Factor, rising from his chair. “Just ask if you need anything from me, and feel free to use my name in the market if necessary.”

“Thank you. We hadn’t planned on leaving from Rinar and will need a range of gear by this afternoon.”

“Safe voyage, Captain. Master Hakim.”

“Thank you, Factor. And to you.”

They picked up a few items from the Factor’s warehouse and then headed to the markets to purchase the rest. Fortunately, they had made contacts in Rinar over the years, and were able to obtain what they needed at reasonable prices.

 

Chapter 2

 

In addition to the usual gear—clothes, rucks, bedrolls, rope, cheap but brilliant gemstones as presents, dried rations, whetstones, an endless list of little things they always carried—Donn also made it a point to have a case of fresh fruit delivered to the Bella. Sailors always appreciated fresh fruit and vegetables, and in this case it struck him as a far better choice than a keg of ale.

Captain Gunnarsson apparently agreed, because as they slipped out of the harbor in the growing dusk, he handed each of them a ripe apple with thanks.

And, surprisingly, a cup of ale!

“You pass out ale regularly, Captain?”

“I trust my crew; the keg is always open. Never had a problem yet.”

“I trust my crew, too,” said Donn, “but it never occurred to me to open the keg like this... likely to disappear on the first day!”

Gunnarsson laughed.

“We’re a team here, and unless we can count on each other we can’t function. People die.

“None of us is in it for the money, although we’re all paid very well for our time. We do it for the thrill of the chase, the feel of the ship slicing through the waves, sails taut in the wind, tacking so tight we can lick the wavetops.

“We’ve no time for drunkards.”

“You never struck me as a poetic man, Captain Gunnarsson.”

“The sea makes poets of us all.”

They fell silent for a moment.

“You’re heading east... “

“We mentioned we had a shipment for Dothur, just in case anybody was listening... once we’re far enough out we’ll swing back towards Cydathria and the Sunrise Shore.”

“Good. I doubt anyone knows why we’re here anyway, but never hurts to be safe.”

“Nope. Especially in my line.”

“Captain, I noticed you have a windlass on the back deck... strange place for an anchor.”

“That’s a surprise,” smiled Gunnarsson. “You just keep on wondering for a bit longer. You’ll find out soon enough.”

A few hours later, with the half-moon close to zenith and only a few clouds blocking the stars, they changed tack, turning west toward their real destination.

They continued west through the night, and as the eastern sky began to lighten, Gunnarsson called out.

“Khairi! Time to get Shatrevar up! Thabit, Moswen, help him out, please.”

“Yessir!” responded Khairi, and hurriedly finished off his bowl of rice. “Shatrevar! Time to go!”

Khairi was a Pargite, a large man with a pale scar running down the side of his head. He as missing that ear. The two Khemite troopers Gunnarsson had brought along for the trip, Thabit and Moswen, had obviously worked with the Captain before, since he just used their names when calling them.

Shatrevar, on the other hand, was so slight that Donn had difficulty imagining he could pull his own weight, literally or figuratively, on the ship. He hailed originally from Pungar-Vees, and in spite of being at least in his thirties still looked to be on the young side of puberty.

Donn and Hakim followed them back to the stern, full of curiosity.

Shatrevar opened a locker and took out a bundle of sticks, and a blue cloth.

“Silk, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Spider-silk, from Moung. Light and strong, and so’s the rope,” answered Khairi, tapping the dull grey rope wound around the windlass drum.

Thabit helped Shatrevar put on a spider-silk harness, and Moswen was helping Shatrevar snap rods together, and fit them into reinforced pockets in the silk cloth. As they progressed it gradually expanded, growing into a rectangle four or five meters tall.

“It’s a kite!”

“It’s a kite, and I ride it,” agreed Shatrevar. “Assuming the wind’s right, I can see one hell of a lot farther than the crow’s nest. And usually any ship I can see can’t see us, because we’re below the horizon yet.”

Donn’s jaw dropped.

“Incredible! Everyone knows wyverns and airships fly, but nobody expects to find them on a ship! That’s how you slip past patrols so easily!”

“If we can do it far enough away not to be spotted ourselves, yes. That’s why it’s blue, of course, and my clothes break up my silhouette to make it even harder.

“The hard part is getting up there, though. The ship has to almost sail into the wind, and a pretty strong wind at that, before I can risk it. If I can’t lift I end up in the sea, and the kite is shredded.”

“And you drown.”

“Well, not yet, but it can get pretty dicey,” laughed Shatrevar. “They’ve got a rope on me, but once the kite hits the water it’s just an enormous sea anchor... if I can’t cut myself loose, I’m dead.”

Donn nodded. Now he understood why such a small, light man as Shatrevar was a crew member... he had to be, to get aloft.

Shatrevar shook himself once, settling the framework on his body.

“Left thigh’s pretty loose, Thabit.”

Thabit knelt down to retie the cords on his left leg, tugging here and there to check for tightness.

“Anywhere else feel funny?”

Shatrevar shifted on his feet, swung his arms.

“No... feels pretty solid, thanks.”

He turned and walked over to the edge of the stern castle, unusually high for such a small ship.

“You ready?” asked Moswen, and at Shatrevar’s nod he called out to Captain Gunnarsson.

“Ready, Captain!”

“Let it go, Khorsed!” called Gunnarsson, and Khorsed, the third crew member, manhandled the boom over. The sails cracked, the ship swung and bucked, and suddenly they were heading almost into the wind.

Moswen and Thabit both had their feet braced, pulling on ropes to keep Shatrevar in place on the stern castle. Shatrevar adjusted the angle of the kite to better catch the wind, almost pulling them off their feet.

“Now!”

At Shatrevar’s shout they released the ropes, and he leapt into the air, catching the wind and jumping up a dozen meters in a heartbeat. The windlass clacked and spun as the spidersilk rope fed out, a ghostly gray line connecting kite and ship.

It was already hard to make out the contours of the kite, and the rope had faded into invisibility... it was difficult to tell just how high it was flying, but certainly higher than any crow’s nest.

“How does he communicate?”

“He’s got a bunch of colored weights. Just clips one over the rope and lets it slide down,” said Moswen. “Limits what he can say, but it’s usually enough because nobody can see us.”

“And you two crank him down?”

“Yup. Can be pretty tough when the wind’s gusting, but he can move his arms to change the size of the kite, and his drop.”

“Ever had to cut him loose?”

“Not yet; hope we never have to...”

“You’re both from Khem, I see.”

“Born there,” said Thabit. “Little village near Meroë. Ever been through there?”

“Meroë, of course. We usually trade out of Lhosk or Dylath-Leen, and we’ve been across the whole continent one time or another,” replied Donn. “Ever been to Oonai?”

“Yeah, we went there to sign up as troopers for the King.”

“The King, eh?”

Donn shot a glance at Hakim, who was apparently disinterested in the conversation, watching the whitecaps. Donn noticed his knuckles were white on the railing, though.

“That didn’t work out, I gather?”

“Well, we don’t mind a little playing around now and then, greasing a palm or something, but the King, well... he was running that city like his private playground, and everyone a slave. Didn’t sit right.”

Moswen spat over the railing.

“And never going back, neither. Meroë, maybe, but never again to Oonai.”

“I see... We haven’t been through Oonai for some years.”

“Don’t bother,” said Thabit. “Be better if the desert just swallowed it up.”

“Pity. Heard some beautiful music there last time I went...”

“Not anymore. If it’s not praising the King, it’s not allowed.”

Hakim slowly let go of the railing, prying off one finger at a time as if they were stuck to it, and walked away toward the prow.

“How long will he be up there?” asked Donn, pointing into the sky.

“Probably only twenty, thirty minutes, but we’ll see.”

“Well, if you need an extra pair of hands on the windlass, just call,” said Donn, and followed Hakim.

“Thanks,” said Thabit, pulling out a pipe and tobacco pouch. “Should be fine.”

He joined Hakim at the prow, placing his hand gently on Hakim’s shoulder, and they watched the waves together for awhile in silence.

“Coming down!” came the shout from the stern, and Donn looked back to see the two Khemites slowly cranking the windlass, reeling in the kite.

The ship was no longer running into the wind, and Shatrevar was approaching from the port side. He could only make out the faintest outline of the man, and only that because he could see where the rope was pointing, and could guess where to look.

He was essentially invisible.

He approached the stern castle, jerking up and down slightly as the wind wavered, and suddenly folded his arms up tight, collapsing the kite and dropping to the deck.

He missed the stern castle entirely, but Donn guess it was by intent because nobody seemed surprised, and he landed neatly on his feet. His hair had a slight coating of frost, already melting.

Moswen and Thabit detached the spidersilk rope and began unbucking him from the harness.

“Anything?”

“Absolutely nothing. No ships, no islands, not even any whale spouts. Just empty sea as far as I can see.”

“Good,” said Gunnarsson from behind them. “Maybe we can get to the Sunrise Shore without any prying eyes.”

“You expect people to follow you?”

“No, not really, not this time, but I don’t like surprises, and if nobody knows where I am it’s a lot less likely they’ll surprise me.”

“A man after my own heart,” said Donn. “I suspect it’s a lot easier to follow us on horses than you on a ship, though.”

“I suspect you’re right,” agreed Gunnarsson, then turned to Shatrevar. “Thank you. There’s hot tea and food for you in the cabin. Rest.”

“Thank ya, Cap’n. Don’t much feel like flapping my wings right now, and a couple’a eggs’ll go down right nice.”

The Bella sailed on, keeping a steady pace to the west, and as they got closer to the Sunrise Shore, Shatrevar went up a second time.

Gunnarsson knew where they were, of course, with his sextant, but he wanted to know if there was anyone waiting for him as he entered the isles.

Half an hour later he had his answer.

“Nothing that I could see, Cap’n,” said Shatrevar. “Lots of places a ship could be hiding, of course, but I couldn’t find any.”

“Good. We’ll approach closer at dusk,” decided the Captain. “Have to take it slow and keep off the reefs, but Khorshed’s been through these water so many times he could probably do it in his sleep. Eh, Khorshed?”

“I think the Captain would be rather upset with me if I slept at the helm,” he laughed. “I much prefer to let him sail the ship while I watch the mermaids slip by.”

“You have any Gnorri girlfriends out here who can guide us?” called Thabit. “How does that work, anyway?... I mean, kissing is fine, but, you know, doesn’t that fishtail get in the way?”

“Unlike you, Thabit, I don’t make love to fish!” retorted Khorshed. “Those scales’ll make a eunuch of you!”

Gunnarsson furled most of the sails and let the ship drift, adjusting the heading every so often to keep it safe from the waves, and they waited for darkness.

The Captain used the sextant to check the position of the Bella once again, and measured carefully on his sea charts. Donn noticed they were quite a bit more detailed than his own, and covered with cryptic notations on wind, currents, and the isles themselves.

“Judging from your charts you’ve been through these waters many times.”

“A few. These are more detailed than most... don’t need much detail for the deep.”

“I’ve been through here a couple times, but always on the way to somewhere else,” mused Donn. “Never had a chance to see what’s here, really, except food and water.”

“Never been much here,” agreed the captain. “At least, not that I’ve ever found.”

“So why are you so familiar with these waters?”

Gunnarsson was silent for a moment.

“Years ago, when I was a rigging-monkey on an old indie trading ship, we came through here, stopping here and there to trade with the natives, picking up odd furs or gems along the way, and met someone at the harvest festival. An island girl. And I fell in love.

“Things got complicated, and I never saw her again after the festival. Never found out where she was from, or where she went. Only her face and her name—Lotarra.

“I’m still searching for her, silly as it sounds. I know I’ll never find her, and it’s been years and years since we met. She’s no doubt a village woman now with a horde of brats swarming around her.

“But it doesn’t matter. I’ll keep looking.”

“So that’s why you suddenly decided to bring us here. I wondered why you changed so abruptly when Hernández mentioned the Sunrise Shore.

“I met my first wife on one of Factor Chóng’s ships, you know... turned out she wasn’t who she said she was, and everyone had been lying to me about her name and everything else, and it made no difference anyway. She’s my first wife now, although we don’t quite have a horde of brats yet. Four doesn’t make a horde.”

“First wife?”

“Of three. And a husband.”

“Hakim?”

“No. Hakim and I are business partners.

“He was married once, with children. Ended badly, I’m afraid.”

Gunnarsson sighed. “Seems you’re the only lucky one here.”

They fell silent for a moment, Donn at a loss for what to say.

Captain Gunnarsson stood up straight, brushed off his tunic.

“Well, about time to get under way again,” he said, looking up at the heavens. “The moon and stars should be enough if we take it slow.”

“Where are we heading?”

“For now, to the isle where Bikal found it. I want to check the wind and seas there, maybe I can get a better idea of where that ship came from, and where it was going.”

“Three masts and a figurehead suggests it was a trader heading to sell the branch, I think.”

“That’s my guess, too. But where would he go to sell it?”

“He’d want to sell it direct, which means nobility, or at least the very rich. Unless he already knew someone, that means one of the big cities. Dylath-Leen, Lhosk, Rinar, maybe even Celephaïs.”

“You think he found it here?”

“Nobody’s ever mentioned anything that big. I think it must be some relatively unknown, untouched region, and the Sunrise Shore certainly fits.

“If it were on the southern coast they could have taken it directly to Aphorat, or shown it to King Kynaratholis.”

“True. Given the size of that branch, that tree’s been around for many years. If it were anywhere reasonable it’d be found and famous by now.”

“Looking at the map here, you know,” continued Gunnarsson, “I think you’re right about it being here in the isles. If I found something like that I’d head for the open sea and the biggest city I could reach, not chance ending up on the rocks of the Sunrise Shore.”

“As that ship did.”

“Aye, as they did.”

“So maybe we should ask the natives here, then, if they’ve seen it before, and where.”

“It’s our best chance,” agreed Gunnarsson. “And we can start with Gorolka, assuming he remembers me.”

“I got some presents that might help with that,” suggested Donn.

The ship moved slowly through the night, weaving between rocks and reefs to reach Gorolka’s island, and by dawn they had slipped into the narrow harbor.

Gunnarsson warned everyone to stay on the ship until the natives came, and avoid making the first move.

“If they think we’re slavers or raiders they’ll attack and probably kill us all,” he said. “But if we just sit still and wait for them to come have a look, I can get them to take me to Gorolka. Hopefully I can convince them not to kill the rest of you, too.”

“That would be nice,” nodded Donn. “I’m not terribly interested in becoming someone’s stew.”

“Might not be a bad idea to keep your sword close at hand, though. Just in case.”

They stood at the rail and waited.

Some time before dawn, as the eastern sky began to lighten and the first traces of orange appear on the horizon, Thabit noticed they were being watched.

“Up on top of those three rocks there. Just to the right of that single palm,” he called quietly. “Two, maybe three people.”

“Yeah, they’re watching us,” said Donn. “There’s another on the other side, too, a few meters to the right of that big blue patch of seaweed on the beach.”

“I am Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris! I come bearing gifts for Chief Gorolka!”

He stood on the castle in plain view, hands empty.

There was no answer, but shortly a large outrigger set forth, carrying about a dozen people. In the prow stood a single man wearing a bright red cloak over his shoulders.

They stopped paddling as they got closer, and let the boat drift to the Bella.

Moswen threw down a rope, and the cloaked man swarmed up the side, leaping over the railing to land neatly on the deck with a thump, sword drawn. He was followed shortly by two more men, also armed with swords.

“Gorolka knows no Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris,” he growled, but his sword was pointed down, at the deck.

“Think back to the harvest festival on Tallawiggu,” said Gunnarsson, still standing with empty hands. “I gave you the gold torc with a bull on it, the one you wear around your neck even now.”

The native stood for a moment, then burst out laughing, and sheathed his sword.

“I am Gorolka, chief of my people, and I see you, Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris.”

“May we talk, Chief Gorolka?”

“We will talk. Come.”

Gorolka waved at his waiting outrigger, and Gunnarsson stepped forward to join him as directed.

“I’m going over to talk to the chief,” he said. “You can come if you insist, but I’ll have to ask you to remain silent, Donn.”

“I’ll come. Unarmed?”

“No, but for Ech Pi El’s sake don’t draw it unless you really need it!”

“I won’t. Don’t think a sword would help much anyway if there’s only the two of us.”

Gunnarsson handed over a long box, saying it was a gift and to hold it straight at all times.

Donn looked at it curiously: it was a simple wood box, fairly long but quite narrow.

Khairi held the rope for them as they climbed down into the outrigger.

The paddlers dug into the waves and the boat shot forward. The three of them—Gorolka, Gunnarsson, and Donn—all kept their balance, pretending to each other that it was a simple feat.

Gorolka leapt out as the longboat crunched ashore, then spun to face Gunnarsson and Donn.

“This is my land, and you are welcome, Gunnarsson of Perdóndaris, and your servant.”

“Thank you, Chief Gorolka! It is good to see you again,” replied Gunnarsson, exchanging a double wrist-shake with the Chief. “Allow me to present you with this gift!”

He waved Donn forward with an insolent gesture, and Donn took the hint. Like a good servant he kept his head down and bowed as he held the box out.

Gunnarsson took it from him without a word, waving him back again, then turned the box to the opening would face the Chief as he opened it.

“Ohh!”

Gorolka’s face broke into a broad smile. He reached forward and picked up the flashing sword from inside. Polished to mirror perfection, it was almost blinding with reflected sunlight. Gems on the pommel shone like colored stars as he swished it through the air a few times to get the feel.

“A worthy weapon!” he enthused, and stuck it in his belt.

“Worthy of a chief,” replied Gunnarsson, closing the box and holding it behind himself for Donn to take, and whispered “Walk a few paces behind me.”

The Chief and Gunnarsson walked side by side into the woods, the Chief admiring his gift and Gunnarsson smiling and praising him. Donn followed, trying his best to look suitably impressed, and the Chief’s guard fell in at the rear. Donn could hear them muttering amongst themselves but between the unfamiliar language and their mumbling he couldn’t guess what they were saying.

They didn’t seem angry or upset at anything, that he could tell, just shooting the breeze as soldiers do.

It was a short walk to the village, a collection of wood and bamboo huts running along the boundary between forest and beach. They were built on short columns, standing maybe half a meter off the ground.

Donn had been through the Sunrise Shore many times over the years, and most of the islands had very similar tribes and houses. Generally small communities that lived on a combination of fishing, hunting, and farming. Villages were often closer to clans, with everyone linked by blood or marriage, and the annual festival on Tallawiggu was generally the only place they met, exchanging products and welcoming new blood in the form of husbands or wives.

Almost all conflict was internal and handled by the local chief; the chances of something happening to stir up trouble between two islands were slim. The Council of Chiefs could select a High Chief to settle such problems—or lead them in war, if necessary—but it was quite uncommon.

There were maybe a dozen people in sight, turning now from their work to watch the Chief return with his new sword, and stare at the guests.

The Chief strode through the village with barely a glance at any of them, and up the small hill to a larger, elevated structure. It was built of wood, with columns of stone, and looked considerably sturdier than the numerous family dwellings. Obviously the center of the village, and where the Chief ruled, if not lived.

The Chief barked something and several people dropped what they were doing and scurried off somewhere.

The hall was imposing, large trees forming the pillars framing the entrance. They were carved with countless animals, flowers, fruit, and more, and painted in a dazzling array of colors.

There was no door, just stone steps.

At the entrance two young women stood waiting, dressed in light, colorful skirts, with flowers in their hair. They bowed to the Chief, and stayed with heads down as he passed into the dark coolness of the interior followed by Gunnarsson.

As Captain Gunnarsson walked up the steps he signaled briefly with his hand for Donn to stay outside.

That made sense, Donn thought, since he was supposed to be a servant.

He had been through the region many times, either with his father or on his own, and he knew he was supposed to go to a nearby hut, where (hopefully) they would give him food and a place to sit.

He stepped to the side and glanced toward the guards who had accompanied them from the shore. One of them, a darkly tanned man with graying hair—he seemed to be in charge of the guards, or at least ordering them around—waved him over.

“You can wait over there,” he said, pointing at a tiny hut off to the side of the village. It wasn’t decrepit, but it was pretty clear that nobody lived there. Donn sighed to himself, smiled, and thanked the other.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen,” he said, hoping to break the ice.

“Arioreiyu of Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha,” replied the other, smiling.

Maybe this won’t be that bad after all, thought Donn.

“Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha,...” he mused. “Tuo-Rasha means two mountains, doesn’t it?”

“Ma means deep harbor,” explained the other. “And there are the twin peaks, our guardians.”

He pointed inland, where Donn could just see the tops of two mountains above the trees. One was a jaggedly pointed spire, the other almost flat on top.

“The Spear of Raunamoko, and the Table of the Gods,” continued Arioreiyu, pointing first to the pointed peak, and then the flatter one.

“Raunamoko... the god of earthquakes,” said Donn.

“Yes, may He remain at peace.”

“May He remain at peace,” echoed Donn, recognizing the prayer as one common throughout the Sunrise Shore.

“You are not a barbarian,” said Arioreiyu. “You know somewhat of our ways, in spite of your ship and your clothing.”

“My father was a trader in these waters for many years. This is my first time to visit Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha, though.”

“And you’ve learned a few words in our language.”

“I speak Cydathrian; that helps a little.”

“Cydathrian! A sad excuse for a language!” laughed Arioreiyu. “How many words do they have to describe the waves, or the foam, or the currents of the deep? To know the sea you must know our tongue!”

Donn nodded.

“And your knot-maps.”

“Ah, so you know of those, too?”

“Of course, but to read them is a different story.”

“We do not read them, Master Donn, we listen to them, and guide our outriggers as they reveal.”

“One day, perhaps, I shall learn their secrets.”

“Perhaps,” said Arioreiyu. “Perhaps not. They are, after all, our secrets.”

He stopped, thought for a moment.

“Master Donn, come, drink with us. That hut will be sad and lonely tonight.”

“I would be honored, Master Arioreiyu.”

Arioreiyu laughed again, and smacked him on the back.

“I hope you like yaqona!”

“I love it!” smiled Donn, truthfully.

Most of the guards had already left, but one of them—another sun-bronzed man named Iarolu—walked with Arioreiyu and Donn toward one of the several firepits burning in the village.

Arioreiyu sat on a log near the fire, and gestured to Donn to sit nearby.

The fire was banked down, mostly coals, but still fiercely hot. A tripod made of soot-blackened poles was erected over the fire, but there was no pot there. Too early yet, he guessed.

“Iarolu, you’ll join us today?”

“We have plenty of gifts,” replied the other. “No need to fish or gather today.”

Donn understood his use of “gifts”—the gifts of the sea and the forest: food, mostly.

The people of the Sunrise Shore lived close to Nature, accepting its bounty and protecting their islands and its environment in thanks. In their world, the islands themselves were gods, generous to those who respected them, yet ferocious when roused. Daily prayers, regular offerings, and the occasional sacrifice kept them quiet, and the villager’s world peaceful.

“You get something to eat, and I’ll fetch the yaqona,” said Arioreiyu, standing. “Be right back, Master Donn.”

Yaquona was a shrub found throughout the Sunrise Shore, and along parts of the Cydathrian coast. When prepared as a tea it induced mild euphoria, a sense of calm and relaxation without any loss of cognitive function. Those who drank it still felt and thought normally, but for the most part were content to lie down and enjoy the sensations rather than take action of any sort.

Effects varied, but usually wore off within an hour or two.

Donn looked forward to a leisurely day in an idyllic village, and decided to stop worrying about Hakim or the Bella.

Arioreiyu was back first, with a few brownish roots and a bowl. He pulled over the cone-shaped coral grindstone that had been sitting next to the first, and began grinding the roots down into a paste. He added only a few drops of water, but liquid seeped out of the roots quicky.

As he was grinding Iarolu returned with an enormous platter of fruit and several small fish, which he spitted and stood up facing the fire. He poured water into the iron pot and hung it on the tripod.

When there was enough yaquona paste, Arioreiyu scraped it into the bowl with his fingers, and poured water in. He handed the bowl to Donn, who nodded his head in thanks, then dipped his fingers in and flicked a few drops into the fire.

“For Raunamoko!” he called as the droplets hissed and steamed, and then he quickly took a drink, and passed the bowl to Iarolu. The yaquona was fresh and pungent... it would take effect shortly.

Iarolu also flicked a few drops into the fire and repeated the ritual before drinking himself, then passed the bowl back to Arioreiyu.

They shared the various fruit Iarolu had brought, and as the yaquona began to take effect their delicious flavors became exquisitely, sensually alive.

Donn was vividly aware of the breeze as it caressed his skin and sighed through the trees; the dance of the waves on the shore and the receding foam as it popped and hissed, flowing back into the sea; the fragrance of the fruit in front of him, its brilliant red and oranges delighting the eye; the slow crisping of the skewered fish, the aroma tickling his nose; the grittiness of the sand under this feet; the sky wheeling above... everything was brilliant, beautiful, fresh, calm.

He felt Raunamoko looking down from his peak, and he was one with the god of the island of Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha.

They lazed there for a few hours, eating the fruit and fish and talking, until the euphoria wore off.

In the afternoon the villagers began returning from their daily work, whether fishing, farming, or hunting, and the village came to noisy life.

“Tonight we will have a feast for our valued guest,” announced Gorolka as he and Gunnarsson emerged from the Chief’s hall.

The biggest events would feature a roast pig, but that took most of the day to prepare and it was obvious they didn’t have one ready, thought Donn. Which meant it would be a simpler feast, with a variety of fish, meats, vegetables, fruit, and some fermented alcohol, probably something sweetish.

He preferred that to the more ornate roast pig, much as he enjoyed the succulent pork dripping with spice and honey. The simpler menu usually meant that everyone was more relaxed, and could concentrate on enjoying themselves rather than worrying about whatever the ceremony demanded. He was here on a mission, but no reason he couldn’t enjoy himself while doing it!

Gorolka had left his red cloak somewhere and wore the same simple cloth skirt as all the other villagers, men and women. The climate was warm all year round here, with little seasonal change, and most of the people of the Sunrise Shore wore little to no clothing. Gunnarsson had left his sword and wallet in the Chief’s hall, apparently, and was dressed only in his light tunic.

He and Donn stood out from the villagers, not only because they were the only two people wearing tunics, but also because the colors were far too quiet for the boisterous hues of the island. The villagers seemed to vie with one another to wear the brightest, most vibrant, clashing colors possible, bizarre combinations of scintillating pink with chartreuse spots, a crisscross pattern of sky-blue and orange, one all black with flying fish embroidered around it in silver thread... every one was unique, and each more colorful than the last.

Donn and Gunnarsson looked positively drab: Donn in a dark blue tunic and the Captain faded maroon.

Multicolored ground cloths were spread out around the elongated firepit, and some log seats moved around.

The Chief and Gunnarsson got a fancy ground cloth with a picture of a flying vulture on it, and Gorolka waved the Captain to the empty log set to the side of the Chief’s ornately carved chair. Two women took up their positions in front, pouring wine into his goblet, and then into Gunnarsson’s, before filling up plates with delicious food for the two of them.

Donn had to fend for himself, but he was quite happy sitting with Arioreiyu and Iarolu, passing around a jug of sourish wine and loading up on fresh-cooked food. As a trader Donn could eat almost anything, but he had no trouble at all helping himself to the feast this time.

The men sat closest to the fire, which was mostly glowing coals instead of leaping flame, with the women and children farther away, on the outside. Every so often a woman would approach the fire and fill a large platter with roast meat or fish, taking it back for the rest of the women and children to eat. Once a young boy, probably eight or ten, scuttled up to the fire and reached for a skewered fish, only to be swatted back by one of the men lounging nearby.

He ran back to safety, but escaped with a skewer in his hand as the men laughed at his feat.

The only servants were the two women plying the Chief and his guest with food and wine. Gunnarsson seemed to be enjoying himself, and Donn noticed that he was spending an awful lot of time laughing at everything the Chief said. Probably not drinking enough to forget how to butter up a customer, Donn figured.

The feast went on for hours, villagers eating, socializing, snoozing as they saw fit, and many of the younger children began to disappear, carried off to their huts to sleep, no doubt. Donn wasn’t much of a drinker, but he had been drinking steadily since late afternoon, and even with the healthy helping of food to soften the blow, things were still getting a bit blurry.

He rose, staggered slightly, and began to toddle off to his hut.

“Uralorea, tend to our guest!” Arioreiyu called to the women in the gathering darkness, and a young girl—about twelve or so, guessed Donn—jumped up and took his arm, supporting him.

She said something Donn couldn’t understand, but it was clear she was leading him to his hut, so he followed as she led. He wasn’t as dunk as he’d thought, in spite of staggering a bit when he got up, but he’d certainly sleep well tonight.

The floor of the hut was woven reed, and the mattress some rough cloth stretched over leaves, he guessed from the feel.

Uralorea helped him lie down, then brought a cup of fresh water and set it down by his head. The hut was dark, but the opening faced the fire, and a stray beam flashed on something hanging around her neck. He looked closer—it was a small mirror, oval and set with some gemstone, hanging on a dark metal chain.

Certainly not local manufacture; she must have gotten it in trade from the mainland, probably at the festival on Tallawiggu.

He pointed to it and smiled. “It’s very beautiful!”

She smiled back, bowed her head, and dropped her skirt.

Donn’s smile froze.

She was only twelve!

He couldn’t do this!

Maybe it was how they honored guests here, but he had no sexual interest in children! He felt repelled by the very thought.

There was only one thing to do.

He pretended to feel sick, and lurched up to stumble out of the door, pretending that he was about to vomit.

He made appropriate noises in the undergrowth, waited a few minutes to see if she would leave, and when she didn’t lurched back into the hut and collapsed on the floor, only half on the mattress. He faked drunken slumber until the real thing overtook him, but was still awake enough to notice when she snuggled up close to him in the darkness to join him in sleep.

When he awoke she was combing her hair with her fingers, still naked.

He groaned theatrically and held his head as if he had a hangover, and gingerly walked out of the hut to pee. He didn’t have to fake that part.

When he got back, still holding his head in apparent agony, he handed her her skirt and motioned her outside.

She smiled, a big, beautiful, radiant smile, and eagerly put her skirt back on, then slipped outside to join the other women in preparing breakfast.

As she left he took another look at that mirror. It was decorated with a frame of tiny red stones, probably garnets, he thought. That many rubies would be pretty pricey to find on the Sunrise Shore.

Strangely enough, his hangover vanished almost immediately.

He watched the villagers starting their day, preparing the morning meal, taking care of children, or eating a quick and simple meal before heading out to sea, or inland to gather food, or farm.

Gunnarsson and the Chief appeared shortly, both looking actually hung-over.

He stepped outside so the Captain could see him, and waited to see what was happening.

Gunnarsson noticed him, and waved him over, walking a little ways away from Gorolka for privacy.

“The Chief is going to show us where they found the wreck, after he eats. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Drank too much last night keeping the Chief happy. Feels like a wyvern or two is thumping around up there,” complained Gunnarsson, holding his head. “Go eat and leave me alone.”

Donn chuckled as he wandered over to join Arioreiyu, who was working on a bowl of some meat and rice mixture.

“Got any more of that?”

“Sure, Master Donn,” the other replied, and turned toward one of the nearer huts.

“Hey! Another bowl for Master Donn!”

A woman’s head appeared briefly in the entrance, and a few seconds later she came trotting out with another bowl.

It must have been leftovers from last night, Donn figured... rice, fish, vegetables, a little meat, all cooked up into a delicious stew.

He slurped it down.

Arioreiyu drank his cup empty, shook it once, and poured in more tea, then handed it to Donn.

“Tea’ll help you wake up,” he said. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks, Master Arioreiyu.”

It was new to Donn, bitter and aromatic. Almonds? He couldn’t quite place it, but it was good, and he felt the lingering traces of sleep evaporate.

Half an hour later, the four of them—Chief Gorolka, Gunnarsson, Arioreiyu, and Donn—set out.

Arioreiyu led the way as they trudged up the steep slope of the ridge encircling the bay.

“It’s a lot easier to just walk around, along the coast, but this is much faster,” he explained.

Donn didn’t mind the exercise, and it was more hiking than mountain climbing, but apparently Gunnarsson was still not in the best of moods, and was mostly silent and grumpy.

Chief Gorolka, on the other hand, was happy and cheerful, pointing things out along the way: flowers, fruit, a small fox. He even commented on the Bella, now a tiny ship in the harbor below them.

Gunnarsson glanced at it, as if to make sure it was still there, and then concentrated on climbing again.

Once they reached the crest it was a long, gentle slope down the ridgeline, and after about half an hour Arioreiyu guided them onto a trail that headed down toward the sea.

Donn could see shallows stretching out over a wide area, with outcroppings of coral here and there interwoven with darker blue waters.

Gorolka stopped at a convenient outlook, and explained that they came here to hunt for certain fish and shellfish that lived in the reef, as well as collecting coral for trade. Every so often the tide would bring the other treasures as well, such as the shipwreck that had launched this adventure.

“The tide?” asked Gunnarsson. “You find things brought by the tide here often?”

“Yes, quite common, although a lot of it ends up on the outer reefs and never makes it close to land,” said Arioreiyu.

“So that ship could have drifted here, then, from somewhere else.”

“Where was the shipwreck when you found it?”

The Chief pointed toward the sea.

“See those three trees there? Look behind the one on the right, see that patch of dark water? With the large, almost circular coral behind it?”

Donn and Gunnarsson followed his finger.

“Yes. And something green just behind it,” confirmed Gunnarsson.

“Yep, that’s it. It was half on top of that coral, and flotsam scattered around in the water nearby.”

“No survivors, no bodies?”

“No bodies,” replied Gorolka. “As far as we could tell the ship was empty.”

“Strange...” mused Gunnarsson. “Maybe they abandoned ship? But surely they’d have landed here if so...”

Donn nodded in agreement, and glanced at the sun, already well above the horizon.

“If the sun rose about there,” he mused, pointing, “then this reef is roughly on the east-northeast coast. Might have drifted here from somewhere, if there was no crew aboard. We’ll have to check the charts when we get back.”

“You want to go down and see the reef yourself?” asked Gorolka, speaking over Donn.

“No, this is all I needed,” said Gunnarsson. “I thought the ship went down here, but it looks like maybe not, now. I can check the currents and see where it might have drifted from.

“I’ve seen what I needed to see,” he continued. “Thank you, Chief, for leading me here. I am in your debt.”

The Chief smiled, and they turned to retrace their steps toward the village. They were still on the ridgeline, so there was very little climbing involved, and the fresh breeze had invigorated Gunnarsson.

They made good time.

* * *

They returned to the village shortly before noon, and the party broke up.

Arioreiyu and Chief Gorolka had their own affairs to attend to, while Gunnarsson and Donn were eager to return to the Bella and check the sea charts.

Gorolka offered to have some of the villagers take him out, but the Captain said he didn’t want to take up any more of the Chief’s valuable time, and shouted to the crew to come get them.

He wrist-shook the Chief one more time, and thanked him again, while the Chief in turn handed him two jugs of their wine.

The ship’s longboat was already in the water, left there after bringing back provisions and fresh water to replenish the ship’s stores. Khairi, Hakim, and the two troopers brought it up close to the shore a few minutes later, and Donn and the Captain climbed aboard from the gentle surf.

“Back to the Bella, Khairi. I think we’re done here,” said Gunnarsson. “Have to see those sea charts.”

“You two seem to have had quite a party last night,” grinned Khairi. “Looked like an awful lot of people having a fun time around that fire.”

“Strictly business, I assure you,” denied the Captain, waving his hands. “Hated every minute of it.”

“Yes, I can vouch for the fact that it was all business,” Donn chuckled. “Especially the attractive women and the wine, very businesslike indeed.”

“Speaking of wine,” continued Gunnarsson, “I happen to have two jugs of their finest right here, and I think we’ll have to inspect them to be sure they haven’t spoiled. Perhaps later, though.”

“Always happy to help with inspections, Cap’n!”

They soon reached the Bella and climbed aboard.

“Hoist up the longboat, Captain?”

“No, not yet,” he answered. “Let us see those charts first.”

Donn explained to Hakim how the current carried flotsam to that stretch of coast, and how they thought that ship might have drifted here from somewhere else, since nobody had mentioned any survivors or bodies.

In the ship’s chartroom Gunnarsson pulled out the charts of the Sunrise Shore and vicinity. Donn and Hakim joined him, poring over the hand-written notations.

“The strongest flow through the Sunrise Shore is the Cirque, twisting back westward past Mnar and Cydathria,” said Gunnarsson, tapping the chart. The Torrent flowed up into the Southern Sea between Theth and Zar, splitting into two major currents, one turning west toward Khem and the Basalt Pillars of the West, and the other heading northeast toward Sarrub and the Cerenarian Sea. That eastern current split again, one branch heading south along the Mnar coast, then circled back west through the Sunrise Shore before returning to the Torrent once again in an enormous circle: The Cirque.

“So it could really be anywhere along the Mnar coast, then,” said Donn. “Or even farther north, Ooth-Nargai or the Isles of Nariel.”

Gunnarsson pursed his lips.

“Not impossible, but my guess is that the ship would founder long before it was carried that far, if the crew abandoned her... or the wind would drive her into the Grim Forest.”

The Grim Forest was the enormous patch of kelp and floating debris that collected in the relatively dead waters at the center of the Cirque, roughly midway between Oriab and Mtal. The wind itself, it was said, avoided the Grim Forest, and ships trapped there were often unable to escape.

There were countless rumors about what lived there.

“I’m thinking something much closer,” continued Gunnarsson, “like Mtal.”

“Mtal?” Donn considered the idea. “But nobody goes to Mtal! At least, nobody has ever come back to tell the tale.”

“Precisely. Which would explain why nobody’s ever reported Princessa trees there.”

“And the crew?”

Gunnarsson shrugged.

“No idea what happened to the crew. Could have been plague, or some monster, who knows? Pirates are unlikely, I think, or they would’ve kept the ship.”

“Hmm. Well, it’s as good a plan as anything, and I certainly don’t have any better ideas. Hakim? What do you think?”

Hakim signed back quickly.

“He suggests we approach very carefully, and use your kite to see what we’re getting into.”

“An excellent idea,” agreed Gunnarsson. “I’ve never gone there myself, either, and to be honest I’d rather not go now, given its reputation... but I think it’s our best option.”

“To Mtal, then.

“To Mtal,” agreed the Captain, standing. “I’ll go tell the crew.”

They set sail about an hour later.

 

Chapter 3

 

It was not far from the Sunrise Shore to Mtal, but the current was to the west, against them. They instead angled north, where the current weakened closer to the Grim Forest.

Donn had heard tales of the wrecks and denizens of the Grim Forest, and no desire to encounter them personally. Fortunately, Captain Gunnarsson agreed, although he was reticent to reveal his own experiences, and so the Bella began to head eastward, toward Mtal, once the current slowed. 

As they approached Mtal the wind strengthened, and they were able to pick up speed as they continued north, until the current once again began to flow southeast along the Cirque, around Mtal and down toward Thraa and Mnar before it turned westward to the Sunrise Shore.

Captain Gunnarsson was finally able to guide the Bella as he wished, controlling helm and sail masterfully to bring the ship to a position upwind of Mtal.

They could see the very tops of the mountainous island, but before they could see the shore, or any nearby ships, they would have to approach closer... or use the kite.

Donn helped Shatrevar get strapped in as the others got the windlass set up, and when everything was ready the Captain turned close to the wind, and Shatrevar leapt into the air. The wind grabbed him, shook him, and threw him high into the sky.

He swooped, soared, slid about, and finally settled down to a gentle swaying motion, as the pull of the tether balanced the push of the wind.

Two color-coded weights came sliding down, and Khairi read them out: No ships in sight, but multiple campfires. He suggested that probably meant a village, since it would be unlikely to find an army camped out here.

About half an hour later another message came sliding down: Pull me in, it said.

Donn and Khairi cranked down the windlass, reeling the bucking kite closer and closer until finally Shatrevar stood on the deck, breathing heavily from the exertion.

The Captain handed the helm to Khorshed, and joined them on the stern deck.

“Looks like one small village, Captain,” reported Shatrevar. “Something strange going on, though... I couldn’t see a single fishing boat out, and only one person ashore.”

“But you said multiple campfires.”

“Yes, at least four, maybe five. That’s about right for a small village this time of year, but there should have been people fishing, tending the garden—looked like a pretty extensive garden, probably vegetables but it was too far to see well—or doing everything else.”

“Siesta?” suggested Donn, relaying a quick sign from Hakim.

“Could be,” agreed Shatrevar. “That’s why I stayed up that long, to see if anything changed. And it’s getting a bit late in the day for a siesta.”

The sun was well past zenith, and while dusk was yet some time away, afternoon was well advanced.

Captain Gunnarsson, Donn, and Hakim talked later in the Captain’s quarters.

“If there are no other ships, I think the best thing to do is just go ashore and try to find out more,” said Donn. “Should be safe if it’s almost deserted.”

“The question is: why is it deserted,” said Gunnarsson.

“Mmm. Good question,” agreed Donn. “But only one way to find out...”

That night the Bella crept closer to shore, just around a promontory from the village, and the longboat launched toward Mtal. A short time later Donn, Hakim, and Moswen, one of the troopers, jumped off and waded ashore as the longboat began the long trip back to the ship through the darkness.

They slowly worked their way down the coast, staying hidden in the underbrush along the edge of the forest. It took them about half an hour until they could see the village from their hiding place, and they settled down there to see what awaited them.

As dawn came they expected to see villagers about their business, preparing the morning meal, perhaps setting out for the first fishing of the day, children fetching and carrying, but there was almost nothing.

A boy, perhaps in his teens, sat in the doorway of his hut, staring vacantly at the sea.

Donn trained his telescope on the boy—he was crying!

And he had a chain attached to his leg!

A hand entered his field of vision and he quickly shifted the telescope upwards: a woman, perhaps in her thirties or forties, had stepped up out of the darkness of the hut to join the boy. She, too, had a chain on her ankle.

She carried a plate of something, obviously urging the boy to eat, but he shook his head, and continuing to sit, dejectedly staring into the waves.

The woman—his mother?— sat beside him, the plate left on the ground, and hugged him close.

“They’re chained up,” whispered Donn. “There’s a boy over there with his mother, and they’re chained up like slaves. Can’t leave the huts at all, it looks like.”

“So how’d they get the food, then?”

Donn shrugged.

“There must be slavers about, I think. Should we risk it?”

Hakim shook his head, signed.

“Hakim says we should wait until dark,” explained Donn. “I agree. What do you think, trooper?”

Moswen nodded. “Yeah, and I think we should find a better spot to watch from, too. I don’t want to risk getting caught by slavers.”

They slowly worked their way deeper into the forest. The ground began to slope uphill toward the mountains that formed the center of the island.

“Maybe swing around a bit, see if we can find a place to look down from above. Forest’s not that dense,” suggested Moswen.

They trudged uphill, trying to find paths between the trees that were free of underbrush. In a few places they had no choice but to use their swords to lop off a few branches, but for the most part they moved in silence punctuated by occasional whispers.

Moswen, leading the trio, suddenly held up his hand to halt, and dropped to a crouch.

Donn craned his neck to see what might be up ahead, and snuck up to join Moswen, bent over to stay low.

There was a fairly broad patch of open ground, mostly bare rock. It stretched several dozen meters, and they had a choice of going around, which would take them farther away from the village, or crossing it and risk being seen.

“What do you think?” asked Moswen.

“We haven’t heard or seen anybody yet,” replied Donn. “I say go for it.”

Moswen nodded. “Island’s practically deserted!”

Moswen stepped in the clearing, looked slowly around, then ran across, keeping low. Donn stood at the edge of the forest watching him.

Three men suddenly appeared to his right, and two more right in front of Moswen.

“Halt!”

Donn crouched, but it was too late.

“You there! In the trees! Come out or your friend dies!”

Donn hesitated, then stepped out of the forest.

Two of the men to his right had bows, arrows set to bowstrings. The rest had swords, one at Moswen’s throat.

He stopped, unbuckled his sword, and waited.

“Just you two?”

Donn didn’t hesitate.

“Just us.”

“Drado, Cosmere, check it out. And get him tied up,” ordered the slaver. Surely, they must be the slavers, thought Donn.

The men from his right walked over to Donn, two of them slipping into the trees behind him and the third tying his hands together behind his back with a leather cord.

Hakim must have slipped away before they noticed, Donn thought. Good. At least one of us gets out of this.

The slaver pushed him forward, toward Moswen, and tied the two of them together with another leather cord around their ankles. It was short, preventing them from running, forcing them to shuffle their feet.

“Well, two more healthy slaves,” laughed the leader. “Where’re you from, slave?”

“Donn of Dylath-Leen.”

“So you’re Donn? Huh,” said the other. “Heard of you.”

“Then you know I can pay your ransom.”

“Hah! I don’t need your ransom, trader! I need you!” he said punching him in the chest with one finger for emphasis.

“Me?”

“Rich, poor, whatever: doesn’t matter. You’ll do just fine.”

“Do? For what?”

The two men who had entered the forest came out again.

“No sign, boss. Looks like it really was just the two of them.”

“OK, let’s go, then.”

“Hey, wait! That’s my ship out there! I can pay your ransom!”

The slaver turned to look down at the bay. They had a perfect view from this high, and Donn could clearly make out a large ship bearing down on the Bella, in the open sea just outside the reach of the bay.

“Maybe you do,” said the man. “And if you do, it’ll be ours soon enough.”

He yanked the rope around their necks, pulling the two of them away, into the forest, and they could see the Bella no longer.

* * *

The slaver camp was, strangely, farther inland. Donn had expected it would be on the shore to make it easier to load slaves onto the ship.

It was a very simple camp, and obviously not designed to hold slaves for very long. Or at least not in any comfort. There were half a dozen bamboo cages, tiny and dirt-floored, with a dish on the ground full of muddy water. No food that he could see.

They threw the two of them into a filthy cage.

Donn slowly picked himself up. He wanted to rub the mud off his face, but his hands were still tied behind his back. He struggled and panted, and finally managed pull the rope over his legs so his hands were now tied in front of him instead of behind.

Moswen was trying to do the same thing.

Donn smiled at his success, then froze—they weren’t alone!

In the back, hiding in the shadows, was a young boy—a teenager, Donn thought—huddled in rags. He was holding something, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark shadows after the brilliant sunlight of the clearing, he realized the boy was holding an even younger child, nothing but their terrified eyes shining in the darkness.

He kept his distance for now.

“It’s alright, lad,” he said quietly, sitting flat on the dirt. “We won’t hurt you.”

The boy said nothing, blinked.

“Do you understand me?”

There was no sign he did.

Donn tried some other languages, bits and pieces of speech he’d picked up over the years, but without any luck.

“Moswen, you know any more?”

Moswen, who had sat motionless while Donn was trying, shook his head.

“Sorry, I can get around the Eastern Continent pretty well, but not down here.”

Donn gave up. Either they had no language in common, or—more likely—the boy was simply so scared he couldn’t move.

He decided to just wait and see, and sat down, sitting to face the door to their cage. He left his back exposed to the boy, making it clear that he wasn’t a threat.

They sat in silence for several hours, changing positions or whispering to each other.

A pirate walked past every so often, glancing at them briefly to be sure they weren’t trying to escape.

The shadows began to grow longer in the late afternoon, and suddenly Moswen cleared his throat, and pointed at the boy.

Donn turned to see what he was pointing at, and saw the boy signing toward the trees... there! In the shadows! It was Hakim!

He was deaf! Or at least spoke sign language.

Donn motioned Moswen to stay silent, and tried to follow what the boy was saying, but most of it was meaningless... he was signing a different language. Still, he had a pretty good grasp of how signing worked, and even without the language there were a lot of gestures that meant similar things... like, death.

Hakim got more, and after a moment let Donn know what he’d learned with their own signs. Apparently they were all going to die. Soon. It was impossible to tell clearly what the boy was trying to say. Something about mother, and trees, but mostly about dying.

“He knows signs, but he speaks a different language,” whispered Donn. “Hakim says we’re going to die.”

“Die? Slavers don’t kill people, though.”

“No, but if they were slavers, why did they bring us here instead of down to the village?”

“Yeah, I wondered about that myself,” agreed Moswen. “Maybe we should take a chance on escaping now after all. Any of those bamboo stakes look loose to you?”

Donn and Moswen quickly checked the cage, but unfortunately everything was solid. The stakes were dug deep, and the whole thing woven together with rope—a lot of rope—that would take a long time to get through without their daggers.

Donn had no doubt that their captors would be back to check on them long before they could.

Donn scooped a leaf out of the water dish, wondering if that was what they’d have to live on until... until they died.

He’d already mentioned ransom, and they’d shown no interest at all. And the Bella! What had happened to the Bella?

If the Bella was still free they might have a chance, but without the ship... but Hakim was still free!

Donn smiled.

Hakim was very, very quiet when he wanted to be.

“What the fuck are you so happy about?” whispered Moswen.

“Wait until dark,” whispered Donn, “and stay quiet.”

Moswen nodded, and they both sat on the ground, heads slumped as if they’d given up hope entirely.

After a while the boy slid a little closer to Donn, who smiled and patted the ground next to him.

The boy hesitated, then slowly joined him. He jumped a bit when Donn’s hand touched his, then relaxed and grasped it in his own.

The child on his lap, probably four or five, Donn guessed, slithered closer, their head—her head? Donn thought it might be a girl—finding a resting place on his leg.

They waited.

A few hours later one of the pirates came and looked inside the cage.

“Hold up yer arms! Let me see those ropes!”

Donn and Moswen both held their arms up so the pirate could see their ropes were still secure.

“Don’t try nothin’ or yer gonna regret it,” he said as he rattled the cage bars to be sure none was loose. We can see this cage just fine from where we’re sittin’ and I’d hate to hafta break yer arms for trying to get out.”

Donn nodded.

“Maybe some food? We’ve been here all day...”

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe not. Depends what the cap’n says.”

“The captain? Who’s the captain?”

“None of yer business. The cap’n wants ya ta know, he’ll tell ya.”

He spat and stalked off again.

A few hours later it was quite dark, and Donn moved to the side of the cage closest to the forest, his back against it.

As he’d hoped, he felt a tap on his side. He opened his hand and felt the haft of a dagger pressed into it, then a second.

He sat still, not turning to look at Hakim.

“How many?”

Six taps.

“Six.”

One squeeze.

Moswen nodded, listening closely.

“More prisoners?”

Squeeze.

“Lots?”

Squeeze.

“Free them now?”

Hakim’s hand moved back and forth across Donn’s. No.

“Wait until tomorrow?”

Squeeze.

“Can you give them weapons?”

No.

“Thanks. We’ll wait for your signal tomorrow.”

Squeeze, followed by the slightest rustling of leaves as Hakim slipped back into the darkness of the forest.

“He says there are many prisoners—I’d guess the villagers—and he doesn’t want to free them yet. I don’t know why, but he said he didn’t have any weapons. Anyway, we wait for his signal tomorrow.”

He handed Moswen one of the daggers.

“Saw most of the way through the ropes, so we can break them when the time comes.”

Moswen nodded.

“Good man, Hakim. Not too thrilled with ending up in the pot, or as a slave. Now we’ve got a fighting chance.”

“More than a chance, I think. Hakim’s a very good man.”

Donn was dead tired but spent the night holding the children, hoping that he could save them the next day.

* * *

Donn snapped awake when the boy moved, and glanced around.

Dawn.

Nobody yet.

The two children walked over to the smelly side of the cage and relieved themselves. Donn didn’t stare, but there really wasn’t any privacy. And that younger child was definitely a girl.

Moswen was awake, too, watching to see if anyone was approaching.

A few minutes later one of the pirates walked up, and once again told them to show their hands.

They held them up clearly—they’d cut most of the way through the ropes, but it was hard to see. The pirate didn’t.

“Come on out, you two, slowly,” he ordered, standing back from the cage door with sword drawn. “Hey! Kid! You too!”

The four of them bent down to pass through the small doorway, and stood quietly. Donn and Moswen did their best to keep their ropes hidden under their tunics, but it was impossible to hide them all the time without being obvious. And the boy insisted on holding one of Donn’s arms, making it even harder.

“Walk, that way,” said the pirate, gesturing with his sword. “If you try to run I’ll gut you like a fish. And you can’t run none in those hobbles anyway.”

They meekly walked down the trail as directed.

The path turned right, uphill and into the trees.

Only a short distance beyond they crested the hill, and looked down into a small valley.

It was almost perfectly round, with steep walls... An old volcano, maybe, or a meteor crater, Donn thought. He was more interested in what was in the crater, though: he thought they might be trees at first, but their branches—tentacles?—were waving through the air gently. They had no leaves at all, but glistened in the morning sunlight with all the colors of the rainbow.

Princessa!

Enormous trees of Princessa!

Princessa wasn’t a wood, then, but some sort of creature. Like an anemone. Alive.

He gaped in astonishment, trying to make sense of it all.

Suddenly there was a scream and a naked man fell into the crater.

A pirate had pushed him in!

The man landed on his feet, scrabbling wildly on the exposed rock wall, mad with fear as he tried to escape.

One of the tentacles bent down, gently sliding through the air to approach the man, who continued to try to scale the wall, oblivious. The tentacle hesitated for a moment as if taking aim, then shot forward with an audible woosh, wrapping around the man’s thigh and yanking him off his feet.

He shrieked in pain and fear, hammering on the tentacle with his fists, to no avail.

It dragged him back toward the trunk, where half a dozen other tentacles descended to encase the man almost entirely. One slapped down across his face, abruptly cutting off his screams, and then there was a muted squishing noise, and, mercifully, his struggles ceased.

The tentacles swirled in color, patches of iridescence dancing across their surface with new vitality.

The Princessa... it ate him!

There were about a dozen villagers standing there, along with Donn’s group, and the pirates stepped forward, swords drawn, to force them into the valley.

Hakim stepped out of the trees and slashed one across the neck, pivoting to stick a second in the back.

They were taken completely by surprise, not expecting an attack from their rear.

“Now!”

Donn yanked his hands and legs apart, tearing through the few strands of rope they’d left, and yanked his dagger out of hiding under his tunic.

He leapt onto the closest pirate, catching the briefest glimpse of Moswen doing the same.

At the sudden battle, the villagers turned, tackling the two pirates herding them with their bodies and teeth, even though their hands were behind their backs. One villager fell, then a second, but the pirates were overwhelmed, and Hakim’s sword finished the job.

It was all over within a few minutes, and soon the villagers were freed.

The pirates, two still living, were unceremoniously dumped over the edge.

“Give me a hand collecting dry brush, will you?”

Moswen nodded at Donn’s request, and together with Hakim began collecting brush, leaves, and other debris from the forest.

There was an argument among the villagers, and then one woman turned her back on the rest of the villagers, and strode over to help collect brush. A second followed, then the rest.

They dumped it all into the crater, and Hakim handed Donn a burning branch taken from the pirates’ campfire.

The pirates were all dead now, whether by the fall or the Princessa, Donn neither knew nor cared. He was glad he didn’t have to burn anyone alive, though, as he dropped the flaming branch onto the pile of brush.

Silent, he watched the flames grow into an inferno, and the tentacles whip frantically through the air in agony.

The Princessa whistled as it burned, collapsing slowly into death.

Donn just sat and watched. Moswen sat next to him, and the two children, and the rest of the villagers.

It burned hot, and there was nothing but a fine gray-and-white ash left an hour later.

* * *

By the time Donn, Hakim and Moswen reached the village the remaining villagers had already been freed. People were greeting each other with tears of joy at seeing their loved ones once again, or tears of sorrow at the ones gone forever.

The village chief was long gone, killed by the pirates when they first came, but he gradually pieced the story together from the survivors.

The Princessa had always been here, small shrubs that only grew in that single crater, living off frogs and other small creatures. The pirates had come to the island originally as slavers, and one of the villagers had escaped, running into the forest to hide.

They’d found him, but during the search one of them slipped into the crater, and they discovered that the Princessa, whatever it was, grew vastly larger and more colorful on human flesh.

Princessa was worth far more than mere slaves, and so they decided to use the villagers as food instead. Dozens had been killed, possibly even more from other villages on the island.

“Well, it’s all gone,” said Donn. “It may grow back someday, but every one of those damned things is ash now!”

“Yeah, sort of a pity, though,” said Moswen. “We could have made a pretty penny off that much Princessa!”

The villager they were sitting with looked at them quizzically.

“You wanted that opal-wood?”

“Yeah, that’s why the pirates came here, and why we followed,” said Donn. “It’s very valuable.”

“You saved our lives,” replied the other. “If it’s worth that much to you, take it, with our thanks!”

He pointed up at the ceiling of his hut, and there, set into the woodwork high on the wall, was a single board made of about two dozen small twigs, carefully cut and fitted together into a single panel of exquisite color.

“All of our huts have these,” he explained. “They are beautiful, yes, but not worth anything to us... take them! Take them all!”

He stood and pulled the panel from the wall and handed it to Donn.

Once the word got out, the villagers quickly brought dozens more, until Donn had large pile by his side. More than he could carry, certainly, and worth far more than he could imagine, he suspected.

He was almost speechless.

Then he realized... if he couldn’t carry it, and the Bella was gone, what use was it?

Where was the Bella?

He walked down to the shore and scanned the ocean... not a sign.

No debris, which was good, but also no sign of the pirate’s ship.

The last sight he’d had was the Bella under attack... what had happened?

He sighed, and trudged back to the village.

Hakim motioned him to a stop, and pointed up into the sky.

Donn turned, squinted... a kite!

It was the Bella’s observation kite!

He shouted with delight and pounded Hakim on the back as the villagers stopped what they were doing and turned to watch.

Half an hour later the Bella hove into view, slipping quietly into the harbor and dropping the longboat.

Captain Gunnarsson stepped into the surf and waded ashore, leaving Khorshed and Thabit to manhandle the longboat up onto the sand.

“You’re alive!” said Donn, grasping the captain’s wrist.

“You, too, it seems!”

“How did you escape that ship? What happened to it?”

“Any time I can’t escape a fat old ship like that, full of fat old fools, it’ll be time to retire,” laughed the captain. “They’re all dead, most of them.”

“Dead?”

“The Bella’s got a very, very shallow draft, Master Donn. I led them on a merry chase, letting them gradually close the gap between us, and slipped right over a reef well out from the shore.

“Their ship was quite a bit bigger than mine, and tore itself to pieces, poor fools.

“Only two of them managed to make it to the Bella, and we didn’t let them onboard.”

Now it was Donn’s turn to laugh.

“I should never have doubted you, Captain Gunnarsson.”

“It’s a common mistake,” he revealed, “and you may be one of the few who lives to tell the tale.”

“Speaking of tales, we have one of our own,” said Donn. “And a little cargo for the Bella...”

He pointed at the pile of Princessa panels.

“My, my, my... yes, that will pay for this trip quite nicely, I think. The Factor may even give us bonuses!”

“It would be appropriate to bring a shipload of cattle, a couple dozen bolts of cloth, various other gifts, to thank the villagers for their help. Think the Factor’ll go for that?”

“When he sees this pile he’ll spring for another ship if I ask him!”

“I think I’d like to sail that ship back here myself, Captain. Or join you, if you come. I’d like to stop by Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha again, and give Uralorea—the girl they gave me for the night—a gift. I think she may have been hurt because I didn’t sleep with her.”

“And sleep with her?”

Donn grimaced.

“She’s just a kid. But she seemed pretty lonely, and I wanted her to have something nice in her life.”

“Fall in love, did you?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s not like that at all. She’s just a sweet kid. Kept holding onto her mirror, like it was something really important to her, something sad.”

“Mirror?”

“Yeah, a little oval mirror with garnets around the rim. Real nice. I thought it was a pretty strange thing to find on that island.”

Gunnarsson froze.

“Oval? With garnets around the rim? Why do you say garnets?”

Donn shrugged.

“There were a lot of little red stones; garnets seemed likely. Never saw it up close.”

Gunnarsson was looking out at the horizon as he whispered “Those aren’t garnets... they’re rubies... I gave that mirror to Lotarra.”

He grabbed Donn by the shoulders.

“How old was the girl?”

“I don’t know... about twelve or so, I’d guess...”

“Lotarra! It must be her! Her daughter... my daughter.”

The Bella set sail within the hour.

 

END

Donn: The Grim Tower

They had done well at Baharna, selling many of the wares they had brought from Dylath-Leen: bolts of multi-colored cloth woven of Ulthar wool, iridescent textiles from Hatheg, apples from Sinara and Jaren, Dylath-Leen’s own rubies and more, traded for the fragrant resins of Oriab’s inner groves, the delicate porcelain fired by the artists of Baharna, and herbs and spices unique to the island.

They replenished food and water, and the Nausheen set sail for distant Poltarnees, riding the Cirque current eastward. The Torrent swept into the Southern Sea from unknown origins, far south of Zar and Theth, splitting into two great currents, the Cirque flowing eastward toward Ophir and Poltarness before circling around past Cydathria, through the Sunrise Shore and back to Theth once again, and the Black Current, flowing toward the Basalt Pillars of the West, past Thalarion and the mouth of the River Yann before crashing over the Cataract at the Edge of the World to fall for eternity, oft carrying hapless mariners to a fate unknown.

They certainly were not the only ship on this route, but they saw no others once they’d left the bustling harbor of Baharna behind.

It should have been a simple voyage, and a profitable one.

Donn set the course to north-northeast, toward for the Isles of Nariel, hoping to avoid the Grim Forest in the center of the Cirque, between Oriab and mysterious Mtal. The ocean current there slowed to almost nothing, and vast stretches of kelp and other seaborne vegetation made it almost impossible for a ship to escape once trapped.

Countless rumors told of ships pulled into the Grim Forest, trapped there forever, crews eaten by the nameless monsters of the kelp forests. It was true that ships sometimes did go missing, but that happened on every ocean, and who was to say if it was more or less common near the Grim Forest?

Donn had seen the vast stretches of kelp floating on the sea, and vague shapes deeper in, hidden in the constant fog. He thought he had even seen a ship, once, but it was impossible to tell for sure—a back shadow in the fog that vanished again even as he looked closer.

He’d decided years earlier that he’d stay well away from the area even if it did cost him an extra day or two. Better late than dead.

The Nausheen was a good ship, a three-masted merchanter of common design. The deck was quite steep fore and aft, the prow with its forecastle and the foremost mast, while aft was the half-deck with ladders up and down, and the helm and its minimal protection, followed by the tiny poop cabin at the stern. Between them was the ship’s waist, roughly as long as it was broad, packed with all the varied dunnage needed by a ship that sails out of sight of land. In addition to the longboat and a spare mast lashed to one side, the cargo hatch and crane were also found there.

She sailed with a crew of about twenty, many of whom had sailed with Donn for a decade or more. Over the year they’d sailed most of the seas, from Dothur in the East to Sona Nyl in the west, from Zar in the south where the Torrent begins to Inganok and Lomar in the twilight of the frigid north. They knew and trusted their ship, old as she was, and their captain as well.

Donn had been with them through it all, leading them through dangerous situations where lesser captains would have failed, and never forgetting to split the profits (and he was always profitable) with the crew.

As soon as the outline of Mt. Ngranek slipped into obscurity, Donn handed the helm over to Yan of Rokol, a muscular man in his mid-forties who had been at Donn’s right hand for years. It was a bit surprising for a man from inland Rokol to exhibit such an intuitive knowledge of the sea and how to sail, but he’d proven his skill countless times over the years. He had no love but the sea, and his weathered face was always turned to watch the wind and the waves.

Hakim, as was often the case, was relaxed on the forecastle, playing an idle tune on his panpipe in the hope of attracting a dolphin or two to frolic alongside. So far they’d only seen one whale, silently breaching the surface to blow and slip out of sight again, far in the distance.

They were still some ways from the Grim Forest, and the Cirque was strong and fresh here—there should be plenty of fish, and plenty of dolphins to eat them.

Rinshallah of Dylath-Leen, a woman almost as old as Yan but was equally trusted by Donn to helm the ship, relaxed nearby. She was napping, half listening to Hakim and half catching up on her sleep in preparation for taking the night helm later.

Donn retired to the poop cabin at the stern and sat down with the list of goods. Yan would have made sure the cargo was packed properly, with the goods destined for Poltarnees in front for easy unloading, but he wanted to refresh his memory as to what they carried, and what changes they’d made in Baharna: cargo delivered or sold, new cargo bought or accepted on consignment.

All the fruit was gone, of course—it wasn’t worth hauling it to Poltanees to face local competition even if it was possible to keep it fresh on the voyage—but rubies were good everywhere, as were Ulthar wool and the iridescent woven Hatheg cloth. And now they carried a good supply of aromatic resins from the trees of Oriab, and a wide range of prized spices from the islands.

He’s also picked up a few cases of the delicate Baharna porcelain, each piece carefully wrapped in straw to prevent breakage, but those pieces were always a gamble: if a rich noble or merchant happened to see and like them they could be immensely profitable, and if not they were hardly worth the trouble. Trader’s luck.

He’d already deposited much of the gold he’d received in payment with Chóng Lán’s factor in Baharna, keeping a reasonable amount on hand for possible purchases in Poltarness, and emergencies. He and Factor Chóng had an excellent working relationship that brought the Factor all of Donn’s skill and intuition as a trader (not to mention a healthy share of the profit) while Donn retained his freedom.

“Captain!”

It was Yan, calling back from the helm.

“Wind’s picking up a tad and I don’t like the look of those clouds,” he continued.

Donn put the papers back into the oilcloth bag and walked toward the helm.

“Wind seems about the same to me,” he mused, “but those clouds are a bit dark, aren’t they? Expecting a storm?”

“Don’t rightly know, yet,” said Yan. “But the wind is changing and those clouds just don’t look right to me.”

“What do you think?”

“Hmm... might not come this way, but if it does it’ll be a big one, I’m thinking,” replied Yan. “Wait a bit longer to make sure, then get set for some rough weather, I’d say.”

Donn nodded. He trusted Yan’s weather forecasts, proven again and again on the high seas, and even though he couldn’t feel anything different about the wind, or see anything especially unusual about those dark clouds on the horizon, he had no doubt Yan was right.

The only question was whether the storm was headed for them, and a few hours later it was unfortunately very clear.

They were in for a rough night.

The crew got the Nausheen ready for the battle, lashing down everything they could, checking the rigging and sails, preparing safety ropes and pumps, securing the hatches, and more. They all ate while they had the chance, because the galley would probably be impossible to use once the stormwaves started hitting.

The ship was already bucking, climbing up the incoming waves to crash through and slide down the other side, again and again in a repeating cycle that shook them all to the bone and had the Nausheen shivering and groaning.

Though it was still afternoon, the gloom was illuminated only briefly by lightning strikes, lighting the crashing waves and the roiling clouds.

Donn joined Yan at the helm as Rinshallah stayed midship to keep an eye on the sails—now almost all furled—and masts. The ship heeled crazily, waves smashing into the crew, soaking them in cold brine, sweeping them off their feet.

Young Timothy of Celephaïs, who had joined the crew in Dylath-Leen only a month earlier, screamed in terror as he was swept overboard, no rope around his waist. It had either broken or, more likely, he simply hadn’t knotted it tight enough.

They were at least a day away from the nearest land. He was gone.

Donn and Yan pulled on the wheel, striving to keep the ship heading into the wind. If they got hit broadside by those waves it could shatter the ship to pieces.

“Klaus! Help Yan!” shouted Donn to one of the old-timers, a sailor from Daikos. Another trusted crewman, he’s been with Donn for years, too.

At his call Klaus pulled himself along the deck rail to the helm, tying himself there on a second safety line.

Once he had taken over, Donn began working his way up the length of the ship, checking on damage and making sure the crew weren’t injured.

In addition to poor Timothy, two other crewmembers were missing, probably swept overboard.

The bulwark looked undamaged, but the railing around the forecastle was mostly gone.

Hakim had tied himself to the foremast, and despite the battering of the waves and the never-ending shock of the bow as it rose and fell, was staring forward as if challenging the ocean herself.

“Hakim!”

Donn shouted, but Hakim showed no sign of having heard.

He struggled forward, almost toppled by a wave that swept over them both as the ship’s prow dug into the next wave before rising once again.

He pulled himself up and grabbed Hakim’s leg.

Startled, Hakim looked down, and reached to help him to his feet.

“You’ll drown!” Donn shouted. “The forecastle is too dangerous!”

Hakim bared his teeth in what might have been a smile, and signed “Join me?”

Donn shook his head and pulled Hakim again. “Come!”

Hakim pursed his lips for a moment, then loosened his safety line. He’d had enough.

They turned to work their way back toward the middle of the ship, only to find they were not alone.

Moksh and Katerina, both old-timers, were hanging onto the bulwark, looking up at the foremast rigging, and one of the new crewmen, a Khemite named Abbas, was getting ready to climb up to help cut a torn sail loose. Katerina was ready to go, her safety line already in place, waiting to show Abbas how it was done.

“Can the two of you cut it free?” shouted Donn, trying to make himself heard over the storm.

The woman nodded, patted the long dagger sheathed at her side.

Moksh checked Abbas’ knots and swatted him on the back. He was ready to go.

The ship plunged into a towering wall of water, the prow tilting up as the ship groaned under the stress, and there was a terrible shudder as the rudder tore loose, or free entirely.

The Nausheen shivered, and veered ever so slightly off course, turning her portside to the pounding waves, and that was enough for the angry sea. The next wave smashed into them like a battering ram, snapping the mast like a toothpick, broken rigging cracking and flying like whips through the air, the fury of the storm at last unleashed.

Donn felt a rope hit him... somewhere... his head?... he lost consciousness.

* * *

He heard voices. He was wet. His head hurt. His lips were salty. It was hot where it wasn’t wet.

A flood of sensation assaulted him, and he realized he had survived.

He groaned, gingerly opened one eye.

The sunlight was blinding.

“Well, I see our captain is back with us again!”

He squinted.

“Katerina?”

“Yes.”

He opened the other eye, slowly sat up.

“Welcome to your new ship, Captain. We call her the Foremast.”

He looked around as he mapped out the contours of the bump on the back of his skull. No blood but it still hurt when he touched it.

He was draped over part of the foremast, along with pieces of rigging and sail and a few boards that he shared with Katerina, Abbas, and Hakim.

“Hakim! You’re alive!”

Hakim signed back: Wet.

“What about Moksh? And the Nausheen?”

Katerina shook her head.

“We haven’t seen them, or anyone else. We could have been swept far away in the storm.”

Nobody mentioned the other possibility, that the Nausheen had sunk.

Katerina had dragged him to the mast, and Hakim and Abbas had managed to grab it themselves. She said that earlier she had seen a floating body, but as it was face-down in the water she’d left it there. There was a little flotsam, but only a little—Donn was hopeful that the ship had survived.

“You managed to drag me up here by yourself?” asked Donn.

Katerina laughed.

“I’m from Euxodia, remember? You’re a lot lighter than a horse that doesn’t want to move.”

“Well, thank you. I am plump, but it’s nice to know that I’ve yet to approach a horse in size.”

He turned to the others.

“Abbas, Hakim? Are you both alright?”

“Busted arm,” said Abbas. He was holding his right arm, wrapped up in a piece of sailcloth with a fragment of spar as a splint, close to his body. “Would’ve had a hard time climbing up here if she hadn’t pulled me up like a fish.”

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Donn. “Hard to see anything from this low, but at least the sea is calmer now."

"Thank goodness for that much,” agreed Katerina. “But take a look over there,” she added, pointing to one side.

Donn turned to look.

The waves were much lower there, as if something was floating on top... Donn suddenly realized what he was looking at.

Leaves.

Giant kelp leaves spreading over the surface of the ocean as far as he could see in that direction, until... until... until it vanished into that wall of mist.

The Grim Forest!

“And the current is taking us in that direction, I’m afraid,” she added.

Donn lifted his face to the sky, feeling the air.

“No breeze even.”

“Hasn’t been any since the storm blew over,” said Abbas, spitting into the water. “We can paddle with those planks or just wait. And I’m not very good at paddling with one arm.”

Donn stood up, balancing precariously on the broken foremast. He only had one sandal.

“Can’t see anything at all...” he murmured, scanning the horizon. “No ships, no birds, no nothing... except that mist waiting for us.”

Hakim signed something.

“Hakim says we should still be able to see in the mist, for at least a dozen meters or more. I agree, especially with this sunlight. It should burn off some of that mist by the time we get there.”

“And what do we do once we get there?” asked Katerina. “No food, no water, no shade, no boat.”

“We’ll have to worry about that when we can. For now, we just wait.”

They did what they could to cover themselves from the sun. The water would keep them cool enough, of course, but it was salt water, and eventually they’d need something to drink.

They were still all exhausted from the storm, and the heat and humidity sapped what little energy they had left. They drowsed, lulled by the gentle waves.

Donn opened his eyes.

Something had changed.

He levered himself up on his elbows and looked around.

Hakim and Katerina were awake as well, looking equally curious.

The mast was moving through the kelp, leaving a slowly narrowing path of open water behind it as it pushing through the leaves.

Donn glanced at Abbas. He was still sleeping, and looked like he’d developed a fever. They needed to find some water for him soon, and shade if possible.

“Can you see what’s pushing us?”

The foremast was sliding through the water stump-first. The broken-off mast was several meters from where they had been lying, on the spars, and he carefully walked down the mast toward its base to get a better look.

There was something in the water under the stump. Several blobs of greenish-gray moved, about the size of a man, he thought.

“There’s something there pulling us,” he whispered to the others. Hakim and Katerina stayed where they were, on the spars, to help keep the mast steady. If it should roll they’d all end up in the sea again, and if there was something down there pulling on the mast that might not be a good idea.

They were in the mist now, and as Hakim had predicted, it was not opaque. They could see several dozen meters, Donn estimated although it was difficult to be sure with nothing but ocean and leaves stretching off into the distance.

The sun was still shining, somewhere up in the sky, and there was ample light, but the light was dispersed in the mist, leaving everything unusually bright and glistening.

“Can you see what it is?”

“My size,” he answered, shaking his head. “Gray or green.”

“Sharks?”

He shook his head again, and slowly retreated to rejoin them.

“I can’t see clearly, but it looks like they have two legs, kicking instead of swimming like a fish,” he explained. “The water’s not clear enough.”

“They seem to be dragging us deeper in,” said Katerina. “At least we’re out of the sun!”

Hakim signed to Donn that they could get water from the mist easily, too, and Donn translated.

They wrung out their tunics to squeeze out what they could—a surprising amount—and dripped it into Abbas’ mouth. He needed it more than they did, for now.

Their mysterious swimmers, whatever they were, kept up the pace for hours, and finally as the sunlight began to dim slightly as the invisible sun began to dip toward the horizon, they saw something begin to solidify from the curtain of mist.

Donn nudged the others.

The prow of a ship protruded from the kelp to their left, planks splintered and partially covered in some greenish-white mold. Wood, ropes, flotsam of all kinds floating sullenly between, on, or under the giant kelp.

The leaves, a dark green in color, were enormous, usually lying flat on the turgid waves, but buckled up here and there to reveal yellow undersides.

There were more ships, ships of all sizes, visible in the mist, ghost-ships abandoned to the mist of the Grim Forest, still afloat here even as they rotted away.

“Look! Over there!” said Katerina, pointing.

It looked like a wall, mostly gray but with blotches of various colors showing here and there. Odd bits and pieces of timber and less definite objects stuck out of it without rhyme or reason, as if built into the wall itself.

When the wall was only a few meters away the mast drifted to a halt, and the mysterious swimmers vanished into the darkness of the sea.

Hakim gave a low cough to attract attention, and pointed to a large shape emerging from the mist.

It looked to be another merchanter, probably bigger than ever the Nausheen, thought Donn.

It was level on the waves, and seemed almost free of the unpleasant mold they could see covering almost everything in sight.

“It looks safer than where we are now,” said Katerina.

“Plenty of rope,” agreed Donn. “Let’s do it while we can!”

The three of them collected what rope they could, quickly knotting it into a longer piece.

“Think you can make it, Hakim?”

Hakim nodded, hefted the javelin-shaped piece of spar in his hand.

Donn tied one end of the rope to it, and stood back.

It was impossible to run on the mast, so Hakim stretched back and then swept his leg and upper torso into the throw, hurling the spar into the air with a grunt and a thud as his foot slammed back onto the mast.

Donn grabbed his arm to prevent him from falling in, and they watched the spar arc up onto the ship’s deck.

He pulled it back slowly, checking to see if it had lodged on something or would fall off.

It stuck.

Ever so gently, they pulled their mast closer to the merchanter, until they were snug under its bulwark, the rope stretching up above.

“Katerina? You’re lightest, I think. You go first.”

She pulled on the rope to check it once again, then walked right up the side of the ship with ease.

A moment later her head appeared over the railing.

“OK, come on up. I tied the rope up so it’s secure now,” she said. “I’m going to find something to put Abbas on.”

Hakim signed that it might be better to wait and get Abbas up first, and Donn agreed.

Katerina was back in a few minutes.

“You still down there?”

“Thought we’d stay here and get Abbas up safely first.”

“Ah, good idea,” she agreed. “OK, I thought a chair might be ever better than a board. Sit him down and tie him on; what do you think?”

“Should work. You have enough rope up there?”

“Loads! The ship’s deserted and looks sound!”

The chair, probably from the captain’s cabin, came over the railing a few minutes later, with two ropes tied securely to it.

It looked sturdy enough to hold Abbas and not fall apart when they hauled it up again.

They tied him on—he was still hot with fever and unconscious—and waited for Hakim to climb up the rope to join Katerina on deck.

Between Donn holding him steady from below and the two of them pulling from above, the job was soon done.

Donn pulled himself up and got his first good look at the ship.

It was a beauty of a ship, at least half again as large as his own Nausheen. Most of the sails were furled, although one was hanging in tatters. It didn’t look like storm damage, he thought.

He glanced at the helm and stopped in shock at the emblem mounted there.

It was the red dragon of Ys! One of fabled tribute ships! He looked closer, and confirmed the ship’s name carved below the emblem: Syraxal.

The Kingdom of Ys was a dream within a dream, a vast kingdom said to have dominated almost the entire southern coast from Woth and Tor in the west to Cuppar-Nombo in the east. Some said it was merely a legend, a tale spun for enjoyment, others claimed that Ys had been erased by a dreamquake, a massive disruption to the Dreamlands that only a few talented Dreamers realized had happened, let alone remembered.

His father had told him tales of Ys, and how the entire land had sunk beneath the waves in an instant, leaving only the dark waters of the Grim Forest where once gleaming towers of jade and amethyst had risen.

And now he was standing on the <i<Syraxal, proof that Ys was not merely a tall tale after all.

He walked back to the others.

They had Abbas lying more comfortably now, and Katerina had even found an open cask that had collected water, either mist or rain. It was none too clean but it wasn’t saltwater, and more to the point, it was all they had.

“Ever heard of Ys?” he asked.

Hakim’s head snapped up in surprise. He certainly had.

Katerina cocked her head.

“Some tall tale for winter nights, wasn’t it?”

“This ship is from the Kingdom of Ys,” said Donn. “Take a look at the emblem.”

“But it’s just a legend!”

“It’s the red dragon emblem. I think we should have a look around while we’re here, and find out. We need to find food and water, too.”

Hakim shook his head and pointed out toward the wall they had seen earlier.

Its shape could be seen more clearly from the higher deck. It looked like a giant pipe, about twenty meters in diameter, sticking up out of the sea. The top edge was not flat, but rather traced a shallow spiral, gradually rising up out of the sea to climb about two or three meters around the circumference of the pipe. Where the highest point and the lowest point met, the wall was covered with dozens of greenish-gray creatures, scuttling about in and out of the water, sliding over and under each other in their hurry.

They were constructing the wall, steadily raising the lowest part to match the highest edge, extending it a little more around the circumference in a never-ending spiral.

“What are they doing?” breathed Donn. “And what are they?”

“I don’t understand... did they just start building?” asked Katerina. “Unless we got here at exactly the right instant, they should be well above sea level by now...”

Hakim made a sliding motion with his hands.

“Moving!? Hakim says the tower is moving!”

They looked closer, and Hakim was right: ever so slowly, the tower was dropping deeper into the sea. It would be totally submerged in a matter of days, perhaps sooner, unless the creatures managed to build the wall higher in time.

The creatures... they were vaguely human, with two arms and two legs, but that was about as far as the resemblance went. Hands were broad and webbed, with stubby fingers protruding beyond the webbing, and feet were long and flat, ideal for swimming.

Their heads were wide and pointed in front, with mouths stretching the full length of their jaws. Lizards! Or more accurately, frogs, Donn thought.

The creatures ignored them completely.

“Look! Over there!” said Katerina, pointing to another small group of creatures swimming toward the wall. They were pushing a pile of timber, mostly planks and indeterminate fragments, and as they approached the wall they began to pull off individual pieces, and push them against the surface of the wall.

Donn watched closely to see what was happening.

The pieces stuck when they were placed, and began to melt into the wall, absorbed by it somehow. Their substance became the wall, for the most part, with a few rough corners or forgotten protrusions left hanging.

Nearby, another one of the creatures placed a huge seashell, long and fluted, on the wall, and it, too, began to melt and flow, absorbed. Or eaten.

Donn took his telescope out and looked closer.

The wall was made up of all sorts of materials, their remnants etched into the surface. Planks, rope, a few chains, shells, a fish, a... a man’s face?

Donn looked closer.

Yes, it was a man!

He blinked, grimaced.

He was alive!

“There’s a man there! Alive!” Donn said to the others, and pointed.

He looked closer.

He could see the man’s head and shoulders, and one arm, and couldn’t see any wounds. But why was he lying down so close to the waves? His chest, his... wait, where was the rest of him?

From the chest down, his body had been absorbed into the wall!

No belly, no legs, just reddish-grey wall! And him growing out of it like some obscene flower!

“He’s in it... a part of the wall,” he choked. “It ate him, just like it ate the planks!”

He handed the telescope to Hakim so he could take a look.

After a few minutes Hakim handed it to Katerina, commenting that the creatures were ignoring the half-absorbed man completely, even when he used his single arm to try to hit one. Unable to use any force, his blow slid helplessly off the creatures slimy skin, and it continued swimming past with no sign it even noticed.

The man screamed in frustration. And agony?

“Maybe we can rescue him,” wondered Donn. “They seem to be ignoring him completely. And us.”

Katerina handed the telescope back to Donn.

“To end up like that... half alive, half dead, trapped here in the Grim Forest by these things...”

“Why don’t the froggies stick to it? They’re touching it all the time!”

“It must be that slime they’re covered with,” she said. “Whatever it is, it must protect them.”

Hakim signed again, pointing toward the stern.

“Ship’s boat? I don’t notice one, but maybe,...” said Donn, and they went in search.

The ship’s boat was still there.

It was a small single-master, but still seaworthy.

“Shall we try it?”

“If the boat touches the wall it might stick,” warned Donn. “We need some slime.”

“Should be easy enough to kill one of those things if they keep ignoring us, but I wonder how the others will react if we do... I’d rather not have to fight off a couple dozen angry froggies.”

“There should be some spears aboard, maybe a bow,” suggested Donn. “Keep an eye on things and I’ll go have a look.”

He left the others and slipped below.

He wondered what had happened to the crew... there was no sign of a struggle that he could see, and although things were a bit dirty and dusty, everything looked perfectly normal. And deserted.

He found a bow and arrows in the crew’s quarters, snooped around a bit more, and then headed back to the deck.

“Found one. I’m a pretty good shot, unless you want to try,” he said to Katerina. “I figure if we put an arrow or two into one of those frogs we’ll find out how they react, one way or another. And I think we need to know before we get in that boat.”

Hakim nodded.

“You know,” said Katerina, “if this works we might be able to get out of here after all.”

“Yeah, I know,” replied Donn. “Here’s hoping.”

He nocked an arrow and aimed at the stern, let fly.

It struck into the aftermast neatly, just a touch off-center.

Donn grinned.

“Still a good shot even if I am starving,” he said, and turned back to the wall. “Let’s see now...”

He nocked another arrow and watched the creatures toiling away on the wall for a few minutes. At last one stood alone atop the wall, fairly close to the Syraxal, and he shot.

The arrow flew true, sinking into the frog’s chest up to the fletching.

The creature staggered, swiped at the arrow ineffectually with its clumsy hands, and fell into the sea. One leg kicked once, and again, then it was still.

There was no commotion, no shouts of rage, no sudden host of angry frogs... nothing. The creatures totally ignored the sudden death of one of their own, as they had ignored Donn and his companions.

“I say let’s go get some frogs, then,” said Donn. “Are you with me? Katerina, or will you stay and watch Abbas?”

“We can’t do anything for Abbas anyway,” she sighed. “and you’ll need help with the boat.”

Hakim signed he’d come, too, and together the three of them got the boat into the water.

They quietly rowed to where the dead creature floated and pulled it onboard, taking care to stay far away from the wall itself. It was covered in slime, difficult to grasp or pull, but they managed.

“I think we’ll need another two or three to get the boat covered,” said Donn.

“There’s one coming close on starboard now,” said Katerina.

The boat shook.

It had grabbed the boat and was beginning to push it toward the wall!

Donn drew his dagger and plunged it into the thing’s head with a soft, squishy sound, killing it instantly, and they dragged their second carcass aboard.

“I think we’d better get back to the Syraxal while we can... here come a few more.”

Hakim pulled on the oars and the boat shot away, toward the abandoned ship. As soon as they were more than a few dozen meters distant the frogs lost interest and turned toward another piece of floating debris.

“What do you think? One more for good luck?”

“I think we’ll need another one, Captain,” said Katerina. “Let’s just wait for our chance.”

They spun the boat around, watching the creatures and the wall for another loner, and their patience was rewarded after about ten minutes.

A single frog came swimming toward them, probably looking for more flotsam to add to the wall.

Donn shot an arrow at it, but it glanced off its skull, leaving a greenish furrow in the thing’s flesh.

He shot again, and this time it struck home, and it began swimming in a circle, pawing at its head as it tried to dislodge the arrow.

They rowed closer and put it out of its misery, adding it to the growing pile.

“That should be enough, I think. Let’s get out of here while we can!”

They were back on the Syraxal, and the boat raised back up to the safety of the deck, a few minutes later, their prizes stretched out nearby.

They left the boat hanging by the ropes, and used their hands to slather the hull with slime from the dead creatures. It stung, and their hands began to turn red, so they worked even faster, and then washed themselves off with seawater.

“It burns, dammit!” said Katerina, scratching one hand with the other.

“No help for it. Either this works or we’re frog-bait.”

They carefully lowered the boat again, this time with unconscious Abbas lying in it.

Hakim took the oars again, and they slowed rowed over closer to the embedded man.

“My God! You’re... You’re human!”

His voice was a raspy, breathless whisper, but it was human.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen. What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter. Kill me, please! Kill me!”

He was weeping in desperation, his lone arm stretched out toward them.

“We can’t get you out of there?”

“It’s gone, it’s all gone... my legs, gone. It’s eating me, and it won’t let me die! Please!”

Donn looked closer... his body wasn’t embedded in the wall, it was an integral part of it... no seam between them, flesh melted to the stony wall without any border, as if a living man had been carved from the same unyielding material as the wall itself.

“But I can’t just...”

Donn hesitated.

Please! Kill me!”

Katerina couldn’t stand it, and leaned closer to the man, dagger in hand.

“Your name, man! Tell me your name!”

“Corte-Real, Gaspar Corte-Real of Genoa,” he moaned. “Please, for the love of God!”

She reached to grasp his hair, tilting his head back to expose his throat to her dagger.

The boat rocked violently as one of the creatures grasped the stern, knocking Katerina off balance.

She screamed as Donn reached for her, and she instinctively reached out to catch herself against the wall to stop from falling... and her bare forearm touched it.

She screamed again, her forearm frozen against the wall as tiny tendrils shot forth to wrap around it, pulling it tight against the surface. She toppled from the boat, her body slamming into the wall to be stuck like a fly in honey.

Corte-Real reached up with his hand and snatched the dagger from her hand, ripping it across his own throat without hesitation, screaming in fear and pain and release.

Katerina struggled, screaming, and the boat rocked again.

“Katerina!”

Hakim abandoned the oars, striking the creature at the stern again and again until it let go, and drifted off, squirming in silent agony.

Donn drew his own dagger, weeping.

“Katerina... Mistress Katerina...”

She fell silent, the side of her head pressed against the wall, unable to move. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Captain... do it! Don’t leave me here!”

Donn froze, unable to do what he knew he must.

Donn screamed, and plunged the dagger into Katerina’s heart, and again, and a third time, until she slumped lifeless, suspended by the wriggling tendrils slowly enveloping her body.

He collapsed into the boat as Hakim put his back to the oars, pulling them away from the wall with powerful strokes, away into the mist, and the kelp.

The slime-covered boat slipped away unnoticed, sliding over the giant leaves smoothly, the wall and its hideous inhabitants vanishing into the mist once again.

* * *

“You’re damned lucky we found you, Captain,” said Yan. “We found the bodies of two crewmen and gave them proper burials while we were getting a rudder fixed up, but no trace of you until you suddenly come drifting along, all three of you dead to the world.”

“How’s Abbas?”

“We had to cut that arm off, I’m afraid... it was beginning to rot. I think we got it in time, though. His fever is down, and he’s resting quietly.”

“Thank you.”

“Just the three of you, then...”

Donn hesitated, glanced at Hakim.

“Katerina was with us, but she... didn’t make it.”

Donn fell silent for a moment.

“Yan, can you get us away from the Grim Forest? East, west, it doesn’t matter, just get us as far away as you can.”

“The rudder, such as it is, is working well enough for the time being, and we’ve got enough sails and rigging left... We’re closer to Baharna than anywhere, and should be able to make it there without any problem. We can get her fixed up proper there.”

“Baharna... yes, that would be fine. Please, at once.”

“There may be other poor souls floating yet...” protested Yan.

“Now.”

Donn glanced at Hakim again, who signed in response.

“This is the last trip for Hakim and me, I think... from Baharna we’ll return to Dylath-Leen, and I think we’ll not sail the sea again.”

“Captain Donn, abandon the sea!?”

Yan was shocked.

Donn shivered.

“I hope to never see these waters again...” he whispered.

Yan stared at him in disbelief for a minute, then spoke up quietly.

“And the Nausheen?

“It’s yours, free and clear,” said Donn.

“I couldn’t accept...”

“And to ensure that she gets repaired properly, Captain Yan, allow me to make a contribution to your profits for the trip, and to the crew for their service.”

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a handful of gold coins and gems, and dropped it into Yan’s hands. He stared at it.

“How did...? What...?”

“Never mind where or how, Yan. I would not have others go seeking what we found,” said Donn. “But Hakim and I have more than enough for our needs, and I feel it only just to repay you for saving our lives.”

“Captain...!”

“No, I am Master Donn now, and you are the captain of the ship, Captain Yan.”

Yan was speechless, a few tears appearing at the corners of his eyes.

“I... Master Donn, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I can never...”

“Don’t, Yan. Take it and prosper with our thanks. Just get us back to solid land!”

Yan hurriedly stuffed the treasure into his own wallet and walked to the door, turning to bow once more, then hurried up to the deck.

“Klaus! Back to Baharna! Get those sails up!”

Donn reached out to Hakim in a wrist-shake, silently weeping.

The ship canted, the sails boomed as they caught the wind, and they were on the way home.

 

END

Donn: Fate

It was good to see House Penia again after all this time.

He stopped to savor the view.

The road from Dylath-Leen turned downhill from here, through scattered groves and fields and houses to the river, branching off here and there, before reaching the village proper.

The waterwheel was turning, driving the millstones and the irrigation system, and he could see people at work throughout the valley, farming, herding, at peace.

The Nest was open, as it should be, and he could even see a handful of children playing in its courtyard.

He followed the road a bit farther, across the stone bridge, and up the hills on the far side, until he found his home, a collection of small buildings stretched out along the hillside, overlooking the thriving village. In the middle stood the white-washed house, time-darkened beams clearly visible, slate roof fully reflecting the sun where it wasn’t covered in moss.

He couldn’t see anyone there, but there was no wash hanging on the upstairs lines. All was well, it seemed.

He turned to his companion.

“Home again, Hakim. It’s been too long.”

Hakim smiled, and signed “A bottle of your wine would go down very smoothly, I think.”

Donn laughed.

“Oh, by all means! And perhaps with some smoked ham and cheese, I think!”

He raised one eyebrow, and at Hakim’s invitation, snapped the reins. They cantered down the hill.

“Master Donn! Welcome back!” came a call from one of the paddocks they passed. Donn waved back to the young man watching his dog watching the sheep.

“Good to be back, Master Thom! All is well, I hope?”

“The wheat is strong and tell, four new lambs, and I’ve got one on the way myself.”

“Another one? He’ll be helping you out on the farm in no time! When is she due?”

“Not until the fall, Master Donn.”

“May all be well with you, Master Thom.”

“And with you.”

They exchanged brief greetings with a number of people as they approached the village, slowing as they passed the Nest.

Headmistress Kiarna was sitting out front in a rocking chair, holding two babies. A few of the brindle pack were lounging in the sun, one eye on the children and one on the road. They saw him immediately, of course, but recognized he was not a threat.

“Afternoon, Headmistress.”

“Afternoon to you, Master Donn. Brought more young’uns with you?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid. You seem to have your hands full already!”

“Always somethin’ needs doin’ when there’s chill’un around.”

“Perhaps these will help,” said Donn, dismounting and walking to the packhorse he was leading. “I picked up a few things along the way.”

He pulled out three large bundles, and set them down on the porch next to her.

“Oh, Master Donn, you already give so much... no need to...”

“Hush. There is always need, and would that I could help even more. Take it, please.”

She bowed her head and pressed her palms as if in prayer, thanking him.

“Thank you, Master Donn. Blessins of the gods ’pon you.”

“And to you, Headmistress, in all things.”

He remounted, nodded his head farewell, and they cantered on.

The Nest was a combination nursery, school, and temporary shelter, especially for children new to House Penia. He and Pensri had started it shortly after they wed, gradually building up his ancestral home and nurturing the local community. Many of the people living here now had come to House Penia in years past—over a decade now—as escaped slaves, orphans, battered and abandoned women, people of all sorts.

Here they found, at least, a place they could rest and start to heal; for many, it was a safe home and the discovery that they were not outcasts anymore.

Donn was a free trader working for Factor Chóng Lán, and while he worked for the Factor because they shared a vision of what the Dreamlands should and could be one day, the reason he worked so hard was to make House Penia even better than it was now, and save even more people.

While he was on the road, which was most of the time, his family and much of the whole House Penia community were run by his first wife, Pensri. A former slave, now purchased and emancipated by Donn seconds before he asked for her hand in marriage, she was passionate about freeing slaves, especially children. The rest of his line family supported her, of course, but second wife Noor spent most of her day keeping the house running, and the children safe. She was helped in part by third wife Mahelt, but Mahelt had never fully recovered from her torture as a young girl, and refused to venture outside of the safety of the house.

His husband, Shurala Tokarra, ran the farm together with Mahelt’s son, eighteen-year-old Jasque, and help from the others as needed. Of late, Pensri’s twelve-year-old son Arthit had been helping out quite a bit, growing into a responsible young man.

He and Hakim dismounted at the front gate, and led the horses to the stables.

Jasque was shoveling manure and didn’t hear them approach.

“Master Jasque! That looks hard work for a summer’s day!”

The teenager turned, and his face burst into a smile as her recognized them, and there was a chorus of barking as a half dozen brindle dogs came racing, ears pointed at the sound of his voice.

“Donn! You’re back!”

Jasque carefully leaned the shovel against the stall and walked over to greet them. Donn smiled: no doubt the lad wanted to run as the dogs had, but that would be unbecoming in the young adult he was striving to be.

Donn wrist-shook him, then pulled him in close for a quick hug, arm around the shoulders. After a moment, Donn knelt to greet the brindles and suffer their slobbering, and Jasque turned to Hakim.

“Master Hakim, welcome back.”

They shared a wrist-shake. Hakim poked him in the bicep, signing that those muscles were getting pretty big.

Jasque just grinned.

“Let me help you with the horses.”

They got the saddles and harnesses off, and turned the horses loose into the paddock to rest. There was plenty of grass to eat, with water in the trough, and later they’d get a proper feedbag.

“Unload the packhorses here, or at the main house?”

“Might as well do it here,” said Donn. “Nothing really heavy this trip, and I expect we’ll have plenty of helping hands as soon as word gets out...”

“Papa! You’re back!”

“Like I said,” laughed Donn, turning just in time to catch twelve-year-old Arthit as he came flying into his arms. “How are you, boy?”

He hugged the child, and set him down again, still holding one hand but leaving the other free to hug Noor as she came walking up with three-year-old Donnal on her hip.

“Master Donn, welcome home.”

“Good to be home, Noor, good to be home. And how are you, Donnal?”

He tickled the boy, who squirmed and tried to pull away, managing to jump out of Hoor’s grasp and half-jump, half-fall to the ground. Unhurt, he screamed with laughter as he hid behind her skirt. 

Donn reached into his ruck and knelt down, holding out his hand to the boy.

Donnal peeked out from behind Noor, staring at Donn’s closed fist, and slowly crept closer.

“I brought a little present for you, Donnal,” said Donn, moving his fist a little bit. “You want it?”

Donnal nodded, eyes wide and fixed.

“You have to take it, Donny,” said Noor, pulling him out and pushing him toward Donn. “He won’t bite you!”

Donnal hesitated, holding onto Noor’s skirt with one hand, and holding the other close across his chest. Donn slowly reached out, and relaxed his finger a bit to show something red inside, and Donnal’s hand crept forward to touch one finger.

At his touch, Donn’s hand opened to fully reveal a hand-carved wood toy, a red dragon with little wheels and a rope to pull it with.

Donnal grabbed it, his fears forgotten, and immediately held it up to show Noor, then ran toward the house happily trailing his new toy behind.

The whole family helped carry his load up onto the porch, effusively greeting both Donn and Hakim. Hakim was embraced by everyone as well, as the oldest and closest friend of the family. Uncle Hakim, the children called him, and he played the uncle well every time they came.

Donn—cellar-chilled wine in one hand—slowly unpacked, pulling out one piece at a time, keeping the children in suspense. Once the children were settled down with “Uncle Hakim,” he pulled out the more important gifts: a dagger of the finest Ogrothan steel for Jasque; an ivory landscape set with trees and animals of semi-precious stones for Mahelt; and to Noor a vial of perfume from Oriab and a bottle of skin cream from the markets of Celephaïs.

He embraced Pensri, his first love, and held out her gift, wrapped up in a small piece of cloth. She tilted her head quizzically and at his enigmatic silence slowly unwrapped it to reveal a small sheet of white paper with curling script written across it in gold, and a piece of white string.

“Sai Seen,...” she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. “From the Great Temple of Wat Luan in Woth!”

“For you, by name, from Luang Por Hridyanshu himself.”

She carefully folded it up again in the cloth, and put it inside her tunic, then embraced Donn once more, almost weeping with happiness.

“Thank you, my Donn, thank you.”

A bit abashed by her reaction, he hugged her back and stroked her hair, then looked around at the rest of the family.

“Where is Shurala?” he asked.

“He’s up in the high field today, but he’ll have seen you, and be back soon with Hafsah,” explained Pensri.

“Hafsah? How is she?”

“Very happy, and with child already.”

“With child? Is she wed, then?”

A quiet fell and Pensri’s eyes grew larger.

“You never got the letter...” she whispered. “I’m so sorry; I thought you knew. We wed Hafsah in the spring. Your fourth wife.”

Donn’s face paled.

“Donn? What is it?”

He quickly rallied, forced a smile, and pulled out another package.

“Nothing, nothing. Just a muscle cramp, that’s all... I’ve a gift for Shurala, of course. And I must have heard of my new wife from the spring breeze, because I just happen to have a gift for her as well!”

Pensri frowned slightly, wondering if he was hiding something, but Hakim began to play his panpipe and the children quickly gathered around him, calling out the names of songs for him to play.

Donn was all smiles again, and she put it out of her mind.

Shurala Tokarra came riding up a bit later, Hafsah riding behind, arms around his waist.

“Donn! Welcome home!” he called, lifting the woman up and setting her down on the ground before nimbly hopping off himself. His hand smacked into Donn’s wrist and they shook firmly. “It’s been far too long.”

“It’s good to be home again, Shu.”

Donn turned to Hafsah, arms open.

“Welcome to the family, dear Hafsah,” he said, and embraced her. “I remember you coming her so many years ago as a child, and look at you know... a woman, and my wife! I am so happy that you are part of the family now!”

She had been with them for about ten years, growing from a terrified orphan just escaped from slavery into a confident, attractive young woman that everyone liked. Noor had taken her under her wing, nursing her battered spirit back to health, and teaching her how to be a woman. And now she was more than just another lost child, or helper for the farmwork—now she was part of the family.

He was used to forcing smiles, and no one but Hakim could tell it wasn’t genuine, and Hakim was silent.

“A small gift for you, Shu, which I believe you may enjoy,” he said, handing over a fairly large package. It looked like a brick wrapped in cloth, and must have been fairly heavy, judging from the way he and Shurala handled it.

His husband slowly unwrapped it, and gave a shout of delight.

“Mondath Longleaf!” He rubbed the compressed leaves with his fingers, and inhaled the fragrance. “Mondath Longleaf, the finest tobacco in all the Dreamlands.”

“And I have a gift for you as well, dear Hafsah. Forgive me for not being here for the Joining, but perhaps this will in some small way begin to make amends.”

Another small package changed hands, but it was soft, pliable, unlike Shurala’s tobacco.

She gave a small squeal as she unwrapped it to reveal a woven fabric of shimmering green and blue and gold, changing colors and hues in the sunlight as she touched it.

“What is it? It’s so beautiful... so soft.”

“Spider-silk, from Moung.”

She clutched it to her breast, bowing, but Donn reached out and pulled her upright once again.

“I am your husband, Hafsah, not your master. Stand tall!”

At his command everyone there stood taller, prouder, more confident... it was Donn’s mantra, a summation of his personal philosophy, and the foundation of House Penia: stand tall, together.

Gift-giving complete, they gradually returned to their various tasks, leaving Donn, Hakim, and Pensri on the porch, with a few children scattered about close at hand.

“We thought you’d be home for Year’s Turning,” said Pensri. “Your letter arrived about a week later.”

“I replied as soon as I received it. We were traveling through the Lispasian Mountains on the way back from Thaphron, and the Factor couldn’t reach us until we reached Ygiroth.”

“No matter,” smiled Pensri. “Now that you’re home, safe and sound.”

He wrapped an arm around her.

“I think you had better get your incense and say a proper prayer for that Sai Seen,” he suggested. “I don’t think it’ll spoil, but the Luang Por doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Thank you, Donn,” she smiled. “Tonight we must complete Hafsah’s Joining.

“Arthit, go and ask the Truthsayer to join us tonight for the Joining. Tell her Donn has returned. And don’t forget to take two of dogs with you!”

She smiled, and stood, slipping off to her altar to say a prayer for her family and herself before putting the sacred Sai Seen on her wrist. Blessed by Luang Por Hridyanshu, the Abbott of the Great Temple of Wat Luan in Woth, her birthplace and the home of her mother, it would surely protect them all.

Once she left Hakim signed a question: “What’s the matter?”

Donn sighed, and glanced around.

None of the children knew much sign language, and he and Hakim had evolved their own special shorthand anyway.

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a tiny sheet of paper, holding it out to Hakim.

“This,” he said, and then switched to sign.

“Remember when we were in Poltarnees years ago? That time we sold the lacquered tigers with the ruby eyes?”

Hakim unfolded the paper, nodding. He remembered.

“I made an offering at the Temple there, for a safe journey, and the seer gave me that.”

The paper read, You shall be mourned by four wives.

“I was determined to never marry a fourth wife,” Donn continued. “but it never occurred to me that they might marry in my absence... I am doomed.”

“We’ve been doomed many times over the years, Donn, yet here we are,” countered Hakim. “Nothing has changed; we have always known we might die, and certainly will die, someday. Did you hope to live forever?”

“No, but... I wanted a little more,” replied Donn.

“You have done so much good here, and have so much more to do. Why stop because someone reminds you that you are mortal after all?”

Donn was still.

“Papa!”

Young Donnal ran up to him, pulling his new red dragon after. “Papa, look! Fido is following me around!”

“Fido!? You named your dragon Fido!?”

“No, papa! It’s his name, I didn’t give it to him.” He held it up proudly. “Say hi, Fido!”

Donn smiled and patted both boy and dragon on their heads.

“Hello, Fido. Welcome to my home.”

Donnal gave an enormous smile and ran off again, no doubt to show his new dragon to somebody else.

Donn took advantage of the interruption to stand, and with his ruck and another bundle in hand, headed off toward the pantry: “I guess we’d better get this cleaned up.”

Hakim lifted his own ruck, and headed for his room in the rear of the house. Donn had offered to build him a house of his own, several times, but Hakim refused. He only wanted a roof over his head, and needed nothing more: he owned almost nothing except what was in his ruck, although his room was decorated with a range of hand-made figurines, paintings, pretty rocks, and other gifts from the children he’d befriended here and elsewhere.

One wall of the room was taken up by his workbench, where he made musical instruments and toys, usually by himself but often with the “help” of eager young children.

He unpacked his gear carefully, as always. He didn’t have much, and most of what he had was worn with time and use, but they all had one thing in common: they did what they were supposed to do. He had no use for gold chasing or gems, a simple steel blade was all he needed, and easiest to part with should the time come.

Perhaps the most important thing he carried was his panpipe: he could make another one easily enough, and often made them as gifts for others, but he’d carried this one for long enough now to feel an attachment. It had taken his years to learn to play well without a tongue, and this panpipe, perhaps more than any of its many predecessors, seemed to be helping.

He was hesitant to allow any connections in his life. After the loss of Basaaria, and Eshan, and Nausheen, and all that had been bright in his life, he had no interest in “connections.” He treasured Donn’s friendship and the warmth of his family, but they could never fill the sadness in him, no matter how much love and laughter they shared.

A roof over his head was more than he needed.

He was worried about Donn, though... it was unusual to see him so pessimistic, so afraid of dying. They’d faced certain death many times, or so they’d thought, only to find a way through, a way to come home again. Donn never gave up, and he’d dragged Hakim out of his own suicidal thoughts so many times, way back when they first met in Oonai. Way back when he’d lost everything that mattered. Donn had brought him back from the edge, shown him the good in the world, had made life worth living again, if only to bring a little joy, a little hope, to others even less fortunate.

And now Donn needed help.

Hakim was determined to be there for him, but he didn’t know how. Yet.

* * *

That night was the ceremony of Joining, when a new member was welcomed into the family through birth, marriage, or adoption. Old family bonds were ritually severed, and each member of the family swore they would love, honor, and protect the new one as their own. There were times when personalities clashes and someone would have difficulty swearing, truthfully, to love the new person, and so it was also acceptable—but far less appreciated—to swear not to harm them directly or indirectly.

Donn’s family had grown slowly over the years, mostly through birth and marriage, and thus far no one had elected to avoid the “love, honor, and protect” oath.

The Truthsayer, Aninagria of Aletheia, ensured that the oaths were honest. A Truthsayer would carefully prick the finger of each member of the family, and while touching that drop of fresh blood judge if the person themselves believed what they were saying was true, or false, or a little of both. Oaths were precisely worded to eliminate possible doubts, because usually any half-truth detected by the Truthsayer was due to a poorly worded question, not a lie.

The Goddess Aletheia had no temples, no rites, no special symbols or sacred books: she could appoint anyone a Truthsayer at any time, often completely uprooting someone’s life with new responsibilities. They bore no mark of their calling, but anyone who claimed to be a Truthsayer and was not would be cursed by the Goddess, losing all powers of speech and hearing.

The punishment was well-known and more than sufficient to prevent false Truthsayers.

“Truthsayer Aninagria, we welcome you to our home,” said Donn, inviting her to step up and into the house proper from the entrance. He walked with her toward the main room of the house, where so much of the family’s daily life was concentrated.

Like much of the house, the floors were of reed mats, but this room had a large firepit built into the floor, with a flue built into the ceiling to guide smoke and ash away. An iron chain hung from one of the black rafters, with a time-aged iron pot suspended over the coals.

This was the social center of the family, and where close friends and guests were invited. It was also, however, where the family shrine was located.

The family shrine stood against the rear wall, an imposing structure of reddish wood, polished by generations of Donn’s ancestors, decorated by inlays of silver and mother-of-pearl. A small table stood in front of it, with an incense holder, while the shrine itself held nothing but a wood box, small enough to fit into one’s hand.

All of the adult members of the family had seen the bones inside, the right index finger bones of Kwea, the founder of the line, over a dozen generations ago. It may have had magical properties—there were a variety of tales told and retold in the family—but nobody knew for sure. What they did know was that it was a symbol of a family that had existed here for far, far longer than they had been alive, and that they were integral parts of continuing the honored tradition.

The family was gathered and waiting, the children quiet with the single exception of Donnal, cranky at being awakened from his nap. Pensri shushed him.

Normally Donn would lead, as first husband, but since this Joining was for him and Hafsah, it was Shurala who knelt in front of the shrine and lit the incense sticks.

He stuck them into the small bowl of sand there, and raised his head to look at the casket.

“Kwea, Founder of our Family, we ask you to witness this Joining today, to extend your protection to this new member of our Family, and this house.”

The assembled family members, with the exception of Hafsah, echoed his words.

The Truthsayer, a middle-aged woman from down in the valley, wife of the village baker, approached to stand directly in front of Donn.

She removed a glinting needle from the small embroidered bag she carried, and held her hand out.

Donn placed his hand in hers, looking her in the eyes as she grasped his index finger and gently pricked it, squeezing out a single drop of blood.

Although the Truthsayer was prepared to ask the question and judge Donn’s answer, Donn was ready. Hafsah was already his wife, like it or not, his fate set. He wished it could have been otherwise, but he did not wish her any harm.

“I, Donn of Dylath-Leen, welcome Hafsah into the Family as our wife, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect her.”

“He speaks truth,” said the Truthsayer, but held onto his hand for a moment more. He fully believed in what he said, unquestionably, but his blood spoke of a... misgiving? ...a doubt? No, a worry. He was worried for a future he feared.

She held her peace, as he fully believed his words: he had spoken truthfully, and well.

She turned to Hafsah, who repeated the words she had already spoken to the Donn’s husband and wives at the first Joining: “I, Hafsah of Khem, join into the Family freely and of my own will, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect them.”

“She speaks truth.”

And it was done.

The Joining complete, the doors were opened and they began preparing for the welcome feast to come.

That evening a host of villagers from the valley come to pay their respects and celebrate the occasion. Reeve Brukah was there, of course, with her husband and several of their children, and Headmistress Kiarna. Healer Chimalmat came from the local Temple of Panakeia. Even Mahelt stayed long enough to greet the first guests, although she soon slipped away again from the noise and crowd.

The enormous room was packed, with farmers enjoying an unexpected break in their week’s work; children excited to be able to run around “with the big people;” people bringing platters of food from the kitchen, some cooked there, others brought by guests; Hakim and a few others playing local tunes; and a whole barrel of Donn’s own wine from the cellar for all to drink.

Donn smiled and laughed with the rest, drinking toast after toast and seemingly enjoying every minute of it, but Hakim noticed he never left his seat to circulate, talking and joking with everyone, offering toasts of his own, or pulling little gifts or candy out of his pockets for the children. They came to him, and when he was alone for a time he sat, just drinking.

Pensri must have noticed, he thought, because she sat by his side, talking to him quietly as their guests permitted, or asking a child to bring him a delicious treat from one of the platters.

Noor caught her eye from the kitchen, one eyebrow raised, but returned to her domain at Pensri’s tiny headshake, too small to be noticed in the excitement.

Hours later it was done, guests sent home with gifts of thanks in their hands and sleeping children on their backs. The room was  already clean and neat—the people of House Penia always helped each other—and the family headed toward the bath. Noor had fired up the boiler earlier and the water was already hot.

The children were first, of course, and Donn joined the rest of them in bathing and drying the exhausted children and getting them to bed. Tonight there was no need to tell them tales or ask Hakim to play a song; they were asleep before their heads hit the pillow.

Pensri knelt next to Donn, scrubbing the grime of the long ride from his back. Shurala Tokarra and their new bride, Hafsah, were already soaking, Shurala with yet one more cup of wine resting on the bath’s edge.

Mahelt and Noor were joined by young Jasque, who had only recently reached a maturity that allowed him to join his parents here. Mahelt had come to them at a very young age, heavy with child and with nowhere to go, and young Jasque had been born right in this very house. He was eighteen now; Mahelt had been a child of only fifteen when he was born.

Donn had drunk more than enough, and should have been well on his way to singing and dancing, but remained quiet, his responses short and his attention obviously elsewhere.

“No new scars, I see,” said Pensri as she rinsed his off. “I always worry that you’ll come back missing an arm or something.”

He grunted, stood to walk to the bath and join Shurala and Hafsah, Pensri close behind.

The rest of the adult family joined them a few minutes later, soaking in the hot water together.

There were a few minutes of silence.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been myself,” Donn said. “This last trip was tough, and I lost a good friend on the way. It made me realize how short our lives are, how fragile... and how much I love you all, and our children.

“Perhaps I’m getting too old for all this, and should stay for good, dispensing wisdom and kisses as a proper patriarch should.”

Shurala reached out and wrist-shook Donn, pulling him closer for a hug, and Pensri and Noor embraced them both, followed a moment later by Mahelt.

Unexpectedly, it was withdrawn Mahelt who broke the silence this time.

“Donn, you have meant so much to so many. To me, to Jasque, to countless mothers and children and ex-slaves, most of whom have stayed here and found new lives in this valley.

“Please, stay here. Stay with us.”

There was a sudden babble as everyone agreed, pressing him to give up his trading life and settle down.

He smiled and nodded, and said he’d give it a try.

“In the meantime,” he added with his usual twinkle, “why won’t anyone give me a cup of that wine!”

Pensri pushed his head under water and things seemed to go back to normal, but she still wondered if that was really all.  

* * *

Summer gradually gave way to fall, and the second corn crop was almost ready. Chestnuts and pears were on everyone’s table, and while there were very few apple trees this far south, there were enough for everyone to enjoy one or two. It was getting a bit chilly in the mornings now, with thick fogs hiding the hills and pastures until the noon sun burned it off to reveal the changing hues of autumnal leaves.

Dylath-Leen, warmed by the Cirque as it swept past the city and on toward Ophir and Poltarness, rarely saw snow, but their little valley, nestled in the Sarrub Hills as they sloped up toward the snow-capped mountains and distant Carcassonne, was no stranger to snow. The storms would come sweeping down from the north with the burdens of snow, and drop it all here on House Penia before they blew themselves out in the southern warmth.

It was usually only up to a man’s knees, but every once in a while it would snow over a meter. This year seemed likely to be a cold one, everyone agreed, and they stocked up on food, on firewood, and on fodder for the animals.

Donn was true to his word.

He sent word to Factor Chóng that he was taking a rest, and received a bottle of aged Cydathrian brandy, a dark, reddish amber delight, taken from the Factor’s own cellar, with a note congratulating him of his well-deserved rest, and wishing him even more grandchildren and great-grandchildren to bless his days.

He asked Hakim once again to marry into the family, and once again Hakim refused, happy to share in the community’s warmth while remaining true to his own memories.

From Hakim, he learned how to make kites, and soon every child had a unique and colorful kite of their own, and every day they came asking him to help them fly, or repair, or retrieve one from a tree it had lodged in.

Fenrir, who he had raised from a puppy a dozen years earlier, died that fall of old age, surrounded by his own children and grandchildren, and with his beloved Master Donn at his side, stroking his head to soothe the pain. Donn buried him personally in the pasture that had been his workplace for so long, so he could continue to watch over the sheep in his slumber.

He even learned how to shear a sheep, and eventually became quite proficient at it, but hated it nonetheless. Even he had to admit, though, that the sweater he wove from that wool was warm, even if the sleeves were not of the same length.

Shortly after the first snowfall of the year, a light powdering that was only enough to delight the children and turn everything muddy that afternoon, a visitor came calling.

“Captain Gunnarsson!”

He turned to the young woman accompanying him and suddenly recognized her.

“Uralorea! I almost didn’t recognize you!”

He had met her a couple years earlier, on Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha, when he and Captain Gunnarsson had traveled together in search of Princessa.

He invited them inside, offering spiced wine to warm themselves with.

“It’s been, let me see, about three years now? Tell me what’s happened, Captain.”

“Uralorea is indeed my daughter, and thanks to you we found each other.”

“And her mother, um, Lo...”

“Lotarra,” said Gunnarsson. “Lotarra died of fever when Uralorea was only eight, leaving her with no family. But for me.”

“I’m so sorry, Captain... I wish that you could have found her.”

“At least I can give my daughter a better life. Her daughter.”

“There are few things more important,” nodded Donn. “You know what House Penia works for.”

“Yes, you told me, years ago. That’s why I’m here.”

Donn raised an eyebrow.

“Master Donn, I am a sea captain, at home with the waves and the wind; a ship like mine is no place for a young girl. She needs a real home, a real family, and the warmth that you can give her.

“Master Donn, you earned my trust and my respect on Mtal,” he said, and looked Donn straight in the eyes. “I would ask you to take her into your family, to raise as your own daughter.”

Donn was speechless.

“I bring you her dowry, to use as you see fit to raise her, or for her to wed one day.”

He set a heavy-looking bag on the table; it clunked dully.

Donn lifted the bag.

“This is quite a sum, Captain,” he said, hefting it. “I would feel ill at ease taking it, I fear.”

He reached out and set it down in front of quiet Uralorea.

“It is her dowry, to use as she sees fit.”

He turned back to Gunnarsson.

“I accept Uralorea into my family gladly, and will protect and raise here as my own daughter. I accept no money from any man to raise my daughter, however, and by the friendship we share would ask that you not mention it again.”

He turned his head toward the interior of the house.

“Pensri! Noor!”

Noor stuck her head in immediately—she had been in the kitchen—and Pensri appeared only a moment later from one of the back rooms.

“What happened, Donn?”

“Call the others, please. Mahelt and Hafsah—is Shurala nearby?”

“Hafsah and Shurala are both in the tanning shed,” said Noor.

“Send one of the children to fetch them. It’s important.”

In a few minutes they were all there.

Donn introduced them to the Captain, and to Uralorea, explaining the Captain’s predicament.

“The Captain and I worked together many years ago, on the Bella, and we’ve helped each other out now and again, here and there. He has asked us to accept Uralorea as our own daughter, and I have accepted.”

“Uralorea, welcome to our home. Donn has told us your tale”

They surrounded her, enfolding her, and Hafsah began crying just seconds before Uralorea did.

Captain Gunnarsson sat at the table, an outsider unsure of how to act, and feeling the pain and the weight of what he had just done.

Donn laid his hand atop the Captain’s, and Shurala placed his hand atop theirs.

“Have no fear, Captain Gunnarsson. We will love and protect her as Family, with our lives if need be.”

The Captain, blinking in a vain attempt to stop a stray tear, nodded.

“Thank you, Master Donn, Master Shurala. For her sake, and mine, thank you.”

“Pensri!” said Donn loudly. “It’s not every day we get a new daughter!

Shurala pulled Captain Gunnarsson to his feet.

“Come on, Captain. The women are going to have their way with Uralorea, and it’s time for you to bathe, and shave, and get ready for tonight’s celebration.”

The Captain looked around, confused, and saw the women surrounding his daughter, leading her out of the room with giggles.

“Celebration?”

“A Joining. Welcoming a new daughter into the family is no small thing!”

They walked out with the Captain, leaving the room empty.

* * *

The Joining that night was much the same as the joining of earlier that year, when Donn formally welcomed Hafsah into the family, except that this time the family was joined by a single outsider: Captain Gunnarsson.

Truthsayer Aninagria started with Donn, who swore that he would accept Uralorea into the family, to love, to honor, and to protect, and then asked his wives and husband to swear the same oath.

Next it was the Captain’s turn, and she asked him if he gave his daughter freely to the family, to be raised as one of their own, and affirmed that he spoke truth at his simple “Yes” in response.

Finally she turned to Uralorea herself, who had stood silent throughout.

“Mistress Uralorea, do you join into the Family freely and of your own will, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect them?”

“Yes.”

“You have reservations, my dear... please, what are they?”

Uralorea hesitated, looking at Gunnarsson and Donn in turn.

“I... My mother died years ago. I was alone until Master Donn led my father to me. He has been good to me, and I believe we have come to love each other as man and daughter should. I am a hindrance to him, and I understand his intent, that bringing me here is a sign of how much he loves me.

“But it hurts! I have only just gained my father, and now to lose him again...”

Donn stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Dear Uralorea, you will not lose your father. He will always be your father, and you will never lose his love. But you will gain a family, and we will gain a daughter, to share our love and our lives together.

“If you are willing, join us, and you will always be with family no matter where you ride.”

She looked into his eyes for a long minute, then turned to look at Captain Gunnarsson, who nodded.

Another minute passed.

Her back straightened and she looked the Truthsayer in the eyes.

“I, Uralorea of Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha, join into the Family freely and of my own will, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect them.”

“She speaks truth.”

The women broke into excited laughter mixed with tears, and hugged their new daughter. Tonight they would get to know each other, weaving new bonds of friendship that would, hopefully sooner than later, finally turn to bonds of love.

After dinner and a conversations with the Captain, Donn walked out into the garden, and found Hakim looking at the stars.

The torchlight was dim here, but there was enough light to sign by.

“The stars are bright tonight, Donn.”

“The moon is young, and winter is coming.”

“Congratulations on your new daughter. Gunnarsson is a smart man to find such a good house for her.”

“Yes,” signed Donn after a moment, watching the stars. “A new daughter, a new wife, a new grandchild to come... the family is healthy, and growing.”

“...and?”

“And I feel old, Hakim. My fate is upon me.”

“Because you were told you were mortal? We are all mortal, Donn. Most of us, anyway.”

Donn merely stood, hands hanging at his side until he trudged back inside under Hakim’s worried gaze.

* * *

It was a cold winter this year. Year’s Turning was still more than a month distant and already they had half a meter of snow on the ground.

The Sarrub Mountains were blanketed in white, with veils of snow whirling around them searching for a place to come to earth.

They had laid in a good supply for the winter, of course: food, fodder, and firewood, as the saying went, but the winter wind was still cold.

In spite of their preparations, though, the unexpected came calling.

In the darkest part of the night the brindles had seen something in the pasture, and set up a howling that woke them all, and probably half the village to boot. The sheep were safely in the barn to protect them from the falling snow, but anything that drove the dogs that wild might well smash through the barn doors.

While not common in the hills around Dylath-Leen, creatures of all types lurked in the Dreamlands.

Armed with swords, bows, and torches, and surrounded by the pack of brindles, growling, hackles high, teeth bared, scanned the fields and pastures, staying close to each other as they scouted. They relied on the dogs to warn them of immediate danger, and the dogs took their duties very seriously.

The barn was undamaged, the sheep disturbed more by their torches and dogs than by whatever had excited the watchdogs so badly.

“Here’s the trail!” called Shurala, waving his torch to signal the others.

“Never seen anything like it,” mused Donn as he examined the glistening track.

It looked like something had been dragged along the ground, pushing aside the piled snow, something covered in a thick slime. Something soft, boneless…

“Ever seen anything like it?”

Shurala shook his head and held his torch up high again.

“Guard!”

The dogs obeyed their training, spreading out to surround the party, facing outward toward any possible threat.

The trail came out of the rough to the west, crossed over their fields and pastures, and continued on again into the forest to the northeast, leaving behind its slime and several destroyed fence sections. It changed course in the middle abruptly.

“What do you think?” asked Donn. “If it’d gone on straight it would have reached the barn.”

“I think the brindles scared it off,” suggested Shurala. “And if we didn’t see it when we got out here, it must move pretty quickly.”

“Dangerous?”

“None of the dogs got hurt, it looked like, shrugged Shurala. “But…”

He pointed at a bush growing near the thing’s track: it was half melted, as if by some strong acid.

“Let’s make sure it’s gone, then,” suggested Donn. “And tomorrow Jasque and I will get cut some trees to replace those fence sections. Gonna be hard work to fell good trees and fix that fence in this cold, but it’s gotta be done.”

“I’ll go with you,” suggested Shurala.

“No, I’d be happier if you stayed to keep an eye on things here. OK?”

“OK, but be careful out there.”

“We will.”

After dawn he and Jasque harnessed up two of the draft horses. The horses would have little trouble with only half a meter of snow. He debated bringing one or two of the brindles along, but the snow would make for tough going for the dogs, much as they’d love it, and he really wanted them guarding the family.

“We’ll be back in a couple hours,” he said to Noor. “If we see some good fallen trees on the way it might even be sooner.”

“Safe journey!” she called, and they set forth.

The sky was a sullen grey, clouds heavy with snow, the air crisp and punctuated with a few flakes of snow now and then. It didn’t look like it’d snow until later, probably that night, and man and beast both knew the road even if it was hidden under another dozen centimeters.

The road dipped down from the hilltop the family’s farm was built on, and then up again toward the forests of the Sarrub Hills.

“That looks like a nice birch over there!” called Jasque some time later, pointing to a snow-covered tree lying on the open ground a dozen meters from the dense trees of the forest.

“Roots are torn out of the ground,” said Donn. “Must have been that big storm we had in the fall. Yeah, let’s take a look!”

This picked out a path approaching the birch, carefully leading the team over the rough ground. Once the tree had been limbed they’d tie one end up between the two horses, and drag the whole things home that way. It’d be a lot easier to chop it up there.

“Pretty big! Must be thirty-five, maybe forty centimeters thick!”

“And birch burns clean and hot... perfect,” agreed Donn.

He stripped off his coat and started lopping off branches with one of the axes.

“Gonna be a heavy load for the horses. Maybe we should have brought four?”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Donn, glancing at the clouds overhead. “Let’s see how it goes.”

They chopped and sawed until the trunk was revealed, excess branches stripped off to lighten the load and make it easier to handle.

Donn pulled the yoke down—a simple affair with a leather harnesses for the horses holding a study pole between them. Once it was hooked up all they had to do was secure the base of the tree trunk on top, and walk the horses home.

The hardest part was levering the tree trunk up onto the bar, but they’d done it before, many times, and it wouldn’t be a major problem this time, either, they figured. Until they saw the wolves coming out the trees.

It must be a pack from the Sarrubs, Donn thought, driven south by the unusually cold winter, in search of game. And he and Jasque were here, out in the open... He looked around quickly.

There!

A relatively young tree, an oak perhaps. It was the only one close enough; the wolves were already spreading out, heads low, eyes fixed on their prey. Not big enough for both of them, but for Jasque...

The horses began to whicker nervously, shuffling their hooves in the snow.

Donn grabbed Jasque and they ran for the tree, Donn listening for the sound of crunching snow behind him.

No time.

He grabbed Jasque and pushed him up the trunk, practically throwing him into the air. Off-balance, the boy grabbed the branch, slipped, and finally pulled himself up to safety.

So this is it, then... to love, to honor, and to protect... I shall be mourned by four wives, he thought.

“Donn! Your hand!”

There was no time for Jasque’s entreaty.

He drew his sword as he turned to face his death.

The gray shadows of the wolves raced through the snow toward them, silently, and past, with only a glance before they raced on, eyes fixed on the small herd of deer just ahead. White tails flashed as the deer fled, two of their number staining the snow with crimson as the wolves gathered for their feast.

Donn fell to his knees.

He was alive!

The wolves hadn’t been hunting them after all, but the deer... the plump, juicy deer of the forest, far safer than facing the steel swords and daggers of Man.

He was alive!

He threw his head back and roared with laughter.

“I’m alive!” he screamed into the wind, screamed to the brooding mountains.

 I am mortal, but so are we all. When I die, whenever and wherever, I die knowing that my family is safe, four wives to mourn me. And until then, by the Gods, I will live!

Jasque dropped down out of the tree, staring at Donn.

“Well, son, what are you waiting for?” he laughed, clapping the boy on the back. “We’ve got some fence trees to fetch, and then we have to plan out our route for next year! You’re coming with me on the road; time to show you the ropes!”

END

Donn: Laundry Day

Noor sat with the twins and three-year-old Donnal, waving goodbye, until Shurala was out of sight on the road down to the village. He was off to Dylath-Leen with a group of villagers to sell the year’s wool, along with a few lambs that had been born a bit early and were now big enough.

He’d be back the next day unless something unusual happened. Donn and Hakim had left on their trading route, taking young Jasque with them, so there would only be women and children here until he returned: Pensri, Noor, and new Hafsah, and the children in their care. Mahelt was there, too, of course, but she rarely left the house at all, even though she was an enormous help inside with cooking, washing, watching the children, and other tasks.

Pensri whistled the dogs to get the sheep moving, herding them up the hill to pasture. Barbi and Scamp knew the job well, having done it almost every morning for years, and the sheep knew better than to try to cross the dogs.

When they weren’t on sheep duty the dogs were free to roam the vineyard, too, which covered most of the south-facing slope. The ducks took care of most of the insects that came to eat the grapes, and the dogs kept larger pests under control.

Lush spring grass, young leaves on the trees, blue sky, and brindle dogs herding the freshly sheared sheep—it was a beautiful pastoral day, and she loved it.

Uralorea was with her, still learning how things worked here. Recently adopted, she had settled in with only a few minor problems now mostly taken care of, and was maturing into a happy, beautiful young woman. Pensri walked close to the sheep to keep an eye on them and command the dogs as needed, with Uralorea walking well behind, holding hands with twelve-year-old Arthit.

She opened the gate, and the dogs chivvied the sheep through into the high pasture where they’d spend the day. Leaving the dogs to watch them, the three of them walked the fence, checking it for fallen or loose poles. There were one or two that might need replacing later in the year, she thought, but everything looked safe for now.

On one section the bones of mountain were laid bare, and it was impossible to erect a fence. Donn and the others had built a stone wall there instead, a relatively low wall that only served to keep the sheep from wandering off. While the stones had been fitted and angled, they were not cemented into place, and the winter storms had dislodged a number of them.

The three of them fixed the wall up as well as they could, but in several places some stones seemed to be missing entirely, and although they searched the area diligently, they couldn’t be found.

“It must have been a stone ogre,” said Pensri.

Uralorea looked at her in surprise.

“Stone ogres? What are stone ogres?”

“Oh, they’re just horrible. They are all made of stone and they come at night and eat little boys!”

She jumped at Arthit, hands outstretched like a ravenous monster, and he screamed with laughter as he ran away.

There may not be any such thing as a stone ogre, she thought, but there are wolves...

They were rarely seen around here in the spring—the generally roved further north, in the Sarrub Mountains up to Mt. Sidrak—but the high pasture still needed a shepherd on watch. Barbi and Scamp would do their best, but a full-grown wolf could weigh sixty or seventy kilograms and their dogs only about thirty... plus which, wolves usually hunted in packs. An armed shepherd was really needed to be sure, rare as it was.

The dogs would keep the sheep under control and let her know if wolves—or anything else—approached, so once she was done checking the fence she could sit with Uralorea and Arthit and teach them more about the sheep, the dogs, and just running the farm.

They talked for about an hour or so, and then they heard distant barking.

Pensri glanced down at the house.

A carriage had come up from the village. She thought it looked like the Headmistress... which might mean a new one had arrived.

“Uralorea, can you handle this for a little while? I have to run back to the house and see what’s happened.”

“Of course, mama,” replied the girl. “We didn’t have any wolves on Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha, but the rock lizards are about the same size, and certainly as dangerous. If any wolves show up we’ll take care of them, won’t we, Arthit?”

“Yeah, if Scamp and Barbi don’t get ’em first!”

“You keep an eye out now, boy!” she warned, and nodded to Uralorea. “If I’m not back by then, make sure you bring them all back down well before dusk.”

“Yes, mama, we will.”

Pensri left the basket with lunch—bread, cheese, a few of the very last strawberries of winter, and water—and strode back down the road to the house, her own bow in hand.

One look at the carriage told her it was indeed Headmistress Kiarna, as she had thought. She quickly entered the house to see why she had come.

The Headmistress was sitting in the main room sipping tea, and next to her sat a young woman, perhaps eighteen or twenty, with a babe to her breast. She was wearing a mud-stained and torn tunic, and a glance at her legs showed she’d been through the woods, and probably brambles.

“Another runaway from the city,” explained Noor. “Garood’s place.”

Garood was one of the more unpleasant whoremasters of Dylath-Leen, buying slaves to service his clientele. Slaves were cheap, and it was more profitable to use and discard them than to invest large sums into keeping them healthy. A pregnant slave was usually forced to abort; this woman obviously hadn’t.

“She showed up half an hour ago, came stumbling out of the woods. Garood wanted the child for some reason, and she fled rather than give it up.”

Pensri sighed.

This was a common occurrence here at House Penia, and it always meant danger.

“The Sisters?”

The Headmistress nodded, her eyes still fixed on the window, looking for pursuers.

The Sisters of Mercy ran shelters and orphanages in many of the major cities, accepting abandoned children or women and ostensibly offering protection. In fact, as Pensri knew from first-hand experience, they were merely slavers by another name, renting or selling their helpless guests to others.

She had been an escaped slave herself, many years ago, until Donn had bought her contract and freed her. That was why they had founded House Penia here, in Donn’s ancestral home, and over the years had watched it grow from a home and scattered homesteads to a thriving village mostly populated by the people they had helped, or saved.

When possible they would buy out the contracts of runaways to minimize troubles with the Dylath-Leen guard. The guard, after all, was supposed to honor warrants to recover stolen property—which in this case meant slaves—and although many of them agreed with Donn that the practice was an abomination, it wasn’t always possible to look the other way.

Garood had some very wealthy, very well-connected backers who would surely make it impossible this time, too, if Garood pressed the point. And depending what he’d wanted the baby for it might not even be possible to buy their contracts.

“What is your name, child?” asked Noor.

The woman replied in a voice so soft they could barely make it out: “Sadiki.”

“Sadiki was taken in Parg,” explained the Headmistress, “about five years ago. She says they killed her father and kidnapped her.”

“Bastards,” spit Pensri. “And the Sisters sold her to Garood?”

“She thinks so. She was moved around a lot.”

“How old is the babe?”

“Only a week. His name is Kandoro.”

“Do you know what Garood wants with him?”

She shook her head and clutched the baby tighter.

Hafsah came in with a fresh pot of tea and a plate of cakes and fruit, and set them on the table. Her own baby was sleeping in a basket in the corner.

“Here is a clean tunic,” she said, “and some diapers for the babe.”

Sadiki bobbed her head several times in thanks but made no move to take them.

Pensri rose from the low table and motioned the Headmistress to join her. Hafsah and Noor were only a bit older than, and Hafsah had birth her own firstborn only a few months earlier, and Pensri thought that perhaps they would be able to help the poor woman better. It must have taken incredible courage, and strength, for her to flee alone from Dylath-Leen and come this far.

Ten-year-old Eshan walked alongside Pensri, holding his mother’s hand.

They returned to the Headmistress’ carriage.

“How close do you think they are?”

“No sign of pursuit yet,” said the Headmistress, “but they could be anywhere. Sadiki could have fled anywhere, though, too, you know.”

“Of course, but we’re the obvious place to look first. Goodness knows we’ve had slave catchers through her enough in the past.”

“I’ll do what I can, but...”

“I know. Thank you, Kiarna. I do wish Donn and Shu were here, tho...”

The Headmistress climbed up and snapped the reins.

“They’ll be back on the morrow, I’m sure.”

“I hope. Try to send me a runner if you see anyone, will you?”

“Of course. Good luck, Mistress.”

“And safe journey to you.”

Pensri stood watching the Headmistress drive down the road back to the village, until Eshan tugged on her hand.

“What is it, Eshan?” she asked, turning... and stopped in surprise.

Three men on horseback were watching her from the edge of the trees.

Garood’s men!

She whistled, and a handful of dogs jumped to the alert, noticing the distant men and barking up a racket in warning. The barking would alert Noor and Hafsah, too.

The men cantered toward her, and she stood her ground, waiting for them to approach.

“Name yourselves!” she commanded, a perfectly reasonable demand of unknown visitors. The dogs fell silent at her command, but continued watching the men warily.

They stopped a couple dozen meters distant, and the older man replied, indicating himself first and then the other two younger men in order, “Pailaro of Dylath-Leen, Tal of Dylath-Leen, and Ilman Tuk of Hlanith.”

“Pensri of Dylath-Leen,” she replied.

“Never knew Dylath-Leen extended this far out in the hills,” he said, looking around.

“The village is known as House Penia.”

“Penia... goddess of the poor and weak,” laughed Tal, a young blond strapping a long sword. “Well, this valley certainly looks the part!”

Pailaro waved at the other man to stop talking, and turned back to Pensri.

“May we trouble you for some water, Mistress Pensri?”

She hesitated.

She wanted them to leave as soon as possible, but it was custom to offer travelers water, even food and rest if necessary. Refusing them with no good reason could lead to all sorts of problems... but with an escaped slave in the house...

Noor and Hafsah had heard the dogs and the man’s request, and Noor knew what it meant. She jumped to her feet and pulled up one of the mats next to the firepit.

“Quickly, Mistress Sadiki! Down the ladder! There is no torch, but the tunnel is smooth and straight... just follow it and wait at the other end.”

The woman hesitated, looking down into the darkness.

“There is no time! Garood’s men will be here soon!”

“Trust us, Mistress,” said Hafsah, lifting her own baby out of its basket and holding it in her arms. “We will protect you, and your beautiful Kandoro.”

Sadiki glanced at them once again, then hurried down the ladder, her baby in one arm.

Noor dropped the mat down again, and dragged Hasfah’s baby basket on top. Hasfah promptly sat down on the floor and began rocking her baby, which was beginning to cry at being awakened.

There were numerous caves and tunnels around the main house, used for aging the wine and cheese Penia was famous for. And not surprisingly, given the village’s reputation as a safe haven for escaping slaves, it also had a lot of secret tunnels and hiding places. Noor and Hasfah had no worries about Sadiki being discovered as long as she stayed quiet.

A few minutes later Pensri came in, the men behind her. They’d left their swords on the stand at the entrance, as was custom, but of course still had their daggers.

“Please, rest here,” she said. “Noor, could I trouble you to fetch some tea for our guests? They’re just passing through.”

Noor nodded and left the room, returning almost immediately with cups and a pitcher of wheat tea on a wooden tray.

She knelt on the floor and poured the cups, handing each of the men the cup and a small towel, the minimum custom demanded.

The women were silent, obviously on edge.

“A very nice house,” said Pailaro, sipping the tea.

Tal slurped his tea and put the empty cup down on the mat, then wiped his face and neck with the towel.

The third man, Ilman Tuk, drank his tea quietly, his eyes on Hafsah and Noor. 

“So you’re here alone, then?”

“My husband is on the slopes and will be back soon,” said Pensri, trying to avoid unpleasantries.

“I see.”

“Pretty baby,” said Ilman Tuk to Hafsah. “What’s his name?”

“Nelchaka,” replied Hafsah quietly. “He just woke up...”

“He’s beginning to cry... maybe he needs feeding?”

Hafsah turned her back to the man and brought the baby to her nipple.

“Oh, no need to be embarrassed,” he said, smiling. “Motherhood is so beautiful, after all. And your breasts are so big with milk...”

“Ilman! Cool it!” snapped Pailaro.

“If you’re finished with your tea,” suggested Pensri, “we have work to do, and I’m sure you need to get back to your journey.”

“Oh, I don’t think we need to hurry that much,” said blond Tal. “Where’s the other woman?”

“Other woman? What other woman?” asked Pensri, tilting her head.

“There’s nobody else here,...” said Hafsah. “Nelchaka just woke up.”

The men looked around the room... certainly nobody else there.

“We saw her go in! Where is she?”

Pensri moved to stand between them and Hafsah.

“She is not here, you can see for yourself. Now go; you are upsetting the children.”

Attracted by the noise, Noor’s six-year-old twins Behzad and Leila stood the doorway, while Eshan was hiding behind Pensri, peeking out at the intruders.

Pailaro stepped forward, standing so close as to almost step on Pensri’s toes.

“We have a warrant,” he grated pulling out a small scroll and waving it. “I want them. Now.”

“I don’t have them,” said Pensri, glaring up into his face. She turned to the other women.

“Noor, take the children and go upstairs.”

“No, I think she’ll stay right here with us,” said Pailaro. “Isn’t that right, Ilman?”

Ilman Tuk, drew his dagger and pulled Noor close, while Tal was disturbingly close to Hafsah.

“Eshan!”

Pensri knelt in front of her son, and hugged him.

“You’re the man of the house now, Eshan. I have a very important task for you, Eshan, can you do it for me?”

Eshan nodded seriously.

“I want you to take the children upstairs, and, um... oh, yes, I’ve forgotten to hang the blankets out in the sun. Go upstairs, Eshan, and put the blankets out to air!”

Eshan nodded.

“The red blanket, Mama?”

She tousled his hair.

“Yes, Eshan. My red blanket. Now go.”

She spun him around and gave him a little push, and everyone watched the children march off to the stairs.

“She is not here, you can see that,” said Pensri, turning back again.

“Then we will search every room of this house, and tear it down if need be, until we find her!”

“You shall not!”

“They’re lying, Pailaro. We saw the bitch go in, she’s here. Maybe if I stick her a few times they’ll remember where she’s hiding...”

Ilman waved his dagger in front of Noor’s face.

“Let her go!” commanded Pensri. “It’s me you want to talk to, not her.

“And just why should we do that, Mistress?” asked Pailaro. “Give us the girl. Or...”

He gestured toward his partner, still holding his dagger and Noor.

“She is not here!”

Pailaro nodded, and the dagger tip sank into Noor’s arm.

She screamed in pain, and tried to pull away.

Ilman just laughed, and pulled her closer.

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun together,” he said. “A little pain makes it feel so much better, you know. You’re gonna love it.”

“Hey, Ilman, cool it. We’re here on a warrant.”

“Screw that,” spit the other. “Let’s do ’em, find the stupid slaves, and burn this dump.” He looked over at Hafsah, holding her baby tight. “All three of ’em.”

He ran the tip of the dagger over Noor’s breast, leaving a thin red line on the tunic.

“You entered on a warrant,” said Pensri. “I told you that those you seek are not here, truthfully. You stabbed Noor, and have threatened us with rape and murder.”

Her voice was clear and strong.

Behind her the door slid open, and three villagers stepped in, two women and a man. They were unarmed except for their ever-present daggers, and just stood in the doorway for a moment.

Pensri whistled, and there was the sound of claws scratching across wood floors. A dozen brindle dogs, teeth bared and ears flat, burst into the room. They spread out around the room, bellies low to the floor as they stalked, and lay down, tails still and eyes fixed on the intruders.

Pailaro grabbed Pensri, and held her with a knife to her throat, backing up slowly toward the other two, who held their own hostages. They stood, back to back, facing the pack.

“Surrender now,” commanded Pensri. “You have broken your oaths, but there is still time.”

Five more villagers entered the room from a different door, silently spreading out against that wall.

“Shut up, bitch,” snapped Pailaro. “We’re walking out of here or you die with your mutts.

“Everyone, back the fuck up! And get those dogs back, too!”

She was silent, and he held the knife closer, touching the sold edge to her throat.

“Do it!”

She whistled, and the dogs, crouched low with eyes fixed on the men, slowly retreated.

Another door slid open as more villagers entered.

They were all armed with something: daggers, of course, but a few swords, some firewood axes, even one hoe. None of the daggers or swords were drawn, but they could be.

The three men retreated toward the firepit, surrounded on all sides by silent villagers. There were about two dozen of them now, and footsteps made it clear more were coming.

The dogs crept backwards, but only as far as the wall of watching villagers. Pailaro half-carried, half-dragged Pensri toward them, and toward the door.

Ilman Tuk was just behind him with Noor, and Tal with Hafsah.

The villagers didn’t move, blocking every exit from the room.

“What is this...? Back up, all of you!” shouted Pailaro. “Or I’ll slice her!”

Pensri, her head tilted back to expose her throat to the knife, held up her hand.

“You can kill me, and they will kill you. Or you can let me go and walk out of here. Which will it be?”

Hafsah’s baby began screaming.

“Shut up!” shouted Tal, and slapped Hasfah across the face. She dropped to her knees, bending over the protect her child, and the villagers are took a few steps forward, daggers suddenly appearing in many hands.

“Let them go,” said one of the encircling men, dressed in nothing but a loincloth, and holding a half-meter long machete.

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll not leave here alive,” he said quietly. “You don’t look as stupid as those youngsters.”

Pailaro glanced around at the throng of surrounding villagers and slowly released Pensri. She stepped away from him, turned, and held out her hand for his dagger. Grudgingly, he held it out hilt first.

She took it, holding it with the point down toward the mat, and looked toward the other two men.

“We allowed you into our home, showed you the hospitality due a traveler, and this is how you treat us?”

“Give us the slaves and we’ll leave!” spat Ilman Tuk.

“There are no slaves in this house, as you can see. Now decide.”

He licked his lips, looked at the villagers, then slowly released Noor as he slipped his dagger back into its sheath.

The villagers took one more step forward, this time their attention focused on the third man, Tal, who was standing over huddled Hafsah, his eyes darting about, searching for escape.

A middle-aged woman stepped closer, unarmed but jaw set, and Tal spun to face her, dagger slashing through the air in a threat. At his movement, Hafsah pulled away and scuttled away into the crowd. Tal was left standing alone, surrounded by dozens of silent villagers and half that many daggers.

“Tal, give it up, boy,” called Pailaro. “It’s not worth getting yourself killed for a little gold.”

“She’s worth fifty gold pieces!”

“Won’t do you any good if you’re dead, lad.”

Tal spun around again in a crouch, waving his dagger, slashing at the villagers to keep them away.

They retreated in front of him, but those behind him took one more step closer.

“Tal! Put the dagger down!”

Tal’s face was twisted in a snarl.

“But we know she’s here!”

“There are no slaves in this house,” repeated Pensri clearly. “Now put down your dagger, and go.”

Tal roared in rage and threw his dagger into the floor mat, sinking it almost to the hilt in the reeds.

The villagers pressed forward, and herded the three men out of the room and back outside.

Reeve Brukah was there with Headmistress Kiarna, and another two dozen villagers. More were coming up the road from the village, on horseback or on foot, and from other farms scattered across the hillside.

Healer Chimalmat went to Noor and applied a poultice to the wound in her arm.

Pensri looked up at the second floor, where a red blanket was draped over the windowsill, flashing a crimson signal that could be seen from almost anywhere in the valley.

Above it, in the open window, she could see Eshan’s worried face.

She waved, then turned back to the Reeve.

“Reeve Brukah, I demand a Truthing.”

The Reeve nodded, and looked around the gathered villagers.

“Truthsayer Aninagria? Has anyone seen the Truthsayer?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Leg doesn’t work as well as it used to since that boar,” she grumbled, as she walked forward between the villagers.

She stepped in front of the two slave-catchers, bound kneeling in the dirt.

“A Truthing has been called. Mistress Pensri, step forward.”

Pensri walked forward to stand in front of the Truthsayer, and held out her hand.

Aninagria took out her pin and drew a drop of blood from Pensri’s finger.

“Mistress Pensri?”

“These men said they were slave-catchers, and claimed to have a warrant. They insisted on entering to search, claiming they had seen her enter, and I told them that no such woman was in the house. They then took us hostage, stabbed Noor in the arm with a dagger, and threatened to rape and kill us.”

“Is there a slave in the house?”

“There is no slave in the house.”

“She speaks truth,” said Aninagria, and turned to Noor.

“Your finger, mistress.”

Noor stepped forward and held out her finger for the pinprick.

“Is what Mistress Pensri said truth?”

“Yes.”

“She speaks truth.”

The Truthsayer turned to Pailaro.

“What is your name?”

“I am Pailaro of Dylath-Leen, and I have a warrant! You cannot hold me, Reeve!”

“Mistress Noor has blood on her arm that suggests we can, Master Pailaro. That is why the Truthsayer has come,” said Reeve Brukah, standing some distance back to give the Truthsayer room.

The Truthsayer held out her hand, and Pailaro held his finger out.

“Is what Mistress Pensri said truth, Master Pailaro?”

“We saw the woman enter the house!” he shouted, and pointed at the Headmistress. “That woman brought her here in her carriage, and she went in!”

“Answer my question, Master Pailaro. Is what she said truth?”

“Yes, it is truth, but...”

“He speaks truth,” she said, cutting him off.

“Ask her where the woman is!” shouted the slave-catcher, but the Truthsayer ignored him, turning to face the Ilman Tuk.

“What is your name?”

He just spat on the ground.

“She is a Truthsayer. You would do well to answer,” advised the Reeve.

Grudgingly, “Ilman Tuk of Hlanith.”

“Master Ilman Tuk, is what she said truth?”

“Yes. And what Paisaro said is truth too!”

“That is a different matter; this Truthing is on your actions, nothing else.”

He spat again, and Truthsayer Aninagria stepped to the third man.

“What is your name?”

“Tal of Dylath-Leen,” quietly.

“Tal of Dylath-Leen, is what she said truth?”

“...yes.”

The Truthsayer nodded.

“Reeve Brukah, you have heard the truth. Judgment is yours.”

The Reeve stepped forward and slammed her staff of office into the ground.

“I find that Pailaro of Dylath-Leen, Ilman Tuk of Hlanith, and Tal of Dylath-Leen have violated their oaths as slave-catchers, and as such are not protected from punishment for their actions. I find that you have broken the code of hospitality. I find that you have stabbed, without cause, Noor of Dylath-Leen. I find that you have threatened three women with rape and death. I find that you have taken three women hostage.

“The punishment is death.”

“Death!? You can’t do that!” he shouted. “We have a warrant!”

“Your warrant is meaningless,” replied the Reeve, unmoved. “You invalidated it by your actions.”

“But what about the girl?”

“What of her? This Truthing is on your actions, not anyone else’s.

“However, as you did not in fact commit rape or murder, the punishment of death is hereby held in abeyance, and you are exiled from this village. You are never to return, or the punishment will be carried out.”

“What about our side of the story? We saw that girl! And we have a warrant for her!”

“You can’t do this!”

“I can, and I have,” she said, striking her staff on the ground once more and turning away.

The villagers surged forward, manhandling the three up onto their horses. They were escorted to the end of the valley, and the road to Dylath-Leen.

Pensri bowed to the Reeve and Truthsayer Aninagria.

The Reeve nodded her head in response, then turned to the Headmistress.

“It worked out this time, Kiarna, but if they hadn’t hung the red blanket outside upstairs it would have ended differently. We must be more careful next time.”

The Headmistress hung her head.

“I’m sorry. The poor girl was in such a state I just...”

“Mistress Pensri, you had better get that signal down before Master Shurala returns or he’ll have a fit. Is the girl alright?”

“Yes, Reeve, she’s fine. She’s down in the tunnel, waiting for us and at wit’s end.”

“Well, get her cleaned up and we’ll figure out what to do next. Lucky thing there weren’t more of them.”

“Nobody here will say anything; we all know the Sisters of Mercy and their ilk all too well. But we’d better stay alert for another week or so just to be sure... they know where slaves run to.”

“Someday they’ll come in force: the Sisters, or Garood, or any of those monsters.”

“Someday they will, and we’ll be ready for them.”

“I don’t think Shu will mind if open a cask of wine for everyone... will you join us?”

“With pleasure, Mistress Pensri. With pleasure.”

And she did.

END

Donn: Arthit and the Shadow

Tonight was the summer solstice. And the summer solstice was the day of the Festival of the Horned God, one of the most important days for House Penia, which relied almost entirely on farming for its livelihood. They grew wheat, barley, corn and several other grains, a range of vegetables and fruit—especially grapes—and livestock including cows, hogs, and sheep, and a bad harvest could mean a deadly winter for both man and beast.

The valley was also home to the Dylath-Leen shepherds, medium-sized dogs that served as sheepdogs and guard dogs. They were almost always brindle, their fur a pattern of brown and back blotches, but every few years one would be born with stripes.

Today twelve-year-old Arthit was watching the sheep in the high pasture with “his” dogs, dogs he had spent almost every day with since they were puppies: Scamp and Barbi. Barbi was stretched out on the grass getting a belly rub while Scamp sat on a nearby rock, keeping watch on the scattered sheep while hoping that one of Arthit’s scratching hands would drift his way.

Mama Pensri and Mama Noor and Mama Mahelt were busy getting ready for the Festival, baking and cooking the food for the celebration, and Mama Hafsah was busy with her baby and the other young kids, but she’d brought him lunch a few hours ago.

Most of the valley would gather at the Nest, where the men of House Penia were building the bonfire. Arthit wished he could go and see the bonfire... last year he could see the firelight and the silhouettes of people dancing, but he wasn’t an adult yet and the Festival was only for adults.

He wondered what they did down there that they wouldn’t let him see.

Scamp gave a small bark and jumped off his lookout, racing toward a lone sheep trying to climb the stone wall running across one part of the pasture’s edge. The bones of the mountain showed there, making it impossible to erect a fence, so they’d built a stone wall instead to stop sheep from wandering. Every so often a sheep would try to climb it, and every time one of the dogs would cut it off, and force it back to the flock.

Barbi rolled over the watched what Scamp was doing, prepared to race to help him fight off a wolf or other predator if necessary. Scamp had the situation well in hand, though, and forced the sheep away from the wall and back to the center of the pasture without any difficulty.

Arthit noticed a shadow out of the corner of his eye and glanced up to see a red-tailed hawk soaring over the pasture, head turning back and forth in search of prey. He knew there was a family of fieldmice over in the fence, but the hawk sailed past without diving, leaving only its plaintive cry behind.

He looked down at the Nest again... the wood for the bonfire was ready, it looked like. Branches and relatively small saplings had been leaned against the central pillar, a huge straw structure standing on the empty ground in front of the Nest. It was in the shape of a man with horns.

When the full moon rose later they’d light it for the Festival.

Most of the other gods had temples, or at least Godsworn—Truthsayer Aninagria had been chosen by the goddess Aletheia, but Aletheia had no temple. The Truthsayer said she had no temples anywhere. Arthit wondered how you could worship a goddess with no temple.

The Horned God didn’t have any temples, either. Everyone said he disliked fire and buildings, preferring to spend his time in the fields and the forests. Some people said the Horned God was a woman, not a man, but nobody seemed to care much either way. The pictures and carvings he’d seen usually showed him with the upper body of a man and the legs of a goat, with curly ram’s horns on his head. Once a trader passing through the valley had a scroll with a picture like that of the Horned God with his thing real big, and a women bent over in front of him. That was a man for sure, he thought.

They said sometimes the Horned God visited the high pasture... Arthit wondered if he’d ever see him. He thought those horns were amazing, and wished he had a set on his own head.

He plucked a few long stalks of grass and folded and tied them up into a little Horned God doll: two arms, two legs, and a head with two ends sticking out like horns. They weren’t curled like his, but they still looked pretty good, he thought.

Arthit slapped a mosquito that landed on his arm; a splurt of blood. He had a range of insect bites and scratches over his arms and legs, and scratched them absent-mindedly every so often. Some had half-healed scabs, some had been torn open again by a careless fingernail.

He paid them no heed, for the most part, but they really itched right after the mosquito bit him and it swelled up like that.

He scratched it again, then made another doll, and looked at the sun. It was already dipping toward the horizon, and it’d be time to get the sheep back down to their pen in another hour or so.

He was a little excited because tonight he’d be left in charge of the house and the kids. At twelve he was the eldest—not counting eighteen-year-old Jasque, of course, who was on the road with Donn and Hakim—and they’d judged he was responsible enough.

Of course I’m responsible enough, he thought. I’m twelve!

He touched his dagger again, just to be confirm that it was still safely in the sheath, on his belt.

I’ll protect them tonight! I’m a big boy now!

He wished he didn’t have to take care of the babies, though... as much as he loved his siblings he hated it when they ignored him and started doing dangerous stuff. At least Mama Hafsah was taking Nelchaka, the new baby, with her, so he only had to worry about his siblings Eshan, Aerlie, and Donnal, and Noor’s children, the Terrible Twins: six-year-old Behzad and Leila.

He thought Uralorea should have stayed, because she was only fourteen or fifteen, but they said she was a woman already. She sure looked the same to him, though. Whatever. Mama Pensri said she’d have to drink a lot of wine.

Arthit grimaced.

He hated wine.

A few hours later he whistled the dogs to get the sheep moving down the road, back to home and their pen for the night. Papa Shu said there were all sorts of scary creatures that liked to eat sheep, and he’d seen the remains of a slaughtered horse last year, all shriveled up like an empty bag with bones in it... Papa Shu said it had probably been a Dark Young passing through. He said they weren’t common around here, but you could never tell when you might run into one.

They brought all the livestock down close to the house every night, in pens or in the barn.

Tonight it’d be just him and the dogs until real late.

He’d made half a dozen of the little Horned God dolls, and decided to bring them back to the house for the kids to play with.

Scamp and Barbi chivvied the sheep down the road, keeping them in a tight flock and not allowing any to drift more than a few meters. About half an hour later all the sheep were safely in the pen, and he went inside.

The sun was pretty low, and Mama Noor was cleaning up Donnal now. The other kids had already eaten, and the young ones bathed. Arthit’s dinner was sitting on the ledge around the firepit.

He sat down cross-legged and picked up his plate: stew, bread, tomatoes and a stack of greens. She’d given him that green tea that tasted funny again; he’d chuck it and pour himself some of that apple tea as soon as she was out of the room.

“We’ll be leaving soon, Arthit. If there’s a problem send one of the dogs down, OK?”

“I’ll be fine, Mama. I’m a big boy!”

“We know you are, Arthit,” she said, pulling him close for a hug.

“I put some apples and raisins in a bowl over the oven, for later,” she whispered into his ear so the other children couldn’t hear.

He nodded, happy to keep the secret.

“You share it with everyone, hear?”

“Yes, Mama Noor.”

“Time to go, Noor,” came Pensri’s voice from the entrance.

Arthit looked and saw Mama Pensri waiting with Uralorea and the others. Mama Mahelt was wearing a shawl, hiding her face almost entirely, like she always did, and Mama Hafsah had her baby in a sling across her chest.

Mama Noor released Arthit, wiped Donnal’s face once more, and stood. She took off her apron, and laid it on the shelf next to the entrance as she slipped into her sandals.

“We’ll be back soon, Arthit!” called Pensri, and Behzad and Leila, holding hands as usual, give their mother Noor one more group hug before they let her go.

Barbi and Scamp took up their positions at the entrance, appointing themselves guardians of the house and leaving protection of the livestock pens to the other dogs.

They soon vanished from view in the dusk, heading down the road toward the village and the Nest, where torches and villagers gathered.

Arthit put more charcoal into the firepit, and stirred it a little with the tongs, watching the cloud of orange sparks swirl up into the chimney.

“Eshan, slide the doors shut.”

“Why me?”

“Because I said so.”

Eshan pouted, but was unwilling to rebel against his older brother. Eshan would probably grow into a bigger man than Arthit, but right now, with a two-year lead, Arthit outweighed him considerably. Besides, it was getting a little chilly.

Arthit brought out the Horned God dolls he’d made that afternoon and started playing with them. Aerlie, his eight-year-old sister, grabbed one immediately, and Donnal, who always wanted to do whatever his older siblings were doing, picked one up himself.

“That’s the Horned God,” explained Arthit. “He’s got these big horns on his head, see? And his legs are like a goat!”

“Is the Horned God coming to the festival tonight, too?” asked Aerlie.

“Of course! It’s his festival!”

“I want to go, too!”

“You can’t go, Aerlie. You’re still too little.”

“So are you!”

“They put me in charge of the children tonight.”

“Uralorea went, and she’s only fifteen, right?”

“Mama Pensri said she’s a woman.”

“I’m a woman, too!”

“You’re a girl!”

“Girls are better than boys!”

She stuck her tongue out at him and turned her attention to the doll.

There was a shriek from the firepit, and Arthit jumped up to see what had happened.

Behzad was sucking his fingers, crying in pain.

“What happened, Behzad?”

“The fire burned me!”

“Well, don’t stand so close, silly!”

“But we’re cold!” he wailed, and twin Leila nodded agreement, her shoulder pressed against his.

Arthit didn’t feel that cold, but he laid his palm on the floor to see how it felt. It was covered with thick mats made of interwoven reeds, worn by feet or charred by sparks in places. Every couple years Papa Shu or Mama Pensri would have new ones made down in the village, and the room would smell amazing for a few days until the fresh reed fragrance faded.

Usually they slept on beds in their rooms, but tonight they’d been allowed to sleep in the main room instead, around the warmth of the fire. Thick, padded sleeping mats were already spread, but Mama Noor had only left out thin blankets, and the twins wanted something warmer.

“Go get some blankets, then,” he ordered. “You know where they are.”

“They’re too heavy!”

“Why do I always have to do everything,” grumbled Althit. “Eshan, come with me.”

Arthit slid open the door to the rear of the house, where some blankets were kept for cold nights. The hallway was black, only a little light seeping in from the firepit behind them.

“I’m scared...”

“Baby!” said Arthit, but he was scared, too. He couldn’t show it to his little brother, though. “The blankets are right on that shelf there. C’mon.”

He stepped forward into the darkness but Eshan didn’t move.

“C’mon, Eshan! Help me carry ’em!”

Eshan shook his head.

“You go get them. I’ll wait here.”

“Fine, I’m not scared of the dark,” he said, and stamped his feet harder than usual as he walked into the dark.

The closet was only a few meters down the hallway, and now that his eyes had adjusted he could see the outline of the door flickering with reflected firelight.

He slid it open and reached in, grasping a few blankets, and pulled them out.

They were too big and too heavy to carry all at once, but it was easy to drag them back down the hallway to where Eshan was waiting.

He and his brother dragged the blankets into the room, and slid the door shut again. The hallway was pretty cold; it always got cold quickly.

He took one blanket over to the twins, who quickly threw it over themselves like a tent and began whispering to each other. Donnal, only three, toddled over and pushed his head inside to join them, and they expanded their fort to include him.

Eshan handed one of his blankets to Aerlie, who was still playing with the Horned God dolls, leaving two. He and Eshan kept one each.

Between the firepit and the blankets everyone would be comfortably warm, Arthit thought, and the little ones would probably fall asleep soon.

He scratched his arm again, and looked at his finger curiously. Blood.

If he got blood on the bedding Mama Noor would get angry again.

He wiped it off on the grass doll.

He wondered what the Festival was like.  

That was funny... the grass-stalk horns on his doll were curling up, just like a ram’s horns. Grass curling wasn’t very surprising, but it was weird they both curled up the same way so fast.

There was a scratching at the door—the dogs wanted in.

He ignored them because Barbi and Scamp both knew how to slide it open with their noses, and a few seconds later they stalked past him to walk around the room, sniffing here and there. They both ended up under the northeast window, sniffing and growling.

Scamp was scratching at the reed matting, acting pretty excited. Barbi stood a little behind him, between him and Arthit. She was tense, too, eyes fixed on whatever Scamp had found.

Curious, Arthit crawled over for a closer look, but Barbi blocked him just like she’d block a sheep trying to go the wrong way.

“What is it, Barbi? What’s there?”

He stood for a better look, and saw a black stain on the mat.

It grew bigger as he looked, tiny little streaks of black stretching out from the center to stain the mat’s reeds.

His hand drifted to his dagger.

He wished Mama Pensri was here.

A black line suddenly shot forward from the biggest blob, reaching Scamp’s paw, and he jumped back with a yelp. He started barking in alarm, and Barbi joined him, barking and growling. Their shoulders dropped lower, fangs out, hackles erect.

“Everyone, wake up!”

Eshan was already sitting up, watching Arthit, and he jumped to his feet at Arthit’s shout, blanket still around his shoulders.

“What? What is it?”

“Everyone back, move back!” he ordered. “Get to the other side of the fire!”

The black stain had spread to a second mat now, and the dogs were slowly backing up, keeping their distance as it grew.

Scamp was walking on three legs; it must hurt to put his weight on his front paw where the thing had touched him.

There was a scrabbling from the half-open door, and Arthit turned to see half a dozen more dogs race into the room: the dogs who patrolled the pens.

None of them was barking anymore. They were all growling, ready for a fight—but there was nothing to fight against, just a growing blackness on the floor.

It approached his sleeping mat, and suddenly split into two... it flowed around it, avoiding it.

The doll! The Horned God doll he had made!

The thing was staying away from it!

Something funny... he threw another few sticks on the fire to see better.

The doll was surrounded by grass or something! Green shoots were popping up all around it, leaves bursting open as he watched, flowers blooming. And in the middle, standing on two grassy legs, his doll faced the stain, rippling like a wind was blowing.

He looked for Eshan’s doll... where was it?

It was already in the black, half melted in the corruption!

Why only his doll? Why did the blackness eat Eshan’s... blood!

He’d wiped his blood on the doll!

“Give me your dolls, quickly!”

He snatched up the other dolls and rubbed them on this scabs. He tore the scabs off, but only a little blood seeped out. Not enough.

His dagger!

He pulled his dagger and stared at it.

He knew what he had to do, but... he couldn’t.

He knew he had to pray to the Horned God with the sacrifice of his own blood, but... he’d have to cut himself.

He put the dagger on his hand and froze.

The dagger blade shone red in the firelight.

“Arthit! My blanket!”

It was Aerlie.

She pointed at where she’d been sleeping, and Arthit turned to see her blanket turn black, decaying into slime before their eyes.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the dagger across his palm, and then screamed and dropped it in pain.

Tears burst from his eyes. He couldn’t see anything.

It hurt!

But he could feel the dolls with his other hand, and he picked them up one at a time and rubbed his dripping palm over them, painting them in blood.

He picked up his original doll again, and wiped his hand over its body, too, then sat with his back to the edge of the firepit wall.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and his vision began to clear.

The reed mats were turning green, a flood of plants and flowers bursting from the mats, growing and spreading before his eyes.

The Horned God dolls stood like guards between the stain and the children, stood on their own legs, glowing green and gold in the firelight.

Roots and tendrils snapped forth into the blackness, tearing at it, shredding it to dust, driving it back, back, until they reached the wall, and the blackness was gone.

The scent of honeysuckle filled the room, and Arthit heard the trilling of countless birds, birds so exquisitely beautiful he forgot his pain and his fear and the waves of awe and wonder swept over him like the dawn.

“Arthit?”

“What is it?”

“What happened?”

Shouting from the entranceway as his parents rushed in, summoned by the dogs’ howling.

The children all turned, eyes huge with the thrill of the sacred beauty they had felt, and all fell silent.

Behind them, the firepit shone on a wall of greenery, flowers of every variety exploding in all the colors of the rainbow, a glorious backdrop to the tiny grass dolls that lay scattered across the room, shriveled and brown.

END

Donn: Sadiki

“Kandoro sure likes flowers, doesn’t he?” laughed Hafsah. Kandoro and Nelchaka, playing side by side on the blanket, burbling happily at the little wildflowers waving in the breeze, or crawling after the occasional butterfly that wandered by.

The two baby boys were about the same age and size, although Nelchaka was mostly pink and tan while Kandoro was almost black. Nelchaka, born to Khemite Hafsah and Surala Tokarra of Dylath-Leen, was currently most interested in putting things into his mouth—fingers, rocks, grass, and teacups, especially—while Sadiki’s child seemed to prefer furry things. Since a whole pack of dogs roamed the house and land, he never had trouble finding one to snuggle up to.

The dogs didn’t mind, of course... they suffered the babies of the family without complaint, content to serve as babysitters, herders, or guards, as the situation required. As the babies grew older, the dogs enjoyed the rough-and-tumble as much as the children.

Sadiki was enjoying the early spring, too... after escaping from her slave master the previous year with her newborn infant, she had fled to House Penia and Donn’s family for safety, trusting her life and baby’s life to the rumors of hope that circulated among the slaves.

She’d been lucky: she somehow managed to reach House Penia on her own in spite of pursuers sent by Garood, her former master, traveling unknown paths through the forest between Dylath-Leen and the valley of House Penia. Pensri and the whole village had protected her then, and she had gradually relaxed and recovered in the quiet of the valley.

Many of the villagers were ex-slaves or their families, and the whole valley came together to protect slaves from pursuers as needed. They’d all come to protect her that day.

It wasn’t home, though...

The winter had been hard on Sadiki. Her homeland, Parg, was mostly hot and jungled, and she’d never even seen falling snow until she’d been kidnapped by the slavers and dragged off to Dylath-Leen. Mountains and snow and broad pastures full of sheep were lovely, she had to admit, but it simply didn’t feel like home.

She sighed again, and ran her fingers over the single carnelian set into her cheek. It was given to her in a ceremony held by women only, on her first blood. She would have gotten her second stone only a week or so after she’d been kidnapped, marking her acceptance into the sisterhood as an adult, marriageable woman. And now she should really have a third, for childbirth, at least. If things had turned out differently she might even have a fourth for marriage, but that was all a distant dream now.

“You miss your family?”

Sadiki nodded.

“They killed my father, of course, but my mother and sisters and—well, and my whole family—they’re all still there, in Zretazoola.

“You saved us, and I am more grateful than I can put into words, but this is not my home, try as I might.”

Hafsah silently laid her hand atop Sadiki’s, squeezed gently.

“Donn and Hakim are discussing their trading trip now, you know. They say they’ll take Jasque with them this time... maybe they can escort you back to Parg?”

“Oh, do you think so? That would be so wonderful!” Sadiki clapped her hands in excitement. “I mean, you have all been so kind to me, and it is so peaceful and quiet here, but...”

“I know. But this is not home,” reassured Hafsah. “Let’s talk to the others tonight.”

“Are you sure it’s alright? I don’t want to...”

“Yes, I’m sure. You must choose your own path, Sadiki.”

Sadiki nodded, then hugged her.

They talked about it at the evening meal that same day.

“Parg?” said Donn. “That’s one of the places we’ve been thinking of going on this trip. We don’t usually spend much time there because most of the profitable trade is locked up by Pargite traders, and we can only deal with the small entrepreneurs, which means lower volume and less money. Still, it’s easy enough to visit Parg first on this journey.”

“Have to be careful getting Sadiki and Kandoro there, though... Garood is still hunting her, I’m sure, and probably the Sisters, too.”

“And we can’t depend on the Dylath-Leen guard to protect us outside the city...”

Hakim signed something.

“What? Hafsah?” said Donn. “Hmm... that might work.

“Hakim says we might leave with Hafsah and Nelchaka, and expect to be stopped. After they verify that we don’t have Sadiki with us, then she switches places with Sadiki somewhere.”

“If you take her to Dylath-Leen first to pick up your goods they’ll all follow you,” said Pensri. “I can take Sadiki up north and ford the Skai, then cut down and meet you somewhere between the Skai and Mt. Thurai, say.”

“That would work,” agreed Donn. “Hakim, what do you think?”

Hakim nodded agreement, and signed again.

“He suggests we meet at Poranto, because he knows the villagers and they hate slavers as much as we do.”

“I’ve only been there once,” said Pensri. “Shu?”

“Yeah, I know the way, I can go with you,” he nodded. “Figure a two-day trip, I think, if nothing goes wrong, but pretty long days in the saddle.”

“Sadiki, are you up for a long ride with Kandoro?”

“If I can return to my family, I can ride all week,” she smiled.

“Let’s do it, then! Everybody?”

Nobody dissented.

“Hakim and I will go over the goods later, and we’ll ride into Dylath-Leen to check with Chóng’s factor. The usual goods are salt, Baharna porcelain, and Oriab silk. They deal direct with Ulthar and Hatheg so there’s no point in taking any of their textiles with us, except to trade off later... what else?”

He looked at Hakim’s flying fingers.

“Oh, yes, of course. Apples, if there are enough, and our wine!

“Might be quite a load... the wine in particular is a heavy, awkward load.”

“Where would you go from there?”

“Into Khem, I think,” replied Donn. “Pick up a load of ivory in Parg, along with ebony and some fragrant woods... another heavy load. Might have to hire some help in Parg.”

“So you’ll be gone until summer, at least, then,” said Pensri as she poured everyone another cup of tea. Donn pulled his teacup back to stop her from refilling it, and poured himself another cup of wine instead.

He looked at Shu and raised an eyebrow, but he declined. Hakim, on the other hand, held out his cup for more.

* * *

A few days later everything was ready.

Donn, Hakim, and Jasque would lead a team of twelve packhorses, loaded with trade goods, and accompanied by Hafsah and baby Nelchaka, a total of sixteen horses. Sefu, Chóng’s factor in Dylath-Leen, would partially underwrite the venture, sending two guards along to safeguard it as far as Zretazoola, the largest of the several city-states in Parg.

Once they reached Zretazoola, the two would collect Sefu’s share in ivory and take it back to Dylath-Leen, leaving Donn and the trading party to fend for themselves. Donn and Hakim had been through Zretazoola and a number of other cities in Parg, and had found them no more dangerous than most other places in the Dreamlands... they were used to it.

Sefu had assured them that the two guards could be trusted. Donn didn’t mention that they’d be meeting up with Sadiki during the journey, and that she was an escaped save, and Sefu didn’t ask, but he’d worked with Donn and House Penia long enough to know that if Donn said they needed guards who could keep their mouths shut, he had a good reason.

The three of them—Donn, Hafsah, and Jasque—would visit Chóng’s warehouses in Dylath-Leen, and a few of their own suppliers, arranging to pick up wares for sale or trade in Parg, or in Khem later. Donn and Jasque would bring horses from their own farm, load them up here with goods from the city and ride west toward the River Skai. Hakim, meanwhile, would load up his own group of packhorses with their wine in the tough, heavy barrels their winery used.

To prevent the wine from spoiling in transit due to microbial action they always made offerings and prayers to Mycelia the Spore-Mother and goddess of fermentation, beseeching her to protect the wine as she had helped make it from grapes in the first place. As the goddess in charge of fermentation and all sorts of microbial action, Mycelia was very important to the wine and cheese output of House Penia, and over the years had almost become the family’s patron goddess.

In smaller quantities Chóng was already bottling wine in glass bottles with corks, but glass bottles were time-consuming and expensive to make, especially in quantity. Wooden barrels were a perfectly satisfactory answer, as long as the wine was protected from unwanted microbes.

Cheap wine was still sold immediately after harvest, but for those with a bit more gold to spend, Donn’s wine was famous for both its taste and the fact that it didn’t turn to vinegar in a month.

At last, everything was ready.  

“Safe journey, Donn,” said Pensri, giving him a kiss as he leaned down from the saddle. Everyone was there to say goodbye with the exception of Sadiki and her son, who were hiding inside, and would remain there until it was time for them to sneak out with Shu and Pensri. Mahelt had even left the house for the first time in days to see her son off.

“I’m so proud of you, Jasque!”

She was tearing up as she hugged him. “You’ve grown into such a tall boy... No, you’re a man now, aren’t? Pay attention to Master Donn, and come back safely, you hear?”

“Yes, mother,” he replied, trying to look cool and collected. “I know. I’ll be safe!”

“I have a gift for you, Jasque,” she said, handing him a heavy-looking leather bag. He took it hesitantly.

“Well, go ahead,” said Donn. “Open it!”

He carefully loosened the cord and pulled it open, then pulled out the small wooden case from inside, marked with the rose insignia of King Kuranes.

“Is this...?”

Donn and Pensri beamed as he opened it to reveal a small scale and a set of standard weights. Every professional trader had a set, to check weights of gold and silver against the standardized weights set by King Kuranes. Not everyone used his standard, but in almost every transaction buyer and seller would check each other’s weights to be sure they were close enough. The precious metal content of the most common coins was known, especially the newer gold “crowns” and silver “tiaras” that the King issued, making it possible to set prices in grams of gold or silver rather than coins of unknown value—the Dreamlands, of course, was awash in coins from every era that ever was, and quite a few that never were.

“Treat it with care, Jasque. You’ll need it,” cautioned Donn.

His eyes shining, Jasque nodded, and hugged Pensri.

“Thank you, mama! I... It’s beautiful!”

He turned to Donn and gave him a hug, too.

“You bought that, didn’t you?”

“Me? Nonsense! Entirely her idea,” he denied, and turned to the side. “Hakim, we’ll meet you at Yig’s Bane the day after tomorrow. “If you get there first, go ahead and cross, and we’ll meet you on the other side.”

Hakim nodded. He would load up the barrels of wine, and a few kegs of brandy, and ride directly to the River Skai tomorrow. One of Sefu’s guards would come to the house tomorrow morning and ride with him, while the other would meet Donn and Jasque in Dylath-Leen when they loaded up the other packhorses.

Hafsah was sitting on a chestnut mare next to Donn, with baby Nelchaka in a sling across her breast. She was dressed in the Pargite style: loose robes in bold, clashing colors, with a hood hiding most of her face and hair.

Garood would find out that Donn and some Parg woman had left House Penia, and no doubt send slave-catchers immediately to bring his escaped slave—Sadiki—back.

The idea was that his watchers would follow Donn and Hafsah, and if they left anyone behind that person would no doubt follow Hakim and the wine, making it possible for Pensri and Shurala to escort the real Sadiki and her baby over the hills and through the back ways to reach one of the less-used fords of the River Skai upstream, and then to the village of Poranto.

With luck, Sadiki could join Donn’s party there safely, on the edge of the Pargite jungle, and only a few day’s travel from Sadiki’s home in Zretazoola.

“Pensri, you be careful, too,” cautioned Donn. “It looks like Garood’s only got two men watching us, but you might run into other dangers along the way.”

“We’ll be riding light on fast horses, Donn,” she replied. “and Shu’s been over that route countless times. I’ve been as far as the ford myself many times. We’ll be fine.”

Donn looked to Shurala, who nodded. “Safe journey, Donn.”

“Safe journey, Shu.”

He snapped the reins and rode through the main gate, where Sefu’s guard was waiting. Donn knew him from previous encounters.

“Good morning, Trooper Oltahm.”

“Morning, Master Donn, Mistress Hafsah” said the guard, a Khemite with weather-worn bronze skin and thinning salt-and-pepper hair. He had a longsword hanging from his saddle, and a shield on his back.

“Good to see you again, Trooper Oltahm,” said Hafsah. “Good weather for a ride.”

“That it is, Mistress. Who’s the tyke?”

“My Nelchaka,” she said. “His first trip out of the valley!”

“You hang onto him, and let me and Master Donn worry about the trip.”

“Nelchaka always comes first for me,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

“And this is Jasque, one of our boys,” broke in Donn. “Jasque, Trooper Oltahm is one of Factor Sefu’s most trusted guards. We’ve worked together, oh, must be over a dozen times, I’d guess.”

“Jasque of Penia,” the young man said, possibly for the first time in his life.

“Oltahm of Dylath-Leen,” said the other, and they cantered off, down the road toward the village center, toward Dylath-Leen. They were leading half a dozen packhorses; Hakim would use the other six to carry the barrels of wine.

With no loads to carry, they’d probably make Dylath-Leen in the late afternoon.

They rode through the village, exchanging greetings with people they knew. The main street was rarely straight, winding around houses, fields, or big trees, but of course it ran past the Nest. They couldn’t see Headmistress Kiarna, but as usual there were several children playing in the open atrium. A combination nursery, school, and orphanage, the Nest was built as a hollow square enclosing an open ground in the middle, protecting the children while simultaneously preventing them from running off somewhere. Many of the families of House Penia brought their children here, some just when they were busy, others every day, but the Nest was the social center for everyone who lived in the valley.

“Off again, Master Donn?”

“Good day to you, Master Obuje,” nodded Donn. “It’s spring and time to get back to work, I’m afraid... getting bored watching sheep every day!”

“Never could understand what you find so interesting outside the valley,” said the other, shaking his head. “Me, I’m happy right here.”

“We’re all glad you are here, Master Obuje. Village’d be lost without a master smith like you.”

“Where’s Hakim?”

“Jasque and I are off to the city to pick up some trade goods, and we’ll meet up with Hakim later, down by the river. He’ll be packing wine, and it’s just too heavy to lug all that way and back again.”

“So Master Jasque is going with you this time?”

“He’s tired of counting sheep, too... it’s about time for him to see what the world’s like out there.”

“He’s what, seventeen? Eighteen? Stay here, find a nice girl, raise a family... the world out there’s not fit for man nor beast.”

Jasque laughed uncomfortably.

“I’ll be back, Master Obuje. The valley is home.”

“Well, safe journey to you both.”

“Thank you, Master, and to you.”

The buildings grew fewer, the fields broader, and the trees thicker, until they finally were in the forest entirely. The dirt road was fairly well-traveled, and packed hard enough to defeat most of the weeds, but Donn knew it well enough to walk it blindfolded anyway.

“Jasque, why don’t you ride up here next to Hafsah and me.”

“Shouldn’t I stay in the middle to keep an eye on the packhorses?”

“Trooper Oltahm is bringing up the rear. I want you up here with me for a while.”

Obviously curious, Jasque rode to join Donn at the front.

“Why?”

“I expect we’ll be having some visitors soon enough, and it’d be safer up here for a bit.”

He turned back to look at Oltahm, who nodded and settled his shield into a more comfortable position on his back. Not only was it easier to carry that way, it helped protect him from arrows.

The road would run through scattered forest and grassland for several hours. A few lonely homesteads spotted the way, hardy pioneers who preferred the wilderness, even with its dangers, to the more populated areas closer to Dylath-Leen.

Donn knew a few of them, and waved greetings as he rode past their fields or pastures.

They were riding fairly slowly to save the horses, even though the packhorses carried little or no loads. They were not in any special hurry, and the road was unlikely to be very dangerous this close to the big city. They’d need their strength tomorrow when they were loaded up with salt and the other cargo.

After a few hours Donn called a halt, and they stopped for lunch near a small stream.

They roped the horses to nearby trees so they could reach both lush spring grass and running water, and sat down to enjoy their own lunch—bread from the village baker, home-made cheese, cold roast mutton, and a few apples for dessert.

After everyone had rested a bit, they got ready for the rest of their ride.

The road would begin to wind through small villages and towns now as it approached the big city, and they’d be sharing it with other riders, or carriages.

“Everyone ready?”

“All ready,” replied Hafsah, adjusting her sling one more time.

Then they heard horse’s hooves from ahead.

Donn held up his hand and placed his hand on his sword as Oltahm cantered up to join the others at the head of the string of packhorses.

“Master Donn, I see you’re on your way to Dylath-Leen,” came a man’s voice.

“State your name!”

“Bokorh of Dylath-Leen,” the other replied, and rode his horse out into plain view. Behind him were three others, two men and a woman, all armed.

“We have a warrant to recover stolen property,” said Bokorh. “A slave by the name of Sadiki, with a baby.”

“I own no slaves,” retorted Donn. “Let us pass.”

“Not with that slave.”

“That is my wife, not a slave!”

“This warrant says otherwise.”

Donn turned to Hafsah, whose face was hidden in her hood.

“Hafsah, would you name yourself to these ruffians?”

She drew back her hood, revealing her Khemite complexion. She was obviously not the Pargite they were looking for.

Bokorh spat.

“And the babe?”

Hafsah silently held up her boy, revealing that he was not a Pargite, either.

“Now may we pass?” asked Donn sarcastically.

“We’ll get her, you know,” said Bokorh. “Garood wants his property back, and we aim to get it for him.”

“I have no slaves,” snapped Donn, and kicked his horse into a trot.

The others followed suit, and the four slave-catchers just sat on their horses and watched them ride away toward Dylath-Leen.

They’ll get word to Garood well before we get there, thought Donn, and they’ll be watching the house. Then they’ll follow Hakim tomorrow, expecting Sadiki to be hidden in one of those wine barrels... by which time she’ll be safely over the mountain with Pensri and Shu.

I hope.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

It had worked so far, thank goodness. He’d been worried that Garood might just set up an ambush looking for Sadiki, but it seemed Garood—or at least his man Bokorh—was unwilling to stir up that much trouble this close to the city.

“Now you can fall back, Jasque. It should be safe from here on.”

“You expected them?”

“I knew they’d stop us somewhere. I’m just glad it ended as well as it did.”

“And Sadiki?”

“Hush, boy. No need to talk about her at all until we’re back home again.”

* * *

They reached Dylath-Leen in the late afternoon, riding through the northern gate and into the walled city.

Built mostly of basalt and surrounded by a forbidding, black wall and thin angular towers, the dark streets of Dylath-Leen were not very inviting, but it was one of the four major trading ports together with Celephais, Pungar-Vees, and Rinar.

He knew a great many people here and would be meeting a number of them that night or the following day. The most important was, unquestionably, the current ruler of the city: Factor Bertram.

He was one of about half a dozen immensely rich traders who ran the city as the City Council. In theory the Council discussed and set policy as equals, but in fact things were always controlled by one person, or occasionally, one clique. They constantly fought amongst themselves, usually only with words and money, less frequently with swords, and the nominal ruler could change without warning as one trader or another assumed control.

Chóng’s man here, Factor Sefu, had never been one of those chosen few, but instead maneuvered around on the outside, helping or hindering the top traders to advance his own agenda. Garood was also not one of the controlling traders, but as undisputed ruler of the city’s foul underbelly he held his own power.

They headed for the inn Donn always used: the waterfront Drunken Mermaid. Donn and the innkeeper, a Kiran-born man named Kōji, had known each other for many years, and worked with each other often. As an ex-slave himself, Kōji did his best to help slaves escape the city, helping them reach House Penia and relative safety.

“Master Donn! It’s been too long! Come in! And Mistress Hafsah with little Nelchaka... and who is this splendid young man with you?”

“Jasque of Penia. I’m journeying with Master Donn this year.”

“Master Jasque! But you were just a little boy last we met!”

“They grow, you know,” smiled Donn. “Jasque, you can trust Master Kōji. Completely.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Just one night, I’m afraid... Can Hafsah stay here with you for now? Jasque and I have some people to see, and goods to purchase.”

“Of course, of course,” laughed Kōji. “Sachiko will be delighted to see the baby. We’ll take good care of her for you.”

Donn and Kōji exchanged a wrist-shake, and then they got back up in the saddle and rode to meet Factor Sefu.

“Trooper Oltahm, there won’t be any problems here in the city, especially now that they know Sadiki’s not with us. Can you meet us back here tomorrow morning?”

“I have to see the factor anyway, so I’ll ride with you that far.”

“Things went a lot smoother than I expected, back there. Glad you were along, though.”

“Always nice to settle things peacefully,” agreed Oltahm.

The factor was located on the waterfront as well, but behind the warehouses of the biggest traders. He worked for Chóng, not for himself, and was content to remain one of the smaller players in the rough-and-tumble politics of the city. Working for an outsider as he did, he enjoyed the advantage of being able to move in many different circles, but simultaneously the disadvantage of never being fully trusted.

He and Donn got along excellently, however, and most of Donn’s trade goods were already waiting for him when he arrived.

“Master Donn, glad to see you made it safely,” said the factor, greeting them at the door.

The floor of the warehouse was bustling as always, with carts of goods being moved in and out by Sefu’s people. Sefu had been arguing with somebody trying to deliver a cartload of ale barrels; it seemed the number of barrels on the cart was one short.

“Betsy, take over, would you?” said the factor, leaving the settlement to one of his seconds and walking with Donn.

“Come upstairs, Master Donn, so we can talk in private. This is your boy?”

“Yes, Jasque.”

“Sefu of Parg.”

“Jasque of Penia.”

“So you’ll be heading to Parg first. I’d like to go back myself one of these days, but...”

“Are you from Zretazoola?” asked Jasque.

“No, no, just a little village out in the jungle,” he laughed. “Zretazoola was the enormous city we were in awe of... and now look at me! Dylath-Leen!”

Oltahm took his leave and headed for the barracks, while Sefu led Donn and Jasque upstairs.

His office was in the center of the floor, surrounded by rattan screens that provided partial privacy but also made it possible to see if anyone was unduly close and might be listening. Different factors had different ideas about secrecy and how to preserve it, and as long as their ideas worked, Chóng was happy to leave it up to them.

He waved them to a wide, very low sofa, and sat in the short-legged wooden chair himself. Seconds after he sat down a boy, probably a teenager, Donn thought, came in with a tray holding spiced wine, cups, and some sweetcakes. He knelt and silently poured each of them a cup of wine, setting them on the table, each with a sweetcake on a plate beside it.

“Thank you, Nels. That will be all for now,” said Sefu, and the boy half-bowed and left.

Sefu picked up his cup and invited Donn and Pasque to help themselves.

Once Nels was far enough away, he set his cup down, picked up a sweetcake, and sat back in the chair.

“Oltahm tells me you met Garood’s men on the way. All went smoothly, I gather?”

“So far, everything’s going as planned,” said Donn. “Some thug named Bokorh and three of his friends, but once they saw I had Hafsah with me, they stopped. I’m sure they’ve told Garood by now, and he’s certainly watching the house.”

“He’s a dangerous man,” mused Sefu. “but of course you already know that. Hard to tell what he might do, but he has quite a reputation for hurting people who steal from him. And from his point of view, you—or at least House Penia—have stolen from him.”

“We’ve crossed swords several times over the years, figuratively speaking, but he’s not really any worse than the usual robbers we meet on the road. And here in Dylath-Leen we’ve got protection from Factor Bertram.”

“Bertram’s still in charge, and as long as he’s in charge you’re safe,” said Sefu. “I haven’t heard of any serious plots against him, but who knows what the other factors might do.”

“You’ve never thought of moving up into that group?”

“Goodness no. I couldn’t afford to hire all those guards and tasters!”

Sefu handed over the list of trade goods.

“We’ve got it all waiting for you downstairs, but I wonder if I can ask you to add another packhorse for me? I got a special request for a Moung spider-silk robe some months ago, and it arrived just yesterday.

“Things being what they are, I’m thinking maybe I could just add another guard instead of paying you the usual commission...”

Donn turned to Jasque, who had been sitting silently absorbing the conversation.

“He has to pay his guards whether they do anything or not, so sending a guard with me costs him nothing extra, but paying me commission would cut into his profit directly.”

Sefu just grinned.

“Deal?”

Donn nodded. “Deal. This time’s special, though so don’t get used to it!”

Sefu picked up a tiny bell from the table and rang it once.

Nels was there in seconds.

“Tell Oltahm to pick another guard to accompany Master Donn to Zretazoola. Oltahm remains in charge of our people.”

“Yes, Factor,” nodded the boy, and ran off.

“Good kid. Smart, knows when to shut up and when to speak his mind. I picked him up off the street a few years ago after I saw him talk his way out of arrest down on the wharf. I also saw him steal the goods, but he kept his wits about him, got the stuff hidden fast and proper, and gave the guards a positively masterful story. They believed it, and I snagged him when he came back for the loot later.”

“So never a slave, then.”

“Probably not. Never knew his parents, but he’s got no brands and he’s been roaming the wharfs for years. Just another abandoned kid, as far as anyone knows.”

Donn looked up from checking the trade goods.

“Looks good, Factor, thank you.

“About that extra horse, though... make it two. I’d like to run them in pairs, and it won’t hurt to have a spare packhorse along, just in case.”

“That’s easy enough. You’ll send them both back from Zretazoola?”

“Yes, with Trooper Oltahm and your ivory.”

“Excellent,” said Sefu. “To another successful journey, then!”

“To a successful journey,” echoed Donn and Jasque, and they drank down their wine.

They left the packhorses in Factor Sefu’s warehouse and headed toward the city center, where the buildings grew higher and fancier. Donn had a large ruck on his back.

Donn had to call on Factor Bertram, the most powerful man in the city, and reaffirm their “close friendship,” which actually meant passing him a healthy bribe. In return for bribes at regular intervals, Bertram made sure that the Sisters of Mercy and Garood didn’t do anything rash about House Penia, even when slaves escaped and fled there. As long as House Penia didn’t interfere with Dylath-Leen, Dylath-Leen wouldn’t interfere with them, and any fleeing slaves would have to look after themselves.

If Bertram were ever toppled things might change abruptly, and for the worse, but they’d been making plans for that eventuality, too. For now, in any event, paying a visit to Factor Bertram was the right thing to do.

“Bertram’s estate is heavily guarded, as you might expect, and they’ll search us. Just stay silent and stay close.”

Jasque nodded, ill at ease.

This was not only his first trading journey with Donn, but also his first time to meet the movers and shakers.

Bertram’s estate was surrounded by a three-meter basalt wall with guards walking the perimeter, and up on top as well. They were a cut above Bokorh and the rest of Garood’s thugs, armed and acting like professional soldiers, which no doubt they were. The gateway was open, the steel portcullis raised to allow easier passage, but four guards at the gate and more inside made it clear any intruder would have a tough time getting in. The rope holding the portcullis could be cut in a few seconds as needed, too.

Donn walked straight up gate, and stopped before the guards there even had to order him to.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen to pay my respects to the Factor. I bring my son, Jasque of Penia.”

“Master Donn, Master Jasque,” said the man in charge. “Does he know you’re coming?”

“No, I don’t think so, not this time.”

“Hold while I find out.”

The man turned to look at the men inside the estate, and shouted to one: “Donn of Dylath-Leen and son to see the Factor.”

One of the guards there waved, and trotted off toward the dark keep.

She was back a minute later, and whistled to attract the gate-keepers’ attention. When they turned, she waved Donn and Jasque in, and the guards at the gate let them pass.

As soon as they were inside they were searched and their weapons taken, to be laid on a nearby table. She looked in his ruck and chuckled as she handed it back.

“You know the drill... pick the gear up on the way out,” said the woman. She was still armed, of course, sword and dagger.

“Thank you, uh, Cyndara, wasn’t it?”

“Cyndaria, but close enough. And thank you!” she said, smiling. “This way.”

She led them through a fairly small gate into the keep, and down a short hall to a room with carpeted floor and stunning tapestries on the walls. The window was only a tiny arrowslit, but a sunstone suspended from the ceiling made the room as bright as day.

Cyndaria bowed and left. The lock on the door clicked when she closed it.

“A sunstone!” breathed Jasque.

“Yes, a sunstone, now be quiet.”

Jasque stopped gawking and tried to copy Donn’s stance... he was standing facing the door, hands clasped in front, just waiting.

The door rattled and squeaked, and another soldier stepped inside.

“Master Donn. Good to see you’re still hale.”

“Captain Tenuk. Another year, another trading journey.

“This is my son, Jasque of Penia.”

Jasque gave a half bow, and the soldier responded with “Tenuk of Oxuhahn.”

“Captain Tenuk is the Factor’s right-hand man. Sometimes both hands.”

“I just try to let the Factor enjoy his days without undue interruptions,” Tenuk chuckled, “but he should be here shortly.”

“So I’m unexpected but not undue, then...”

Tenuk was about to reply when the door opened again and Factor Bertram stepped in.

“Donn. How nice to see you again,” he said, rather mechanically.

“Factor Bertram, thank you for making time to see me. I appreciate how busy you are, but wanted to introduce my son, Jasque.”

“Jasque of Penia,” he said, bowing nicely.

“A pleasure,” said the Factor, instead of the more polite form of self-introduction.

“Since I stopped by I thought you might enjoy a bottle of wine, and a wheel of our best cheese, Factor. I brought them from House Penia this morning.”

“Ah, thank you, Donn. Yes, very nice,” said the Factor as he accepted the bottle of wine and the cloth bag holding the cheese. He glanced inside the bag and then put it down on the table with the wine.

“Well, if that’s all...”

“Of course, Factor, my apologies for bothering you unexpectedly like this. Thank you for making time to see us!”

“No, quite alright, quite alright,” the Factor replied as he left the room again.

Tenuk waited until the sound of the Factor’s footsteps had receded down the hall before speaking.

“Well, that went well. This time.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Donn. “And here’s a little wine for you as well, Captain Tenuk.”

He pulled out a second bottle identical to the first. Glass bottles were all handmade, and thanks to Chóng’s use of corks to minimize spoilage, the wine was delicious.

“Always a pleasure, Master Donn,” smiled Tenuk. “This way.”

He led them back to the gate, where they recovered their weapons and left the estate.

As they walked down the narrow road, Jasque couldn’t restrain his curiosity any longer.

“I thought he was quite rude back there... are they all like that?”

“Don’t say that, don’t even think it very loudly,” chided Donn. “When you wield that amount of power you can be as rude as you like. Or as polite, depending on circumstance.”

“What did the Captain mean when he said it went well this time?”

“If the Factor is in a bad mood, meetings can be... unpleasant. And especially if he’s upset by something I was involved in.”

“But he still appreciates our wine and cheese!”

Donn chuckled.

“I doubt it, although he might drink the wine. He was more interested in what was in the bag with the cheese.”

“What was in the bag...?”

“There were a hundred gold crowns in there, Jasque.”

“A hundred...!”

“Quiet, lad!” shushed Donn. “We have a deal: he gets a share of the profits, and House Penia gets protection from Garood and other slave-catchers.”

“But they still came to take Sadiki, and met us on the road!”

“He can’t control everything, but he makes sure that House Penia isn’t attacked or burned to the ground. I consider that a good investment even if we do have to take care of Garood and the Sisters of Mercy by ourselves.”

Jasque was silent for a moment as he digested this information.

“Do they really hate us that much?”

“Oh, they don’t hate us at all, Jasque. They just make too much money off slaves to want to ever give it up, and we’re in the way, that’s all.”

As they continued down the narrow, twisting street, Donn suddenly stopped at a small doorway in a wall.

The doorway opened up onto an even narrower alley, which ran for a few meters than turned out of sight.

They walked down the alley, and around the bend it opened up into an open space with a temple.

It was deserted, as far as Jasque could see, but there was a small, low table in front of the temple with an incense stand, and several sticks of incense still smoking.

Donn knelt in front of the table, lit a stick of incense and stuck it upright into the burner ash, and bowed his head in a silent prayer.

When he was done he pulled out a handful of coins, checked them briefly and removed two small ones, and dropped the rest into the dish. He rose and waved Jasque to do the same.

“What is this place?” asked Jasque after he was done.

“Look inside,” suggested Donn. “Don’t go inside, just look.”

Jasque stepped around the incense table and looked into the gloom. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust, then he suddenly jumped back in surprise.

“Skulls! Piles and piles of skulls!”

“The skulls of dead slaves, of discarded women and children, of debtors who paid for their poverty with their lives. This is the Temple of the Unwanted, where we pray for those we never knew.”

“There must be thousands of them...” Jasque whispered.

“Far more,” said Donn. “Under the Temple stretch catacombs, with the skulls of centuries upon centuries of the Unwanted.”

“Who cares for them?”

“Everyone, and no-one. Those who know, and care.”

“Who pays for the incense?”

“People bring incense, or leave money on the table. There are no Godsworn, no gods, just the memories of the dead.”

“Nobody steals it?”

“Not even Garood would think of stealing that money.”

“I... can I leave some money, too?”

“Of course, Jasque. As much as you like.”

Donn waited while Jasque returned to the table to light another stick of incense, and drop a few coins of his own.

“Thank you, Jasque. They appreciate it,” he said, clapping the boy around the shoulder. “And now back to Factor Sefu’s for dinner!”

A few minutes later they were back at the Factor Sefu’s warehouse.

“The woman is in the barracks,” said the guard at the gate. “Evening meal’s at the Hour of the Monkey.”

“Thanks, I know,” said Donn. “Been here many times already.”

They walked to the barracks where most of Sefu’s workers stayed, and found their room. They’d be sharing it with a few other people, mostly women. Modesty was not a very common trait, and sharing a room didn’t bother them—or the women—at all.

After checking that Hafsah and the baby were alright, Donn and Jasque returned to the warehouse to check that the horses had been properly taken care of, and the trade goods to be loaded up in the morning were ready.

As they were checking the packed goods against the list, Oltahm walked up with another guard, a thin blond man.

“Master Donn? Since you’re here, I thought I’d introduce you now.”

“Donn of Dyalth-Leen,” he said, sixing up the other man. Short, thin, armed with a similarly long, thin sword and several throwing axes. Maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, he thought. Looked capable.

“Frode Bjørnsson of Falona,” responded the other.

“You’ve been to Parg before?”

“Several times, lately for Factor Sefu. And years up north, around Jaren and Sinara.”

“We often go through that region, too,” said Donn. “You know Captain Rufe, running on the Xari?”

“Rufe? Yeah, up and down the river a couple times with him, or Captain Falanga.”

Donn had ridden Falanga’s river boat a few times, too.

“Throwing axes are pretty uncommon down here...”

Frode smiled.

“Not unusual up in Lomar, and they give me a little surprise before the bad guys get to within sword range. They’re always surprised how far I can throw ’em.”

Donn chuckled.

“With luck we won’t need any this trip, but good to have them around.”

“We’ll be back first thing in the morning, Master Donn,” said Oltahm, and they left again, Oltahm singing the praises of a certain tavern he was taking Frode to.

“We’ll leave with two guards, and join up with Hakim and the third guard at the river,” said Donn. “Three guards plus the four of us should be enough to keep the little robbers away. Might even scare off real bandits, if we’re lucky.”

“You expect bandits?”

“Not really. At least, not this side of the Skai, anyway... Dylath-Leen has patrols along main roads to Parg, Ulthar, and Carcassonne, and keeps them pretty much under control. In theory Zretazoola has troops patrolling the road to the far side of the Skai, but that’s a long ways for them.”

“Zretazoola’s the biggest city in Parg, right?”

“Well, yes, but there are several other very big cities and a lot of jungle villages that don’t follow anyone’s standard. Zretazoola often has its hands full with other things, and traders from Dylath-Leen get the short end of the stick sometimes. Their own trade caravans are usually well protected, though.”

Jasque finished tying the last bag shut, and dripped wax onto the wire holding it closed before pressing his seal into it. The wire and seal wouldn’t stop anyone would stealing the goods inside, but at least they’d know immediately if anyone had tampered with it. It was a common ploy to steal expensive cargo and replace it with something worthless, but of the same weight and size, and hope that the merchant didn’t even notice until later.

With Sefu’s guards of duty it was unlikely they’d have any problems anyway, but Donn made it a point to do things right every time.

They stopped by their quarters again to pick up Hafsah, who went with them to the mess with little Nelchaka in his sling across her chest.

The mess was mostly empty, only a few scattered people eating their evening meal of soup, roast chicken with some unknown, bland sauce, bread, and rice. Donn noticed a box of tomatoes in the kitchen and asked for a few; the cook was happy to hand them over, saying not many people ate them.

They settled down at an empty table and ate a quiet meal. It was not the tastiest food they had ever eaten, and Donn wondered if he should give the cook a little spice to make his chicken at least somewhat interesting.

“Normally I eat at The Spitting Tabby,” explained Donn. “I’ve been going there for years, and the master knows what I like. Good place to listen to the street talk.”

“But not tonight?”

“Not with a baby, I think... I doubt either the baby or the other patrons would enjoy it.”

After dinner they walked to the closest public bath, which had separate baths for men and women. They left Hafsah at the door to the women’s bath and entered the men’s half, placing their belongings in the locker and keeping the key.

The lockers were made of wood, but they were secured with steel locks and reinforcements, and could be seen clearly from the bath. There was also an attendant at the front, but he was often busy collecting fees or otherwise dealing with patrons, and really couldn’t be trusted to watch the lockers.

Several of the men using the bath were wearing nothing but daggers strapped to their bodies: thighs or arms, usually. Donn and Jasque didn’t bother, and just left everything in the locker.

After a quick scrub the hot water was heavenly, followed by a quick dip in the cold water bath, and they were done. They waited for Hafsah outside, and she joined them shortly.

“Might be our last hot bath for a while,” cautioned Donn. “I hope you made the most of it!”

“It was very nice,” she said. “Not as pretty or clean as our own bath, but nice.”

“Let’s head back, then... we’ll be on the road all day tomorrow, and we’ll need our sleep.”

“I hope Nelchaka heard you!” chuckled Hafsah. “I’ll try to keep him quiet, but...”

“Babies don’t need excuses,” said Donn. “They’re what we’re here for.”

* * *

They rose at dawn, although Nelchaka was up even earlier, followed almost immediately by Hafsah. She managed to keep him mostly quiet, but when he was hungry he wanted everyone to know.

“Run down to the kitchen and make sure they’ve got our lunch, Jasque. Five people.”

“What about breakfast?”

“Go ahead and eat if you like... we’ll be down and join you in a bit.”

Donn helped Hafsah feed and change Nelchaka, and got their gear ready. The majority was still packed, waiting to be loaded up onto the horses again; they’d only taken the minimum with them since the barracks had most of what they needed.

The mess hall was packed and noisy as all sorts of people started their day: clerks, freight-handlers, guards, what looked like a whole ship’s crew, and an assortment of people that Donn couldn’t easily place.

They came in all shapes and sizes, and while everyone was making noise of one sort or another, Donn didn’t see any arguments or fights... Sefu had them well trained, he thought. An inn out in the city would no doubt be as noisy, but also likely to see at least a fight a day.

About half-way through breakfast—a bowl of rice with chicken, eggs, and onions on top, washed down with hot tea—he realized that Sefu was there as well, sitting at a table to one side with a number of his assistants. They were deep in conversation about something, daggers and chopsticks waving through the air as someone emphasized a particular point.

Sefu finally nodded, said something, and stood, catching sight of Donn. He came walking over as the people he’d been sitting with left the mess to get started on the day’s work.

“Factor Sefu,” said Donn, standing to greet him.

“Everything all set?”

“I think so... we checked the goods last night, and met the new guard, Frode. Looks to be a good man.”

“He’s been with me for a few years now. I think you’ll find him quite useful in spite of his small stature... or perhaps because of it.”

“I’ve never learned how to throw an axe properly,” said Donn. “Seems somehow strange...”

Hafsah laughed. “If you want to learn, Donn, I can teach you.”

“You know how to throw axes?”

“It’s not something I need at House Penia much, but yes, I’m pretty good. Maybe this Master Frode and I should have a little competition?”

“Anytime, Mistress, anytime,” came a voice from behind her.

“Ten says Frode wins,” laughed the Factor.

“I’ll take that bet,” replied Donn. “I trust Hafsah.”

“You didn’t even know that she could throw!”

“Doesn’t matter.” Donn shook his head. “If she says she pretty good at it, that’s all I need to know.”

“Now or later?”

“We really need to get started, Factor,” said Donn. “Maybe we can let them work it out when we get to the Skai?”

Factor Sefu shrugged.

“Sure, I’ve no problem with that. Just don’t forget to bring me those ten crowns!”

“Hah! Next time we meet I’ll be collecting, not paying!”

“Safe journey!”

“Thank you, Factor.”

They parted ways, the Factor heading upstairs and Donn and his party to the warehouse, where their horses were waiting.

They checked the seals on the loads and the warehouse workers helped them get the heavy bags of salt balanced and secured on the packhorses. The rest of the freight was much easier to handle, and although the load of Baharna porcelain was large and awkward, it was not terribly heavy because most of it was just straw packing.

Hakim would have the heavier load by far, with all that wine.

The two guards Oltahm and Frode, were waiting, their saddlebags already packed, and horses ready to go.

“How was that tavern, trooper?”

“Very nice, Master Donn, thank you. You should have come along!”

“Maybe next time,” he replied. “You can sleep all day but I have to stay awake!”

“We young don’t need as much sleep as you oldsters.”

“Young!?” broke in Frode. “You’re both so old I’m surprised you can still walk and talk!”

“You’re pretty snippy for a little boy,” said Oltahm, chuckling. “Maybe you forget that arm-wrestling match last night?"

Donn left them to it and finished checking the rest of the loads, the horses’ hooves, belly cinches, and all the countless other things that had to be done properly. Jasque went through it all with him, doing much of the work himself under Donn’s watchful eye.

At last they were all ready.

Donn ran his eye over the small caravan once more: He and Oltahm leading, followed by the eight packhorses—six of his own plus the two from the Factor, with Jasque and Frode Bjørnsson bringing up the rear.

Hafsah would ride up front with Donn for now, but move to the safer center later, after they met up with Hakim at the river.

The road was stonework to the river, laid down centuries ago by one of the many rulers of Dylath-Leen, but on the other side of the bridge a hard-packed dirt road ran through the jungles of Parg. They’d make good time on the stone-paved road, and should be able to meet up with Hakim and get to the village of Poranto well before nightfall.

Pensri, Shu, and Sadiki should already be there.

“The Skai is close to the sea here, and broad and swift,” explained Donn as they took a rest. “There are some fords upstream, but the spring foods often make them impassable, and the only way across is Yig’s Bane.”

“The bridge!”

“You’ve never seen it before, have you?”

“I’ve never been beyond Dylath-Leen before! Yig’s Bane! We’re going to cross it!”

Donn laughed.

“It’s not raining, so it should be a simple ride... just watch your step, and stay away from the edge. If you fall off it’s a long ways down.”

Jasque nodded, already looking ahead, eyes searching for the legendary bridge.

An hour later he could finally see it with his own eyes.

The road had been gradually climbing upward, and ahead of them he could now make out a mass of white bones thrusting up into the sky.

It was the skeleton of a giant snake, lying across the chasm spine-down, ribs sticking up like a picket fence, curving above. The bones shone in the sunlight.

As they got closer he could see the ribcage enclosed the road, made of logs cut and fitted into a relatively flat surface that ran the length of the vertebrae. It was only about two or three hundred meters across the gap, and while the snake’s skeleton ran fairly straight, it sagged in the middle, downhill to the center and then uphill again.

A large fort stood near the foot of the bridge, manned by city guards from Dylath-Leen.

“They keep the road repaired and make sure everyone keeps moving. In theory they’re supposed to defend Dylath-Leen against any invaders, but I can’t see this few really being able to do much if an army came.”

“They could destroy the bridge if they had to, couldn’t they?” asked Jasque.

“Nobody can destroy the bridge. A lot of people have tried to break off pieces of opal—you’ll see why in a minute—and nobody has even made a scar. It can’t be destroyed, or even damaged it seems.”

“Where’d it come from?”

Donn shrugged.

“Who knows? You’ve heard about the head, I assume?”

“Yig’s Head!” His eyes lit up. “Is it here?”

“On the other side. You’ll see it soon enough,” laughed Donn.

One of the guards approached.

“Master Donn! Haven’t seen you here for some time.”

“Good day to you, Sergeant. Still guarding Yig’s Bane, I see.”

“I prefer it to the city, to be honest... volunteered last year. It’s good, clean work out in the air, no city filth to contend with.”

“City filth meaning sewage and people both, I gather.”

“Dylath-Leen has too much of both,” replied the other, smiling.

“My boy Jasque,” said Donn, gesturing.

“Larkuy of Dylath-Leen.”

“Jasque of Penia.”

“I don’t think you’ve met my wife yet, have you?”

“Hafsah of Penia.”

“A bit younger than I remember...”

“You’re thinking of Pensri, my first wife. Hafsah is my fourth.”

“That’s right, you’re in a line marriage, aren’t you? I’d forgotten.”

“We call it an inflorescence, sort of a communal group. But how’s your own son these days?”

“Jien? Fine, fine... he’s a trooper now. City guard. Steady pay, but can’t say too much for the job.”

“It’s kept you in ale for a long time!”

“There is that!” he laughed, and ran his eye over the string of packhorses. “Zretazoola?”

“Yes, and them on into Khem. Be a couple months at least.”

“Oltahm! Is that you back there?”

“Larkuy. Yup, just as far as Zretazoola, though, and then back again with some goods for Factor Sefu.”

“Who’s the new guy?”

“Frode Bjørnsson of Falona,” said Frode, introducing himself.

“Larkuy of Dylath-Leen. You’re riding with a good man, trooper. You can trust Oltahm with anything but your ale.”

“Has Hakim crossed already?”

“Yeah, he went over about an hour ago. Said he’d be waiting for you on the other side,” said Larkuy. “That’s pretty good wine you’re hauling...”

Donn chuckled. “Slipped you a little, did he?”

“Thinking of making it a toll bridge, I am.”

“Why, you do that and I’d have to just make my own bridge!”

“Got your own snake?”

“Plenty of snakes in Parg,” laughed Donn. “Might have to hunt a bit for one this big, though.”

“Good luck with that, Master Donn.”

“So, OK to cross, Sergeant?”

“Yup, should be fine. Road’s dry and almost no carts today. Safe journey!”

“And to you, Sergeant,” said Donn, and turned back to the others.

“Listen up, Jasque, Hafsah! We’re going to dismount and lead the horses across. It’s only about three hundred meters or so, and the road is planked. It slopes down about halfway, then turns up again, but it’s not very steep either way.

“There aren’t any rails to stop you from falling off, so walk carefully! We’ll put blinders on all the horses, but if anything happens, get out of the way of the horses! If they panic they’ll almost certainly go over the edge; be sure you don’t go with them. OK?

“It gets bigger in the middle—probably where the snake’s belly was—and if we meet a cart that’s where we pass. Other horses can just walk past us, the road’s wide enough for at least three horses without touching, so just stay calm and keep your eyes open.

“Any problems?”

Oltahm and Frode were already putting blinders on the horses; they were ready to go in a few minutes.

Oltahm caught Donn’s eye, and gestured silently toward three men standing next to the entrance to the bridge.

Garood’s men.

Donn quickly checked Hafsah to be sure her hood was down, and her face clearly visible. It was.

As long as it was obvious they didn’t have Sadiki with them, Garood’s men wouldn’t bother them. Especially since Donn had just demonstrated he was friends with the sergeant.

The party started across on foot, studiously ignored the three men.

The wooden bridge was as immobile as solid ground, although sometimes the wooden planks creaked and warped under their weight. The grade was slight, and there was no worry about anyone slipping into the river far below, a storm of black rocks and white spray.

Jasque stared at the upthrust ribs as they passed.

In the sunlight they were a bleached white in most places, but he began to see patches of color here and there.

“What’s that?”

“Opal, Jasque. The bone’s turned into opal,” said Donn. “Many, many people have tried to pry a piece of that opal out, and nobody’s done it yet. A piece that big would make a man rich for life... they say the whole thing will collapse if anyone takes a piece, but who knows?”

Jasque gingerly reached out to touch one of opalescent patches. About two-thirds of this rib was shimmering in brilliant greens and reds, flashing in the sun. He reverently reached out to touch it.

“It’s cold...”

“It’s not a skeleton anymore, just rock,” said Donn. “Don’t get so excited you forget where you’re walking, now!”

“I won’t,” replied Jasque, eyes still big with wonder.

They reached the central platform without any difficulty, and Donn held up a hand to wait for a minute as a string of horses approached from the other direction.

“Mistress Wang! Donn of Dylath-Leen.”

“Master Donn! A strange place to meet old friends.”

“Indeed. You’re from Parg, I gather?”

“Left Zretazoola this morning, hope to be in Dylath-Leen by dusk.”

“All clear up ahead, should be an easy ride,” said Donn. “What about Parg?”

“The bridge over the Bawisi is out, I’m afraid. Flood,” replied the old Asian woman. “Have to travel upstream to one of the fords.”

“Thanks for the warning.

“I wonder if I might ask a favor of you, Mistress...”

“A favor, Master Donn?”

“Some of Garood’s men have been following us, and I wonder if you could, hmm, walk slowly and block the way across. Just gain us a little time to get down the road, maybe lose them completely.”

“Garood, you say,” she nodded. “Yes, I think one of my horses is a bit lame. Have to walk her slowly or it might get much worse.”

“Thank you, Mistress. I owe you one.”

“No problem at all, Master Donn. I’ll collect it, never fear!”

He chuckled.

“I never doubted you would, Mistress. Safe journey!”

“Safe journey, Master Donn.”

They passed each other, and began the walk up the gentle incline to the other side. Donn glanced back to see that Mistress Wang had arranged her horses three-abreast, making it impossible for anyone to pass them on the bridge.

“You know a lot of people, Donn,” said Hafsah.

“You meet a lot of people when you’re on the road all the time,” said Donn. “Most of them are good people, but there are a few...”

“How far out of our way is the ford?”

“Well, we’re headed north, to Poranto, and won’t be using that road anyway,” explained Donn. “Have to meet Pensri and Shu.”

The cliff on the far side approached, and they finally crossed from the serpent’s bones onto solid rock. Yig’s Bane ended abruptly, a clean break where the skeleton was cut off... literally. Some meters distant lay the skull of the serpent, as large as a house.

It was half crushed, as if a boot had smashed it into the earth.

Jasque stared at the head, then back at the bridge.

“They cut off the snake’s head, and crushed it under their boot!” he whispered.

“A bit too large for me,” said Donn, nodding to Hakim as he approached from where he’d been waiting. “I’ve done the same thing myself to a snake, now and again. Don’t mind them if they don’t mind me, but sometimes things just don’t work out...”

“But that skull...!” breathed Hafsah. “It’s enormous! Who could possibly...?”

“That’s why they call it Yig’s Bane,” said Donn. “I don’t think anyone knows the true story, but if I have to meet a snake this big I’m glad it’s this one and not a hungry one!

“Hakim, any problems?”

Hakim shook his head.

His packhorses were waiting placidly in the shade of some trees, huge barrels of wine strapped to their backs. They were used to the weight and didn’t mind, as long as nobody was in a hurry.

“Let me light some incense, and then we can get started. Mistress Wang said the bridge was out on the Parg side, so we’ll have to head up to one of the fords. You hear anything more?”

Hakim signed no, and added a comment.

“Sure, come along. I have to show Jasque, too. The horses will be fine with the troopers,” said Donn, and waved his son and Hafsah over.

“Come with me for a minute. See that shrine over there? It’s tradition to light a stick for those who lost their lives crossing, and to give thanks.”

“Give thanks to who?” asked Jasque.

Donn shrugged.

“Don’t know that, either, but if a stick of incense will improve my chances, it’s a good investment.”

The shrine—a small rock with time-worn characters carved into it, standing upright near the serpent’s skull—had a pottery dish full of ash in front of it.

Donn pulled out a few sticks of incense, handed one to each of them, then lit his own from the smoking stick lying on the ash. No doubt Mistress Wang had left it.

Once it was lit he waved it through the air to extinguish the flame, and placed the smoldering stick on the ash. He put his palms together for a moment, eyes closed and head down, then stepped back and motioned Hafsah forward.

She repeated the process, then Jasque. Hakim had given his own prayer earlier.

They walked back to the horses, and told the three guards they were welcome to give their own prayers. Hakim’s guard, a woman named Reciroh of Dylath-Leen, didn’t bother to get up, but the two men who had come with them from the city walked over and gave incense.

Shortly thereafter they started again, north along the Skai.

The river gradually grew quieter as they headed upstream, splitting into multiple tributaries, and they kept following the riverbank northwest toward Mt. Thurai.

Cultivated fields appeared once more, small homesteads surrounded by rice paddies dotting the land. As they passed the saw a few farmers in the distance, bent over their crops.

“That’s Poranto right up ahead,” said Donn. “Hafsah, pull up your hood and make sure its visible. I want you to go inside the hut immediately, and change clothes with Sadiki. Tell her to stay there for now. Got it?”

She nodded, and adjusted her clothing so the colors and pattern would be clearly visible.

“I haven’t seen any sign of them following us, but it never hurts to be careful,” said Oltahm.

“That’s why we’re doing this,” agreed Donn. “Pensri and Shu are hidden in that hut and they’ll stay there with Hafsah until we’re out of sight, and the villagers make sure there’s nobody watching. Then while we take Sadiki to Zretazoola, they can head on back to home.”

“Hope it all works out.”

“Yes, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?

“Well, here we are...”

Donn dismounted and walked up to greet the village chief.

“Chief Korolo! May the Goddess of spring bless your fields.”

“Master Donn, welcome. And may the God of journeying bless you and yours.”

“This is Hafsah, my wife, and Nelchaka.”

“Hafsah of Penia,” she said, loud enough to be heard by anyone who might be listening to their conversation. She made a point of pulling back the baby’s swaddling to show, revealing his pale skin.

“Korolo of Poranto. A beautiful child indeed!” He pointed toward the hut. “My hut is yours.”

She thanked him and vanished into the dark interior.

Hakim unstrapped one of the smaller barrels of wine, and carried it over.

“I thought you might enjoy this, Chief,” said Donn as Hakim set it down nearby.

“Can you stay tonight? As it happens I’ve just received some excellent wine!”

“No, no, we must be back on the road again. On to Zretazoola, as soon as my Hafsah is done in there,” said Donn, gesturing toward the hut. “Babies, you know. Always complicate things.”

“I know, I know,” laughed Chief Korolo. “We have a few on the way here, too. Should be along any day now. It’s spring!”

A woman dressed like Hafsah stepped out of the hut, the baby quiet in her sling. Her hood was up, making it impossible to see who it was. Her hands, supporting the baby, were out of sight in her robe.

“Hafsah, ready to go?”

Without waiting for an answer he helped her up into the saddle, and then mounted his own horse.

“My apologies, Chief. I hear that the bridge over the River Bawisi is out, and we’ll have to try the fords. If we don’t hurry we won’t make Zretazoola by nightfall.”

“Next time, then. Safe journey, Master Donn! Master Hakim!”

“Until next time, Chief Korolo. Enjoy the wine!”

Donn caught Sadiki’s eye as they rode out of the village, checking that everything was okay with her and the baby.

With luck, Hafsah and the others would be home by nightfall, too, after crossing back over the Skai upstream and taking less-traveled roads.

* * *

The air smelled different on this side of the Skai.

Once they’d left Dylath-Leen and the scents of the city behind, they spent the morning walking through mostly open fields or forests, natural scents of trees and earth, accented with occasional whiffs of manure.

Parg was jungle... the sun was split into a million tiny gems of brilliance, sifting through the branches, and often lost entirely into the leafy canopy. The air smelled of rich wet dirt, of flowers, of the profusion of green all around.

The sounds were different, too... gone were the songbirds trilling happiness on fenceposts and the lowing of cattle, replaced by an incredible cacophony of sound that left Jasque breathless with amazement. Squawks and cheeps and grunts from birds and animals unseen; he wondered again and again if some sound had been made by a bird, or some unknown animal.

He caught sight of a monkey once, sitting on a branch to watch them past, absent-mindedly scratching its bright orange fur.

The road was clear, mostly dry mud and old wheel ruts leading between the trees.

The road was even narrower and darker than before, but beams of sunlight still shone through every so often, and weeds were sprouting up in the ruts already.

About half an hour later they could hear the sound of water, and a small river came into sight. The water was almost still, and didn’t look deep.

“Maybe take a rest for a bit before we cross,” suggested Oltahm. “Might be more mud on the other side; wouldn’t hurt to rest the horses a bit first.”

“Good idea,” agreed Donn. “There’s plenty of space here.”

They tied the horses loosely and let them graze, although they left their loads in place.

Frode walked off toward the trees, shifting his sword to the side as he prepared to urinate.

Just before he reached the edge of the clearing the grass exploded up into the air, and long, thin arms whipped up, wrapping themselves around his legs and yanking him backwards and down, down, into the ground.

“N’dara!” shouted Donn, drawing his own sword and leaping forward. “Get back to the river!”

Sadiki grabbed Jasque and pulled him back toward the water.

She was from Parg, and knew the n’dara, the trap-door spiders that lay in wait for unsuspecting prey. Living in burrows as they did, they were rarely found close to open water.

The other two guards, Oltahm and Reciroh, were right behind Donn, racing to save their comrade, but Donn was closest. He rammed his sword into the almost-invisible edge of the plug sealing the thing’s lair, and tried to lever it up.

The guards were at his side in seconds, adding their strength to his, and suddenly it popped open, and the giant spider leapt up and out of the hole, determined to win or die. Swords flashed, lopping off legs and it toppled to the ground, mandibles snapping and seeking flesh only to fall back again as cold steel plunged into its body again and again.

Donn jumped down into the hole and lifted Frode up off the floor, arm around his shoulders.

He was still alive, and grabbed Donn’s tunic in his fist.

“It’s too late... my stomach...”

Donn looked down at his abdomen.

There was a hole through his tunic. The spider had already laid its egg, and it would hatch within hours, producing a grub that would eat Frode alive from the inside out, finally emerging as a new n’dara.

He could cut it out, but then Frode would die anyway, from that wound.

Oltahm landed next to him.

“Frode! Frode!”

He injured man had already drifted into merciful unconsciousness.

Oltahm draw his dagger, tears dripping down his face.

“I’m sorry, Frode. Forgive me.”

He lifted the dagger slowly, reluctantly.

“Let me,” said Donn, pulling the dagger from his hand. “He was your friend.”

He knelt next to Frode and with a single thrust rammed the dagger into his heart.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until a shadow reminded them of the outside world.

Donn glanced up to see Reciroh looking down.

“You alright?”

They slowly stood.

“Yeah... we’re alright,” said Oltahm. “Frode will be staying here, though.”

Reciroh knelt on the lip of the hole and held her hand down to pull Oltahm up.

Donn gently closed Frode’s eyelids, and turned to take her hand when the wall next to him collapsed and a small n’dara, no larger than one of his dogs, burst out and sank its fangs into his leg.

Donn threw himself backwards in shock and fear, but the thing held on. He swung again and again until it fell, slashed and battered into a bloody mess, and then Donn fell next to it as the poison overwhelmed him.

“Get him out of there!” shouted Oltahm, and jumped into the pit again.

Ignoring chitinous scrapings from the walls he grabbed Donn around the waist, lifting him up high enough for Reciroh to grab hold of an arm, and between them they pulled him up and out. She rolled Donn away from the pit’s open mouth as soon as she could, and threw herself down on her stomach to reach down and grab Oltahm’s wrists, yanking him up to safety.

Jasque stood some ways back, still in shock, but when he saw a black shape begin to emerge from the pit he leapt forward, skewering it to the ground with his sword.

It scrabbled for a moment, then died, but there were more black shapes swarming up the walls.

Oltahm pulled Donn up onto his back and began staggering toward the horses, Reciroh and Jasque helping and keeping an eye out for pursuing spiders.

“Get out of here! To the ford!”

Hakim and Sadiki were already undoing the ropes holding the packhorses from straying, and at Oltahm’s shout they began leading them toward the river. Oltahm and Jasque managed to get Donn up atop one of the horses, and they fled.

They raced across the ford, not taking time to check for danger, and collapsed on the far side of the river, panting.

The horses were still nervous, nostrils flared, snorting and pawing the ground, but now that the stench of the spiders were gone, replaced by running water, they began to relax.

They laid Donn down on the grass.

He was barely conscious, face tight with agony.

His leg was already swelling, turning black and ugly as the poison did its work.

Oltahm drew his dagger and slashed Donn’s leg open around the wound, and bent to suck out as much poison as he could, spitting the foul green stuff to the ground.

Sadiki watched for a second, then turned to look at the surrounding jungle. She was searching for something.

“Hold him!” she commanded Jasque, and handed him the baby, running upstream all alone. Jasque automatically accepted the squalling infant and stood there, gaping.

She dropped to her knees in front of a stand of dark-green plants, and slashed at it with her dagger, collecting a handful of leaves. As she came running back he saw they were large, almost circular leaves with tiny purple flowers running all along the edge.

“Bind his leg with these,” she panting, handing the leaves to Oltahm. “They will absorb more of the poison.”

Oltahm hesitated for a second, then nodded and wrapped Donn’s leg in them. He tore off a strip of tunic and tied it around the leg as a bandage.

“We have to get him to a physician as soon as possible,” he said. “Hakim, I figure we’ve got another three hours or so to Zretazoola, and that’s too long. Someone has to take him, now.”

Hakim nodded, then pointed to his mouth.

Hakim couldn’t speak, he was saying, and someone who could speak would be needed. It had to be one of the guards, or Jasque.

“Right. I’ll take him,” said Oltahm. “Reciroh, it’s up to you and Jasque now.”

Jasque handed the baby back to Sadiki and stepped forward.

“No, I am going with you. You’ll need help getting Donn there safely. We have spare mounts, and if we switch off later we’ll be able to make very good time.”

“No. If he doesn’t get the right medicine quickly he will die,” said Sadiki. “I have to go, because I can get it.”

She handed the baby to Hakim.

“Kandoro is the most important thing in my life, but I owe Master Donn my own. Care for him, Hakim!”

Hakim nodded, and clutched the baby to his chest.

“Sadiki and I will go,” announced Jasque. “Oltahm, we’ll get a message to you at the inn.

Oltahm looked Jasque in the eyes for a moment, then nodded.

“Right. Help me get him up on his horse. We’ll have to tie him on.”

They manhandled the unconscious man onto his horse, tying his feet into the stirrups and his torso flat on the horse’s back.

“We’ll leave a marker at every ford we start across... and if we can’t get across and have to come back, we’ll mark which way we went instead.”

“Safe journey!”

“Safe journey!”

Jasque kicked his horse’s flanks and they set out at a canter: three horses carrying riders, and two spare mounts.

Oltahm, Hakim, and Reciroh began preparing for their own journey: slower, but perhaps more difficult because now it was only the three of them for almost two dozen horses.

The baby kept wailing in spite of Hakim’s best efforts.

* * *

Sadiki took the lead, trailing the two spare horses, with Jasque close behind. He rode with Donn’s horse next to him, holding both sets of reins, so he could keep a close eye on his father.

Sadiki was unfamiliar with this part of Parg but at least she knew its dangers. Jasque had never been here before, and indeed had never been to so dense a jungle before... the trees were different from what he’d grown up with, the animals hiding in the jungle were unknown, and he’d just watched his father attacked—perhaps fatally—by something that looked like a giant spider.

He didn’t know where he was going, or what to do when he got there, or even if he really trusted this woman, but he did know one thing, and he held onto that thought with all his heart: Donn must live!

They raced down the empty road toward distant Zretazoola, ducking under low branches and batting aside hanging creepers as they ran.

“How far is it?” he shouted.

“I don’t know, exactly, but we should start to see border stones, and then we’ll know.”

“Zretazoola stones?”

“Maybe. Might be Zoon; they’re farther north than Zretazoola.”

“Is Zoon any closer?”

“I doubt it, and I don’t know anyone there anyway... Zretazoola’s our best chance!”

They concentrated on riding for a while until Sadiki suddenly pulled her horse to a stop.

“What? What’s wrong?” Jasque asked, riding up closer.

“I don’t like the looks of this ford,” she said. “The ones we rode through before were shallow enough I didn’t have to worry, but this one looks a lot deeper in the middle. Crocodiles.”

Jasque looked at the smoothly flowing water.

“I don’t see any...”

“That’s the problem,” she explained. “You don’t see them until they pull you off your horse.”

“So what do we do now?”

She bit her lip.

“We’ll have to try upstream and hope for another place to cross...”

Jasque pulled Donn’s horse closer and felt his father’s pulse.

He was still alive. Unconscious, but alive.

He looked at the river.

“We don’t have time. I’m crossing here,” he said, and drew his sword.

He kicked his horse, yanking Donn’s to follow, and they entered the water.

“Jasque!”

“It’s the only way!” he called back, eyes on the water.

Sadiki cursed something under her breath and followed.

They walked most of the way across, the water gradually getting deeper and deeper, until it reached about halfway up the horse’s chest, soaking the riders to the thighs, and their pace slowed down.

There was a swish of water, and Jasque slammed his sword down into the river, twisting it out again with a splash of blood. A long, grayish-green tail slammed the water and something huge and hungry twisted away underwater.

The horses panicked, and began to push through the water with even more speed, eyes white, snorting in fear to each other.

Sadiki’s mount suddenly reared up, tearing the reins out of her hand and dumping her on her back into the water, as a long, pointed jaw clamped onto its haunch, dragging it screaming and bucking down into the river.

Sadiki grabbed hold of the spare mount’s saddle, trying to pull herself up and over to the far side of the horse. The horse bucked again, her grip began to slip.

Jasque could hold his sword, or he could help Sadiki... without a second thought he grabbed her arm as his sword slipped away into the water, dragging her up high enough for her to get a firm grip, and pull herself fully onto the horse’s back.

Sadiki’s horse screamed once... froth, bubbles, waves, swirling water, and finally the horse’s terrified eyes slipping out of sight underwater.

It was gone.

Seconds later the river bottom began to rise and the horses picked up speed, hooves splashing as they burst up onto dry land, away from the ravenous jaws of the river crocodiles.

Sadiki was holding onto the saddle with both hands, running alongside her horse with giant jumps, trying to keep pace, and finally managed to pull herself up, getting a foot in a stirrup.

Jasque managed to slow his own horse down to a trot, soothing it with his hand and voice, and trying to keep Donn’s mount under control.

Sadiki rode up beside him, keeping her own jumping mount barely under control.

“You’re damn lucky,” she panted. “And I’m lucky you’re lucky.”

“And we’re here,” he panted back. “And look! Over there! A border stone!”

She looked where he was pointing.

“Only a few kilometers to Zretazoola, Jasque! We’ll make it!”

The horses were pretty winded, but with only a few more kilometers to go... they forced the horses into a trot, and the horses were as glad to get away from the river as they were.

 A short time later the jungle ended and open fields began, the massive walls of the city rising ahead. They were featureless, built of enormous blocks of dark grey stone, with towers around the perimeter. About a dozen troopers were grouped in front of the gate.

As they approached one of the troopers moved to block their way, raising his hand.

“Hold! State your name and business in Zretazoola!”

“Sadiki of Zretazoola with two merchants from Dylath-Leen,” she said. “He’s been bitten by a n’dara; we need to get to a physician immediately!”

He briefly glanced at Donn’s leg—it was obvious she was telling the truth, and without any more questions he waved them through.

“Follow me, Jasque!” she called, riding through first. She knew the way now. “My father’s shop is close by.”

She began shouting something in Pargite at the people blocking her way, and they stepped aside long enough for them to weave through. Jasque couldn’t understand what she was saying, but he caught her name, and “n’dara” a few times. He guessed everyone was willing to make room for a man bitten by one of the damn spiders.

Sadiki yanked her horse to a sliding halt in front of a little storefront and ran inside with a “Get Master Donn down!”

Jasque started untying the ropes holding Donn’s limp body on the horse’s back, and jumped up when he heard someone start screaming. Sadiki?

He ran around the horse and looked inside.

Sadiki was hugging an older woman, perhaps in her forties or fifties, tears streaming down both their faces. They were talking over each other, the older woman rocking back and forth with grief or joy, he couldn’t tell. Her cheek was set with almost a dozen gems, more than Jasque could count, several linked with gold filigrees. Two more faces watched from the rear doorway.

Sadiki pulled herself free and turned to Jasque.

“My mother. She thought I was dead.”

She turned back to her mother, grabbed her shoulders and shook her, talking to her emphatically.

Her mother looked up, saw Jasque, and saw Donn’s body still half-tied to the horse outside.

She jumped to her feet, shouted something to the watching people. One of them, a boy not much younger than himself, ran out the door, past Jasque, and down the street.

“He’s gone to get the healer,” explained Sadiki. “Let’s get Master Donn inside.”

They managed to half-carry, half-drag his unconscious body into the shop, and laid it down on the floor. Sadiki’s mother fetched a bowl of water, soaking a cloth in it and placing it on his forehead. She dribbled a few drops into his slack mouth.

Jasque opened his father’s tunic. He was still breathing, shallowly.

Sadiki pulled off one of the leaves she had wrapped around the wound. The leg stank of rotting meat, black and ballooned up to twice its usual size, and it was dripping a dark purplish liquid instead of blood.

The messenger came running back in, followed closely by a much older man; the healer, no doubt.

He knelt down next to Donn and immediately started issuing orders to Sadiki and her mother, in Pargite. Jasque had no idea what they were saying or what he could do, and just moved back to stay out of their way.

“Master Jasque,” said Sadiki, seeing his distress, “tend to the horses. They need water.”

He slowly nodded, torn between the need to care for the animals and his worry for his father.

“There is nothing you can do here. Trust the healer,” she said, and squeezed his arm.

He stepped outside, and the horses kept him busy enough for a while.

When they were watered and their trappings taken off, he stepped back inside the shop. A leather worker, apparently... saddles, bags, chaps, whips, all sorts of leather products. And now he could smell the salt and acid from the tanning shed, no doubt right behind the shop.

The healer was still kneeling over the wound, but Donn looked much better. A little color had come back to his face, and he seemed to be breathing more easily.

“How is he?”

Sadiki, wringing out the cloth before placing it back on Donn’s forehead, looked up.

“The healer says most of the poison is gone now, thanks to the leaves, and Donn should wake up probably tomorrow or so. It will take days for the fever to go down. But he also said...”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Master Jasque. He said Master Donn will never be able to use that leg again.”

Jasque knelt next to his father, taking his hand is his own, silent.

The healer finished wrapping the injured leg in a long bandage, and began putting his things away in his bag. He picked a jar of some dark brown powder and picked up a pinch, spreading it out on his palm to show Sadiki as he spoke.

She translated: “He says Master Donn must take this much twice a day, and drink plenty of water or tea. He will be in pain for days, maybe longer.”

“Tell him thank you,” said Jasque, pulling out his wallet. “Let me repay him for his skill, and his medicine.”

The healer smiled and waved his hand back and forth.

“No, no, Master Jasque. You have brought little Sadiki back to us, after all this time... we owe you more than we can ever repay.”

“You speak common!”

“Healers usually do,” said the other. “Tarka of Panakeia.”

Jasque suddenly stood up straight.

“Jasque of Penia. Thank you, Healer Tarka!”

“No, thank you, Master Jasque, and Master Donn.”

Tarka turned to Sadiki.

“Now that things have settled down a bit, perhaps you could find some tea? I’m a bit parched here, and it looks like you and Master Jasque could use a little rest.”

Sadiki’s mother, who apparently didn’t understand common at all, saw the healer move his hands as if drinking a cup of tea and shot to her feet, vanishing into the back rooms.

“Your mother thought you were dead all these years, Sadiki, you and your father.”

“They killed father when they kidnapped me. He tried to fight them, but strong as he was he was no warrior.”

“You and your mother have much to talk of, Sadiki. And Master Jasque brought you here?”

“There are others coming, with the trade goods. We came ahead with Master Donn.”

“He’s the trader?”

“Yes, Master Jasque’s father, and head of the family that saved me when we escaped.”

“We?”

“Kandoro and I. My son.”

She put her hand to her mouth in astonishment. “You don’t know!”

She jumped to her feet and ran after her mother shouting something.

Healer Tarka sat still, listening.

“A grandchild, then... happy tidings indeed! Where is he?”

“Hakim—Donn’s partner—is taking him to the Silk Panther with the packhorses,” explained Jasque. “I have to go tell him where we are... where are we?”

Tarka laughed just as an explosion of more laughter and tears erupted from the back. Sadiki and her mother, faces streaked with tears and wrinkled with smiles, came back with trays of tea and cups and fresh-baked cakes.

“She wants to see Kandoro right away,” said Sadiki, teacup in one hand and spice cake in the other. “She says you must go fetch them, and you all will stay here instead of at the inn. She insists.”

“That’s really up to Hakim,...” said Jasque, looking troubled.

“Come with me,” said Sadiki, stuffing the remains of the cake into her mouth. “I’m going to get Kandoro now!”

“But Donn!”

“Healer Tarka will watch him, right Healer?”

“Of course, child, of course. Go!”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the store and down the street, weaving between people with a skill that country-raised Jasque could only envy.

Around a corner, down an alley, another turn... Jasque was lost, and let himself be dragged along until suddenly Sadiki opened a wooden door with “Silk Panther” written on it, and pulled him inside the inn.

The inn was dark inside, but as their eyes adjusted they saw the large room was mostly empty—and no sign of Hakim or the others.

She turned back and stepped outside again, eyes searching.

With perfect timing Olatahm stepped into view down the street, leading his horse, and behind him came the packhorses, and the others.

“Kandoro!” she shouted, dropping Jasque’s hand to run to her baby, sleeping peacefully in Reciroh’s arms. .

“Mistress Sadiki! Jasque!” said Trooper Oltahm as they ran toward him. “How is Donn?”

“We were in time,” said Jasque. “But the healer said he couldn’t save the leg.”

“He’s alive?”

“He’s alive. Sleeping, and a fever, but alive.”

“Thank Panakeai.”

“Thank Mistress Sadiki!” corrected Jasque. “Without her we wouldn’t have made it.”

Sadiki, holding a slurping Kandoro to her breast, in turn corrected Jasque: “I just brought the spare mount; Master Jasque saved us all, slashing that crocodile and leading us to safety!”

Hakim was all smiles.

“Master Hakim, we have been invited to stay with Mistress Sadiki’s mother. She insisted,” said Jasque. “I told her the decision was up to you.”

Hakim nodded, and turned to Sadiki with an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, Master Hakim. We insist.”

Oltahm nodded, too.

“If Mistress Sadiki insists, it would be impolite to refuse, wouldn’t it?”

“I’ll lead you there now,” continued Sadiki, taking the reins from Oltahm. “Follow me.”

Without a second glance she began walking, leading Oltahm’s horse with her.

Jasque hesitated.

Hakim laughed and shrugged.

They turned away from the inn and into the alley, following Sadiki and Kandoro.

* * *

Sadiki’s mother, Mistress Zawati of Zretazoola, ran one of the larger tanneries in the city, and behind the relatively small shop was a large lot packed with processing sheds emitting a variety of foul stenches. Behind the processing sheds, however, was a thick row of trees, and another lot with a spacious, elegant house... Zawati’s home.

Sadiki and her mother—now beaming with delight and bouncing her new grandson in her arms—led them all through the tanning plant and into the privacy and quiet of their home. Zawati, her attention focused on the baby, called a few workers to get the horses unloaded and cared for, and welcomed them all inside.

A variety of servants scurried about preparing cushions, tea, and fruit, and ushered them to the bath to wash off the dirt and fatigue of the journey. They also carried Donn there on a stretcher, and laid him in the main room so they could keep an eye on him.

Jasque washed himself and soaked in the large bath, just thinking and trying to relax from the events of the day. He suddenly woke when his head slipped under water and sat up coughing.

Oltahm laughed.

“Been a hard day, Master Jasque, but you did good. You saved his life, you know.”

“Sadi... Mistress Sadiki knew the way, and how to get help. Without her it would have been too late.”

“Nonsense,” came Sadiki’s voice. He looked up through the steam to see that she and Kandoro were in the bath, too. “I told them about the crocs and the way you bulled your way through, cutting hours off our journey. That choice, right there, saved his life. And you saved mine.”

“I... Mistress Sadiki...”

“You did good, kid. You deserve your rest,” continued Oltahm. “Maybe a little food first, though?”

Now that he thought of it, he was starving! They never did eat lunch...

After they dressed in clean tunics, they returned to the main room to find a meal waiting for them on the table.

“After you’ve eaten and relaxed a bit, Master Jasque, why don’t you take Sadiki to the market. She needs some clothes,” said Zawati. “Sadiki, you need proper clothes for you and Kandoro. Go see Kalao.

“And buy some decent clothes for Master Jasque and Master Donn, too.”

“Yes, mama.”

Jasque began to refuse, but stopped immediately when Sadiki elbowed him.

“Will she be safe?”

“Dear boy, this is Zretazoola. She could walk the streets at midnight and be safe!” laughed Zawati.

A short while later Sadiki led him through Zretazoola, the largest city in Parg.

While the defensive wall was as strong and high as the wall around Dylath-Leen, and built of dark gray stone rather than black basalt, they were quite similar to one another.

Inside the walls was a different world entirely.

There were far fewer horses here, the streets were thronged with raptors and deinos instead. While Dylath-Leen was a diverse medley of people from all of the Dreamlands, the population of Zretazoola was largely black Pargites and bronzed Khemites, with a smattering of other peoples.

The local costume was a long flowing robe, generally of a light cloth than allowed the rare breezes to blow through, colored in every shade under the rainbow, and often embroidered with patterns or pictures. The men usually wore a small round skullcap; sometimes it matched the robe, more usually it was just a single color, often beige.

The marketplace was a riot of color and sounds, at heart not much different from the markets of Dylath-Leen. It was also full of people, and he couldn’t get the hang of slipping so easily between them, while Sadiki seemed to do it effortlessly.

She dragged him deeper and deeper into the crowd, finally coming to a halt in front of a large shop with hanging tapestries and rugs on the ground.

“Mistress! Mistress Kalao!”

At Sadiki’s call an older woman poked her head out from behind one of the tapestries.

“Who...? Sadiki!? Sadiki, is that you!?”

She came running, one slipper missing, and hugged Sadiki to her.

“Sadiki! We thought you dead all these years! You’re alive!”

“It’s so good to see you again, Mistress Kalao.”

“Oh, shush, girl, call me Kalao, like always... and who is this fine gentleman I see here?”

She looked up at Jasque inquisitively.

“This is Jasque of Penia,” introduced Sadiki. “He saved my life, and brought me home.”

Wanted to avoid another elbow in the side, Jasque merely nodded and smiled rather than insisting otherwise.

“Saved your life!? Well, come in, young man, come in, both of you!”

She turned to the girl standing at the counter.

“Don’t just stand there, girl! Go make tea!”

“Yes, Mama Kalao,” she said, and ran off into the back.

“Come, sit, sit with me, Sadiki,” she invited, leading them to a low couch and table. “You’ve grown up.”

“Thank you, Mistress Kalao, Yes, I have. I’m an escaped slave, and a mother, among other things...”

“Is the baby...?”

“Oh, yes, Kandoro’s fine... Mama’s taking care of him while I get some shopping done.”

“I must go and see your Kandoro! What a fine name!”

“First I need some proper clothes for myself, and for Master Jasque, and for his father, Master Donn, who saved me from slavery.”

“Dear, dear Sadiki... you will have our finest!” said Kalao, and rapped on the table. “Keisaburō! Come out here and measure this gentleman, will you please?”

An old Asian man, back bent with age, stepped out of the back and shuffled over to the table.

“Well, stand up, Master Jasque!” said Sadiki. “They can’t measure you sitting down!”

He hurriedly stood up and allowed the tailor to measure him. Pargite robes were quite adjustable for girth, but the length had to be close or a sash would be necessary. In Parg, perfectly fitting robes were a sign of wealth, and sashes were never seen among the upper classes.

While the tailor was measuring Jasque, turning him this way and that, or asking him to hold his arms out, Kalao and Sadiki were talking a mile a minute to each other in Pargite.

“All done, Mistress,” said the tailor, and vanished into the back room once more.

Jasque sat down again and took another sip of tea, listening to the tail-end of the conversation.

“And you’ll need clothes for Master Kandoro, of course,” said Kalao, ignoring Jasque. “How old is he?”

“About eight months now, Mistress Kalao.”

“I’ll have a selection of clothes for all three of you delivered to Mama Zawati before sundown,” she said. “Accept them, please, as my gift to welcome you home again.”

“Oh, shangazi uzazi, thank you!” cried Sadiki, and took the older woman’s hands in her own. “For the clothes, and your welcome, and... and everything! It’s so good to be home again.”

“Stay home now, child, stay here with us, where it’s safe.”

Sadiki nodded, biting her lip to stop from crying.

“Shangazi uzazi means aunt. She is sister of my mother, and I’ve known her all my life.”

Kalao looked up at Jasque.

“You take good care of this woman now, you hear?”

“Uh, I... yes, Mistress, yes, I will.”

“Good, good...” she said, nodding.

“Mistress Kalao, we must leave. Master Donn is ill—n’dara poison—and resting at Mama’s. Please, come as soon as you can! We have so much to talk about!”

“N’dara! Have you called a healer?”

“Of course. Healer Tarka came yesterday, and will be back today. He is getting better, but n’dara...”

“I’ll bring your robes later today, Sadiki. And for Kandoro, and for you and your father, young man.

“Here, take this,” she said, reaching into her robe to pull out a handful of coins. “Buy Master Jasque here some dibondo on the way home.”

“Thank you, Mistress!” Sadiki hugged her aunt again, and they left, Jasque in tow once more.

“What’s dibondo?”

“Palm wine,” answered Sadiki. “There should be a chilled seller somewhere...”

She was looking about the thronged marketplace, searching, and suddenly pointed.

“There!”

She grabbed his hand and dragged him off through the crowd once more, weaving expertly between people until they reached a tiny street stall. It was built as a cart, with wheels, and a raptor resting in the yoke made it clear that it moved.

Sadiki handed the man some coins and accepted a cup of palm wine.

The cup was glazed pottery, and it was cold.

He sniffed the wine, sipped a little.

Grimaced.

“You can’t live in Zretazoola without drinking dibondo, Master Jasque!” she laughed, and pushed the cup up towards his mouth once again.

He took a deep breath and slugged it down.

It was thick, sweet, and cold, and delicious in the heat and humidity, waves of coolness seeping from his stomach throughout his body.

She held the cup to her lips for a moment, draining out the last few drops, and handed it back to the vendor, then took Jasque’s arm once again.

“Now to home again, shall we?”

“How does he make it cold like that? Some spell?”

“They all—all the dinondo vendors—work for a magician named, um, Clubonto, if I remember correctly. He renews the frigidity spells every morning, and charges all the vendors for his services.”

“Interesting idea. Might be worth looking into…” he mused. “You know, that dibondo’s actually pretty good once you get used to it...”

They walked back through the market talking to each other, largely ignoring the crowds and hawkers until she clenched his arm and turned to bury her face in his chest.

“What? What is it?”

“That man! He’s the one!”

She turned her head a fraction to look to the side, and pointed with her chin.

“That man with the beard and the white hair, and the scar across his cheek? See him?”

“Yeah...”

“He’s the man who killed my papa!”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive! I will never forget that face! The man who killed my father, and sold me into slavery!”

Jasque stiffened, and reached for his sword, only to remember that he had none. He put his hand on his dagger and started to draw, but her hand pressed it down again.

“You’re unarmed, save your dagger,” she whispered. “He has a sword, and a friend with him... maybe more. Let me.”

She turned and waved her hand, and a couple miraculously appeared from the crowd, a man and a woman. Both were armed with swords, Jasque noticed.

“Mistress?”

Sadiki explained who the white-haired man was, and the two conferred for a minute in quiet tones. The man turned back to Sadiki.

“I’ll stay with them, and Kindala here will escort you back to the estate. We’ll take care of it, Mistress.”

“Thank you,” said Sadiki, and pulled Jasque away. The woman—Kindala—walked right behind them.

“Guards? I thought your mother said Zretazoola was safe!”

“It is, but Mama trusts herself more than she trusts the city guards... and lucky for us that she does.”

They reached home soon, and found the entire estate bustling with servants and vendors. Arrays of flowers, colorful carpets on the floors, tables piled high with food and drink, the sound of musicians tuning their instruments.

Kindala, their guard, immediately sought out Sadiki’s mother and the two of them soon left, deep in conversation.

Jasque looked into the side room to see Hakim spoon-feeding Donn soup.

“Father!”

Donn had a pillow at his back and was sitting up, but his tired face lit up with a smile when he saw Jasque.

They exchanged a hug.

“I hear you saved me, Jasque, and Sadiki,” he rasped, and coughed. “Your first trading trip has turned out to be quite an adventure.”

“I... How do you feel?”

“Terrible, but I’m alive and that’s always a good start.”

“Your leg?”

“Healer Tarka tells me I’ll never be able to use that leg again,” replied Donn. “I still have my right leg, though. I’ll manage.

“Sadiki tells me you need a new sword, by the way. I already spoke to Oltahm, and he will be bringing a few for you to look at later. Pick one or two you like, to thank you, and congratulate you on your first successful trading trip.”

Jasque looked down.

“Father, the weights and scale set you gave me...”

“The set Pensri gave you.”

“Yes, the set Mama gave me... I lost it.”

“You lost it!?”

“The river... the crocodiles... I lost my whole pack, and by the time I noticed...”

“You’re alive, Jasque! You can always buy a new set!”

“But those were from you and Mama!”

“Yes, they were, but you made the right choice, Jasque.” Donn pulled him closer. “You chose life over mere things, and that is always the right choice.”

Donn fell back again, and signed something to Hakim, who rose and left the room for a moment.

“Jasque, you need a new sword, because there are always crocodiles, but you will also need a new scale and weights set, because there are always thieves and scoundrels.”

He reached out his hand to Hakim, who was walking over with something in his hands.

“Take mine,” said Donn, handing over a well-worn leather case. “It has served me well for years, and I know it will serve you as well.”

“Your set! Father, I couldn’t...!”

“Of course you can. I can trade no more. Take it, and use it wisely!”

Jasque slowly reached out to take the case, touched it. He lifted it and held it in his hand for a moment, then very deliberately set it down next to himself and leaned over to hug Donn once again.

“Thank you, father! I shall treasure it!”

Donn nodded, content, and closed his eyes to rest.

Jasque looked around.

“Umm...”

“Sadiki’s in the kitchen with her mother,” said Donn, eyes closed with a smile on his lips. “Go on! I’m just going to take a little nap.”

Hakim placed a new, cool towel on his forehead.

Jasque rose, and followed Hakim’s pointing finger toward the kitchen.

Sadiki was there, Kandoro snuggled on her back, and when she saw Jasque she came to give him a bit of fresh papaya and a very energetic kiss.

Just as his arm was beginning to rise to clasp her tight, he noticed her mother watching from the corner of his eye, a big smile on her face. He froze, blushing, and Sadiki pulled his head closer to give him an even more energetic kiss before slipping away.

“Now go sit with Master Donn and I’ll bring you something to eat.”

In a few minutes she brought in a large plate of mixed vegetables and chicken, stir-fried in something that smelled like sesame, and began serving it to smaller plates for the three men.

There was a commotion at the entrance and Sadiki’s mother entered with an older man.

“Master Jasque, this is my brother,” said Zawati, introducing the grey-bearded man. He was wearing a brilliant purple robe with dark blue patterns, and a round, close-fitting cap to match.

“Yunisar of Zretazoola,” he introduced himself.

“Jasque of Penia.”

“We owe you so much for bringing my niece back to us safely, thank you.”

“Really, it wasn’t just me. Master Donn and Master Hakim and...”

Hakim slapped him on the back, laughing, shaking his head. Obviously he agreed with Yunisar.

Yunisar introduced himself to Hakim, and Jasque quickly explained he was mute.

“Master Hakim is a trader, correct?”

“Yes, he and my father are in charge of the caravan. Now that my father is injured, Hakim is in charge,” explained Jasque. “My father is still sleeping, but I can wake him...”

“No, no, no need. We can talk later if necessary,” said Yunisar. “Master Hakim, I have never dealt with you or Master Donn, but I would be honored if you would allow me to purchase your salt and wine.”

“Uncle Yunisar is one of the biggest merchants in the city,” interjected Sadiki.

“Oh, hush, girl. I’m just a struggling businessman.”

She snorted.

“I’ve seen where you live, Uncle. Far from struggling, I’d say...”

He shrugged, turned back to Hakim.

“Name your price.”

Hakim pursed his lips, and traced a number on Yunisar’s outstretched palm.

“Is that all!? Far too little for all you have done!” said the merchant. “I think eight hundred grams would be far more reasonable.”

“That’s more than double what we had expected!” breathed Jasque.

Sadiki elbowed him in the side. “Shh!”

Hakim and Yunisar negotiated a little more in silence, this time Hakim trying to lower the price and Yunisar trying to refuse.

They finally settled on six hundred grams of gold, to everyone’s apparent satisfaction.

The Dreamlands had no large nations, no common currency, and was awash in coins from an infinitude of known and unknown histories. In general there were three types of coins: gold, which was usually a little gold alloyed with baser metal; silver, another alloy; and finally copper. The standard exchange rate was thirty coppers to a silver, and twelve silvers to a gold, which worked out neatly to three-hundred and sixty coppers for a gold coin.

The problem was that different coins had different gold or silver content, and while the actual value of the widely used coins was known, simplifying commerce, there were many unfamiliar coins. It was not uncommon for merchants to simply refuse to accept unknown “gold” or “silver” coins in payment.

Traders faced this problem often, and always carried their own set of “standard” weights and a trusted scale. When making a deal, it was expected that the parties would compare their weights on both scales, making sure that weights matched and scales were weighing similarly.

King Kuranes had been working to improve the system for years, minting his own coinage that could be trusted, and selling sets of standardized weights: crowns of gold, tiaras of silver, and laurels of copper.

Unusual coins, or coins made of rare metals such as orichalc or platinum could be used, but their values fluctuated wildly—any transaction involving such coins was usually closer to barter than sale.

His belly finally full, he realized he was dead tired, and just as he was thinking he might be able to slip away for a nap, Aunt Kalao appeared with two assistants and a packhorse piled high with bundles. She promptly dragged Sadiki and Kandoro off to examine the new clothes with Zawati.

They shut the door in his face when he tried to follow.

“If you will step this way, Master Jasque, I have your robe here,” came a man’s voice, and Jasque turned to see one of Kalao’s assistants pointing toward another doorway.

Helpless, he followed her into the other room, where she stripped him down and gave him a quick haircut and shave with a long, very sharp set of scissors and a straight razor. She dressed him in a dark green robe decorated in gold-and-silver pheasants, with a matching skullcap on his head.

He was ready to go in about half an hour.

He looked at himself in the mirror and barely recognized who he saw. He looked like nobility!

As he returned to the main room he wondered how they managed to walk without always kicking the front of their robes. While he’d been gone he saw that Donn had changed, too, and was now wearing a beige robe with a dark brown pattern of intersecting circles, like raindrops rippling on the water.

Donn was awake, and looked at his son with undisguised admiration, and Jasque, embarrassed to be wearing such finery, sat and poured tea to hide it.

The door opened and in walked a Sadiki he had never dreamed of, dressed in a high-collared ivory-and-forest-green robe, rings and bracelets adorning her arms. A delicate silver tiara was half-buried in her tight-curled hair, mounted with a brilliant purple amethyst. They scintillated in the brilliant light of the sunstone suspended from the ceiling.

He gasped in wonder, and returned to reality with a splash and laughter as he spilled tea all over his leg.

Sadiki twirled, her robe flaring out gently, swishing across the reed mats.

“Not quite suitable for milking the cows in Penia, but quite attractive, don’t you think?”

“It’s... You’re beautiful!” he said, his voice a little off.

“Thank you,” she smiled, and sat down elegantly on the low stool her aunt skillfully swung into position.

Mama Zawati knelt next to her carrying Kandoro, swaddled in a red-and-brown blanket and chewing on something that made little chimes and jingles every time he moved it.

“You make a very handsome man, Master Jasque!” said Zawati. “Sit, please.”

She slid to the side to make room for him to sit next to Sadiki, and again Aunt Kalao deftly slid a stool into place under him, then took her own place at the foot of the table.

Perhaps her sitting down was the signal, but immediately servants began bringing more food and drink into the room.

Zawati pressed her palms together and bowed her head to Donn and Jasque.

“I welcome you to Zretazoola,” she said. “I welcome you to my home. I welcome you to my heart.”

“We thank you for your welcome, for your peace, and for your friendship,” replied Donn, completing the ritual.

She poured Jasque a cup of dibondo, and a tiny sip for Donn, and they drank it off. Donn shook his cup dry and poured more dibondo, handing it back to Zawati, who drank in turn.

Jasque shook his own cup empty, filled it, and held it out to Sadiki.

Donn frowned for a second: he should have offered it to Zawati, not Sadiki! He shot a glance at Sadiki’s mother and saw that she was watching them, smiling, and decided all was well after all.

Sadiki accepted the cup and drank slowly, her eyes on Jasque’s, then handed it back.

“That’s a Baharna cup, young man,” broke in Kalao. “Do try not to break it.”

Jasque blinked and hurriedly set the delicate porcelain cup down on the table.

A set of sliding doors on one side of the room opened to reveal a trio of musicians and a dancer wearing a semi-transparent robe of gossamer. She began dancing as they played an intricate piece on two small woodwinds and a seven-stringed lute.

The dinner went on for hours, each course more exotic and delicious than the last, served in tiny portions designed to stimulate the senses and whet the appetite. The dibondo was joined shortly by some of Donn’s own wine, and even a little dark, reddish Cydathrian brandy.

He was reeling with exhaustion, and the innumerable cups of liquor weren’t helping.

Sadiki caught him when he staggered, and led him deeper into the house, where his bed was already prepared.

He collapsed on the mattress, and the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Sadiki lying down next to him, with tiny Kandoro. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer before drifting off.

* * *

When Jasque returned to the main room the next morning he was astonished to see how beautiful it was... the sun was shining in the stained glass windows, leaving colorful shadows across the parquet floor, an intricate design of various woods with ivory inlays.

Benches—backless sofas—cushions upholstered in Oriab silk, were positioned tactfully around the room, along with a few larger, more ornate chairs with backs and armrests. The enormous head of a panther was mounted on one wall, eyes of ruby glaring down at him.

He tore his eyes away and looked to see Donn already awake, signing with Hakim. Jasque knelt at his side.

“Hakim says you sold the salt and wine for six hundred,” whispered Donn. “That’s one hell of a deal!”

“That wasn’t me! Hakim did that!” Jasque protested, but Hakim shook his head, signing.

“Yunisar didn’t mention it, but he’s one of the larger traders here in Zretazoola. They’ve always declined to deal with us directly, preferring to run their own caravans and run their own trades. Being able to meet and deal with him directly is an enormous step. No telling where it might lead.

“And like Hakim says, you made it all possible by saving Sadiki. You saved me, too, I might add.”

Jasque’s response was interrupted by Sadiki, who brought in a tray of fresh-baked bread, eggs, broiled chicken, cucumbers, and fruit, setting it down in front of Jasque. She was followed by a servant who placed a similar tray in front of Hakim, along with a rich rice-and-chicken broth for Donn.

Sadiki plumped Donn’s pillows so he could sit up enough to eat, then demurely knelt at Jasque’s side as he spooned up some of the broth, tongue-checked it to make sure it wasn’t too hot, and held it up to Donn’s lips.

Donn slurped it down, a little dribbling down his chin.

Jasque wiped it off with his hand and readied another spoonful.

“Let me do that,” said Sadiki. “You eat your breakfast.”

She ignored his protests and pried the spoon from his hand, waving him to the table to eat with Hakim.

Jasque hesitated, then surrendered and pulled up a bench to eat, but not before pouring a cup of tea for Donn and placing it where Sadiki could easily reach it. After a moment, he poured a cup for her, too.

Donn ate most of the broth, and lay back again, content.

As the servants were cleaning up, Zawati called to Jasque from the doorway.

“The bath is hot, Master Jasque, and I’ve had fresh clothes laid out.”

“Oh, there was no need,...” he started to say, rising from the table.

“Of course there was a need! You lost all your clothes in the river!” she interrupted, and gestured toward the bath. “Now go.”

He went, and after bathing discovered that “fresh clothes” meant a Zretazoola-style robe. Made of some light fabric that allowed the breeze to blow through delightfully, it was embroidered with a geometric pattern of hexagons and turtles done in red and silver thread on a background the color of a bluebird.

He realized it was probably worth more than his horse, but after admiring himself in the mirror he had to admit it made him look mightily impressive.

Sadiki coughed lightly from the doorway, and he spun around, cheeks reddening.

“Sadiki! I didn’t see you there!”

She giggled.

“You make a very handsome gentleman, Master Jasque! That robe suits you.”

“I’ve never worn anything this fine,” he protested. “A tunic suits me much better.”

She drew closer and quickly adjusted the collar and the overlap at his chest.

“There. Perfect!”

She slipped her arm through his and they walked back out into the main room, where Zawati was waiting.

When she saw them she nodded, smiling.

“That robe belonged to my Boto—my husband—Master Jasque, but it is perfect on you. Please, accept it as a gift.”

“But it’s too much! Really, I couldn’t...”

Sadiki elbowed him into silence, then pulled Jasque’s arm so she could whisper into his ear: “Say thank you, you idiot!”

“I, uh... thank you, Mistress Zawati. I shall treasure it!”

Zawati smiled and nodded.

Jasque sat down at the table once more, relieved that his father was looking so much better. His color was almost normal now, his eyes alert. The pain must have receded.

“Slavers know better than to take slaves here in Zretazoola, or near any of the big cities... if the guard catches them the penalty is death. But out in the jungle there are no guards,” said Zawati, continuing her conversation with Donn.

“Why were they out in the jungle?”

“Boto was of the Motonga people. He was going to a funeral for a relative, with Sadiki, and was ambushed on the way.”

“Who are the Motonga?” Jasque had never heard of them.

“A tribe in the northern parts of the Parg jungle. They avoid the cities, for the most part, and are far more traditional than we here in Zretazoola,” explained Zawati. “He visited his home there several times a year; Sadiki has been there many times.”

“The Motonga hunt with blowpipes,” added Donn. “I’ve never been to a Motonga village, but I have seen them use their blowpipes, and their poison. Silent and deadly, and perfect for the jungle.

“Speaking of weapons, Trooper Oltahm dropped those off for you earlier,” he continued, pointing to three swords lying on the floor nearby. “He wasn’t sure of how heavy a weapon you were used to. Pick the one you like best and later, when you go to have a proper one made to fit you, you can give the other two back.”

Jasque picked them up and hefted them one at a time, and after a few experimental swings finally chose a simple short sword with leather sheath and sword belt.

“I must thank him!”

“No need,” said Donn. “He’s busy taking care of Factor Sefu’s spider-silk robe and his return cargo. He and Reciroh will leave tomorrow, back to Dylath-Leen.”

“Will I have a chance to meet him before he goes?”

“He may drop by later, but I doubt it... he has other work to do.”

“I’d like to thank him properly, if I can,” he said, hefting the sword. “This is almost the same as the one I lost, maybe a little lighter... I wish I’d had it with me before!”

“No need,” smiled Zawati. “That will all be taken care of shortly.”

“What? Taken care of?”

“I dispatched a messenger to Boto’s brother. He’ll collect the debt.”

“Your husband’s brother... the Motonga!”

“Yes,” she agreed. “More tea?”

“They will never be seen again,” said Donn. “It’s done.”

He took another sip of tea.

“Obviously I can’t go with you, Jasque. You and Hakim should discuss your route, and purchase whatever goods are appropriate; I’ll be happy to help in any way I can, of course.

“I’ll return home as soon as I’m able.”

Hakim pursed his lips and signed.

“Yes, we could sell it all here, of course,” nodded Donn. “We have already turned a profit on this trip, thanks to Mistress Zawati and Master Yunisar.

“Jasque, what do you think?”

Jasque slowly turned the cup on the tabletop with his fingertips for a moment.

“Father, I would like to stay here in Zretazoola, and handle trade here on your behalf.”

Donn and Zawati exchanged a quick glance.

“And would your plans to stay here in Zretazoola, perchance, have anything to do with Mistress Sadiki?”

Jasque blushed, and in a very small voice admitted it.

A second later he was knocked sideways as Sadiki yanked him into a hug.

END

Donn: Dylath-Leen

- 1 -

Donn slumped back on the bed and watched the Trooper’s Friend suck his blood.

It pulsated slowly, rhythmic bulges flowing down its mottled red-and-brown body from head to tail. It didn’t really have a head or a tail, just a slug-like body with a mouth at one end. Empty it was the size of a garden slug, only a few centimeters in length, but gorged with blood like it was now it was closer to a sausage. A very plump sausage, he thought wryly.

He held the burning coal close to his wrist where the slug fed, searing it until it pulled its little fangs out of his flesh, twitched one last time, and rolled off to fall to the floor with a soft, squishy plop. He resisted the urge to ram the coal into its body and incinerate it; he’d need it again another day.

He could feel the pain fading away already, transformed from the mind-deadening agony his leg usually inflicted to a distant crimson presence, hovering on the edge of his consciousness. He’d lived with almost constant pain ever since his encounter with that n’dara trap-door spider in the Parg jungle, and the Trooper’s Friend was the only way he could gain even a temporary respite.

They weren’t addictive, except in the way it pushed the pain away, but if you needed the full dose and let them suck until they were completely full—when they turned completely red, they were full—they could injected you with eggs, which would most assuredly kill you, and painfully at that. Only the pregnant female did that, of course, but who the hell could tell if a damn slug was pregnant? Plus which, eventually efficacy of the thing’s toxin would wane and the user would need two, or three, or more. At some point it was simply impossible to use that many of the damned things without being bled to death... so he rationed himself, partaking only when he absolutely could not bear it any longer, or when he needed to interact with other people without snarling in pain.

Like today.

Today was the day he would lose his son, Jasque of Penia.

It would not be a painful loss, though: far from it. Jasque was to marry Sadiki of Zretazoola, and Donn suffered the sting of the cursed slug without complaint to ensure he seemed happy and healthy to everyone. He was happy for the two of them anyway, of course, but it was hard to look happy when you were always gritting your teeth in pain and snapping at people.

Jasque was marrying into Sadiki’s family, taking their name and carrying on their lineage as an adopted son. No longer Jasque of Penia, he would become Djimon Jasque of Zretazoola. And Donn’s family and Sadiki’s family would share blood-bond evermore.

He put the Trooper’s Friend back in its box and wiped the tiny smear of blood off his arm with his thumb.

“Donn?”

It was Pensri, from the other room.

“Come in, my love,” he replied, shrugging into his black shirt. He was embarrassed to use the slug and she stayed away to save him that shame, but he could use her help getting dressed in these silly Dylath-Leen formal clothes.

She was already dressed in the formal clothing of her birthplace in Woth: a chakkri ensemble of white silk, with a simple white tube skirt topped by a sabai, wrapping diagonally across her chest and over her shoulder to trail almost to the ground, decorated with a gold-thread bird of paradise.

She proudly wore the triple-strand pearl-and-Princessa necklace he’d given her years earlier.

His attire was a black half-coat over a sleeveless black shirt, black pantaloons, and black slippers with their toes pointing up into their absurdly, plus a black hood-like hat. He’d violated a little custom himself by clipping the sides of the hat until it was entirely out of his view... over the years he’d learned to treasure his peripheral vision to warn him of all sorts of things.

She helped him on with his pantaloons. They might have been the proper formal wear for a gentleman of Dylath-Leen, but he hated them. They were hard to walk in, especially with only one good leg, but most of all they were ugly.

Once he was ready—hat, crutch, and all—she took his free arm in her own and they proceeded to the main room.

It was already quite crowded with members of Sadiki’s extended and very wealthy family, plus close friends and important guests. Around the walls of the room stood a dozen servants, ready to help anyone who signaled them.

The priceless wood floor, inlaid with ivory and rare woods, was almost lost in the riot of colors and designs as the rich and powerful of Zretazoola (and a few other places) tried to impress each other. The sun was not shining through the stained glass windows, but the sunstone suspended from the ceiling lent its brilliance to the occasion. Dressed in black as he was, Donn stood out perhaps even more than the magnificent gold-and-white of Pensri’s traditional garb.

They had wanted the whole family to be here, but it was simply too complicated to try to run the farm, transport a dozen people from Penia to Zretazoola, deal with the children and everything else in a city where few people spoke their language. As the founders and “elders” of the line family, it was decided that only Donn and Pensri would go.

Originally they had hoped that at least Mahelt would come with them, as she was Jasque’s biological mother, but she hadn’t left their farm for over a decade. She rarely left their house at all and had trembled in fear at the thought of leaving her refuge and travelling to distant Parg, even for her son.

Jasque understood, though, and suggested that he, Sadiki, her baby son Kandoro, and perhaps a few of her family, travel to Penia to meet Mahelt later in the year.

Donn was relieved to see at least one person he knew: Yunisar, Sadiki’s uncle.

He walked over at once, his arm still linked to Pensri’s, and joined the trader.

“Master Donn! Good to see you again!” smiled Yunisar. “And good to see that you’re walking freely, if with a crutch.”

“Thank you. Usually with a crutch, yes, but not freely, I’m afraid... my days as a trader are over,” replied Donn. “This is my wife Pensri.”

“Pensri of Penia,” she introduced herself, curtsying slightly.

“Yunisar of Zretazoola. A pleasure to finally meet you, Mistress. You are from Woth?”

“I was born there, but my mother raised me mostly in Zar.”

“Beautiful Moung silk... and perfect for such a beautiful chakkri.”

She smiled and gave another half-curtsy.

“This is a fellow trader, a close friend from years and years ago,” said Yunisar, gesturing toward the middle-aged man he’d been talking to.

“Dawoud of Oonai,” said the man.

“Donn of Penia,” replied Donn. “Oonai, you say... I visited there many years ago.”

“Oh? Trading?”

“Yes. Haven’t been back since, though...”

“I’m surprised! The lutes of Oonai are prized throughout the Dreamlands.”

“Yes. I, um, ran into a little trouble there and decided it might be best to avoid it in the future.”

“A little trouble, eh?” laughed Dawoud. “No doubt with the King’s men, I’ll wager. He’s gotten a bit quieter in his old age, but still as greedy as ever.”

Donn smiled noncommittally, and exchanged glances with Pensri. She shook her head the slightest bit, telling him to drop the subject.

Donn agreed.

“Many rulers are, I fear, but we manage to stay in business nonetheless,” he quipped, and the four of them chuckled, Oonai’s king forgotten for the moment. “One of our wives is from Khem. A small village near Meroë.”

“I’ve probably been there,” said Dawoud. “There are so many nameless villages scattered across the Stony Desert, and they all look alike.”

“Master Donn! And this must be Mistress Pensri!”

Donn turned to see Kalao, Sadiki’s aunt. She was wearing a deep blue robe with a wine-red diamond pattern, and an enormous malachite necklace.

“Mistress Kalao,” welcomed Donn. “I hoped I’d get the chance to introduce you.”

Pensri stepped up to his side.

“Pensri of Penia.”

“Kalao of Zretazoola. What a stunning chakkri!”

“Thank you, Mistress. It was my mother’s.”

“Oh, call me Kalao. All this master and mistress stuff is so stiff, don’t you think?”

She adjusted one strand on Pensri’s necklace, and then pulled her away from the men.

“Your wife and I have things to discuss,” she said, and vanished into the crowd with Pensri.

“One does not argue with Kalao,” grimaced Yunisar.

“Nor with Pensri,” Donn commiserated. “Fortunately we have little to argue about.”

A drumbeat interrupted their conversation, and together with the other guests they turned to face the front of the room, jostling to get a better view.

The double doors swung open to reveal Jasque and Sadiki. Behind her stood her mother, Zawati, holding squirming Kandoro, and on the opposite side was the priestess of Matar Kubileya, dressed in ceremonial robes and holding the sacred text. Two young acolytes stood behind her.

The room also held a large earthenware bowl.

Jasque was dressed in the same black ensemble as Donn, while Sadiki wore a multi-colored robe with long, flowing sleeves. Her head was bare, and she wore no jewelry except for the stones set into her cheek: the red carnelian to mark her first blood, the malachite to mark her position as a woman in the community, and another red stone—usually a carnelian, but in her case a ruby—to mark her male child.

The Godsworn stepped forward and chanted a prayer in Etruscan, very quietly.

“Jasque of Penia!” she called out, and Jasque stepped forward to stand in front of her.

“Jasque of Penia, do you give your life to this family willingly?”

“I do.”

Donn felt a lump in his throat. Their son’s voice hadn’t wavered.

The Godsworn drew a long, curved knife from the scabbard at her waist and held it up.

“With this blade dies Jasque of Penia,” she said, and touched the tip to his neck, pressing until a drop of blood ran down the blade.

Jasque stood without flinching, his eyes looking straight into hers, and stripped off his clothing, leaving him in a simple white tunic. He folded the discarded clothes neatly and placed them in the earthenware bowl.

The Godsworn stepped forward and wiped the knife on the discarded clothing and sheathed it, then picked up a small flask of scented oil and poured it over the garments. With flint and steel, she lit them on fire, and they burst into flame as she said a prayer in a voice too low to be heard, then, in a louder voice, asked “Who will claim the ashes of the dead?”

Donn and Pensri stepped forward, side by side, their hands outstretched.

“I am Donn of Dylath-Leen, and I claim his ashes.”

“I am Pensri of Penia, and I claim his ashes.”

The male acolyte knelt and picked up the earthenware bowl in his hands. He stood, and raised it to chest level, holding it out for Donn and Pensri to claim. The clothes had collapsed to smoking ash, incinerated in the sudden blaze. Donn and Pensri slowly returned to their former positions, their hands still on the bowl.

The Godsworn turned, face blank, and held out her hand, gesturing to Jasque to kneel, and accepted a small flask of water from the female acolyte. Jasque bowed his head low enough for her to sprinkle it on his head and both shoulders while praying, then hold out her hand to help him stand.

Sadiki was waiting with an all-crimson robe to wrap over his white tunic, and as she finished helping him put it on the Godsworn spoke again: “Djimon Jasque, son of Boto of the Motonga, is born to us on this day.”

Cheers burst from the crowd as they celebrated his rebirth as an adopted son.

Donn noticed Pensri was crying, and suddenly realized there were tears running down his own cheeks.

Their son was gone.

“Djimon Jasque of Zretazoola, do you join your destiny with this woman, come what may?”

“I do.”

“Partake of the Goddess’ blessing,” she continued, and held out a porcelain cup of dark wine.

Djimon drank it down in a single gulp and held the cup as she turned to Sadiki.

“Sadiki of Zretazoola, do you join your destiny with this man, come what may?”

“I do.”

She repeated the ceremony with the cup, and Sadiki held her own cup after it was empty.

“Kneel, Sadiki,” said the Godsworn, and took something from the outstretched hand of one of female disciples. Sadiki knelt in front of her, head lifted and jaw clenched.

The Godsworn reached forward, chanting something under her breath, and pressed a new gem against Sadiki’s cheek, in line with the other three along the cheekbone. There was a puff of smoke and Sadiki winced but remained silent.

The Godsworn pressed her hand against Sadiki’s cheek for a moment, then used it to raise the woman back to her feet. She was weeping and smiling at the same time.

“The blessings of Matar Kubileya upon this union,” said the priestess, and stepped back. “You may seal your vows.”

Sadiki and Djimon carefully placed their cups on the floor, joined hands, and stamped down on them with all their force, smashing them to countless shards.

The Godsworn turned to the watching guests.

“Djimon Jasque of Zretazoola and Sadiki of Zretazoola are one. Let none stand between them.”

The crowd cheered, and came rushing forward to congratulate the newlyweds, but before the first of them got there Djimon walked to Zawati and fell to his knees in front of her, Sadiki at his side.

Zawati, composed as ever, reached out and raised Djimon to his feet, then Sadiki, and handed her Kandoro.

Together, the four of them turned to greet the people pressing around to wish them well.

Held back by his crutch, it was a few minutes before Donn and Pensri were finally able to reach them.

“Jasque was a good son—live up to his name,” advised Donn as he hugged his son.

“I will, father.”

“Sadiki, Noor and Shurala will come later, and hopefully they can bring Mahelt as well. We all wish you health and happiness,” said Pensri to Sadiki.

“I wish I could go there once again,” said Sadiki quietly, looking down. The diamond freshly embedded into her cheek flamed in the light of the sunstone.

“Do not darken the day with thoughts of past evils; celebrate the new heir to your house, and your new husband!”

She smiled weakly.

“To the banquet, no time for this!” broke in Zawati. “We will dance your legs off!”

The Pargite festivities, with an endless flow of fine food and drink accompanied by music and dancing, continued until late, until finally Djimon and Sadiki were allowed to leave, followed by a cacophony of whistles and shouts.

Nobody expected to see either of them the next day.

>* * *

Most of the guests left within a few hours, replete with fine food and drink, and as the servants were cleaning the place up Donn and Pensri sat on the marble benches in the garden with Zawati and Yunisar. Aunt Kalao had left earlier to keep an appointment she couldn’t reschedule.

“Strange to think that I would be indebted to Garood, that foul master of Dylath-Leen’s underworld,” mused Donn aloud as he massaged his thigh. “Without him we never would have met Sadiki, or you...”

“We are indebted to you, Master Donn, and Mistress Pensri, not he. You and your family saved my daughter, and my grandson,” protested Zawati. “And you have paid a terrible cost.”

“My leg?” asked Donn, raising an eyebrow. “The pain of my leg is nothing compared to the loss of our Jasque.”

“But he is not lost at all,” said Yunisar. “He is a living bridge now between our families, and rather than losing a son you have gained brothers and sisters here in Zretazoola, and we have gained brothers and sisters in Dylath-Leen.

“I think we must visit Penia soon, to meet the rest of our newly enlarged family.”

“We would be honored to welcome you to our home,” said Pensri. “Now that the bridge over the Bawisi is repaired it will be much easier to make the trip, for both of us.”

“And safer,” added Donn dryly.

He leaned forward, toward Yunisar.

“We must also talk, you and I, about certain trading arrangements between us. With Jas... Djimon, of course.”

The merchant smiled and reached out a hand to talk Donn’s in a wrist-shake.

“Yes, I think we might have a few things to discuss,” he agreed. “If I may ask, what is your relationship with Factor Chóng Lán?”

“Chóng? Very close friends, I would say... We have cooperated on many things over the years, and helped each other in a variety of ways, but always as independent traders. Two monkeys scratching each other’s backs.”

“As you have been one of my competitors here in Zretazoola and Dylath-Leen, the Factor—or his agents—have been my competitors on other trading routes, especially on our route carrying Hatheg textiles down the Bawisi and across the Southern Sea to Thalarion and Zar, and across the Torrent to the cities of Theth.”

“Your ships call at Woth?” asked Pensri. “I have not seen it for so many years...”

“You were born in Woth, that’s right,” said Yunisar. “And you grew up in, uh, Zar, was it?”

“Yes, my mother took me to Zar when I was but a child,” she explained, looking down. “My memories of that city are not good ones.”

“Moung casts a long shadow in the south,” said Donn, and changed the subject. “I used to command a merchanter in those waters, often flying Chóng’s flag, across the southern rim of the world from Rinar in the east to Theth, and at times as far as Thalarion, or Oonai, but that was long ago.

“There are things I cannot tell you, things that Chóng has told me in confidence or that I have learned from him over the years, but as far as working with you in competition with him—there is no problem.

“He understands the meaning of honest competition and welcomes it. Of course, being Chóng, he very rarely loses at it, but that is a separate matter.”

“From what I understand you rarely lose at it, either,” pointed out Yunisar.

“We certainly had a very successful trading trip the last time we visited Zretazoola!” laughed Donn. “Tell me, brother Yunisar, did you turn a profit on that transaction?”

Yunisar pursed his lips for a moment before answering.

“We did not, exactly, lose money, but it was not, perhaps, as profitable as I might have wished. Then again, Zawati gained a son-in-law and I gained a brother!”

“As have I,” nodded Donn, and leaned forward, arm outstretched. “I would be honored to join forces with you.”

Yunisar reached out with his own hand, and they sealed the bargain with a wrist-shake.

“Perhaps you would join me in quiet cup, and leave the men to their plots?” said Zawati to Pensri, who smiled and stood. They left the two traders deep in discussion and went back inside.

>– 2 –

Donn and Hakim had been busy for weeks, arranging new trading routes and goods in cooperation with Yunisar. Now that they had direct access to the goods and the markets of Zretazoola, and through it most of Parg, there was tremendous opportunity for new trade in both directions. By working with Yunisar in a friendly relationship rather than an adversarial one, everyone seemed likely to make considerable profit.

As far as Donn could see, the only losers would be other traders working between Parg and Dylath-Leen. Unfortunately, that included Chóng and his local agent, Factor Sefu.

They’d worked with Chóng for decades and with Sefu for many years, but always as outsiders, never formally part of Chóng’s trading empire. They’d competed with each other time and again, but always honestly... Donn didn’t expect any problems this time, either, but it would make a big hole in Sefu’s accounts!

He chuckled to himself again, and his horse twitched its ears at the sound.

He rubbed its neck, earning a soft whinny in return.

It was a short ride from Penia to Dylath-Leen, and his horse knew the way well enough that he could really just take a nap. He could just enjoy the beautiful day because he was in no hurry.

Besides, once he got there he’d have to go see Factor Bertram, member of the City Council and effective ruler of the city. They had an agreement that in return for a regular contribution to his coffers, Bertram would see to it that Garood didn’t bother Penia too much, and that the guard turned a blind eye to any requests to help recapture escaped slaves. Every month or so he made the trip to Dylath-Leen with a bottle of his homemade wine and a wheel of House Penia’s famous cheese. He handed over the bag as a gesture of friendship with Bertram, and of course a bag of gold coins was inside with the wine and cheese.

He usually brought a second bottle for Tenuk, the captain of Bertram’s guards.

The Dylath-Leen guard protected the city and its immediate environs, but Penia was left pretty much on its own. As the master Dylath-Leen’s underground—and mostly criminal—economy, Garood could certainly muster enough toughs to burn Penia to the ground, although it would be a stiff fight. Since Garood’s base of operations was in Dylath-Leen and the majority of his power and wealth came from the city, though, Bertram could make life for him very difficult, and so an uneasy balance of power remained in play.

The situation could change at any time, of course—any one of the three could die, or Bertram could stop cooperating, possibly because Garood offered him something better. For now, though, Penia was relatively safe, and the more time it had, the stronger it would become.

Donn’s family home was located there, and after his father passed and he inherited, he began to invite fleeing or freed slaves to live in the valley, which had been still largely undeveloped at the time. Slavers were almost universally hated, and in spite of the propaganda put forth by the Sisters of Mercy, most people knew that their “orphanages” and “shelters” were nothing more than traps for the unwary, feeding slaves to be used for profit, or sacrifice in Moung.

Many slaves ended up as troopers somewhere, sometimes sold into service and sometimes entering it to escape their bonds, and many of them settled around Penia after they mustered out. As a result, the community boasted a large percentage of experienced veterans, most of whom hated the very concept of slavery—Garood would not have an easy time attacking Penia.

He soon reached the black basalt wall of Dylath-Leen with its angular towers rising above, and entered through the northern gate.

He rode directly to Factor Bertram’s estate, stopping well short of the guards at the gate.

“Donn of Dylath-Leen to pay my respects to the Factor,” he called out.

“Is he expecting you, Master Donn?”

“Not specifically, but he knows I’d be here around now.”

The other man relayed Donn’s name to another guard inside the wall and waited. It only took a few minutes for the OK to come back.

“The Factor’ll see you, Master Donn. Dismount and lead your horse inside; we’ll keep it for you, along with your weapons.”

“I’ve got a bad leg,” he replied, pointing to the crutch strapped to the horse. “Might be easier if I dismount closer.”

“I can’t really,...” began the man, hesitating, but another voice cut him off.

“Master Donn! Welcome, and come in! Yes, stay on the horse.”

The guards at the gate all stiffened as Captain Tenuk strode towards them.

“Master Donn is an old friend of the Factor,” he explained, grasping the horse’s halter. “I’ll help you.”

He guided Donn’s horse through the gate and up close to the entrance to the keep.

“You there! Give me a hand,” he ordered, and a nearby guard stepped forward to help Donn down off the horse.

“What happened to your leg, Master Donn?”

“N’dara bite. I was damn lucky to only lose my leg.”

“Nasty things. Parg?”

“Yeah... we had to take a detour upstream on the Bawisi after the flood took out the trading road bridge. Stepped in the wrong place.

“I just lost a leg but one of the guards—Frode Bjørnsson of Falona, one of Factor Sefu’s men—wasn’t so lucky. Had to leave his body there, but I gave him mercy first.”

Tenuk spat on the ground. “Poor fellow. Hell of a way to go.”

“Unusual for you to come to the gate to greet a guest, Captain.”

“We were just talking up there,” said Tenuk, pointing to an open window on the second floor, “and happened to hear you. As it happens we were just talking about you, among other people.”

“About me!?”

“Umm. Come inside, Master Donn, and let the Factor explain.”

He called to one of the staff inside.

“Master Donn can’t use the stairs, so I’m taking him to the Blue Room. Tell the Factor.”

The young man nodded and scurried off to convey the message as Tenuk helped Donn through the entrance hall and into a side room.

It offered a broad mahogany table surrounded by carved wood chairs, heavily cushioned and upholstered with Oriab silk. The walls, as Donn had guessed from the name, were a bluish-green color, glowing brilliantly in the light of the suspended sunstone.

Donn stopped in surprise at the door.

“Factor Sefu!”

Sefu, Chóng Lán’s agent in Dylath-Leen, was sitting in one of the deeply upholstered chairs, holding a large brandy snifter in his hand.

“Master Donn, good to see you again. Come in, sit!”

“Thank you,...” said Donn, caught off-guard. He awkwardly collapsed into one of the chairs, laying his crutch down on the floor next to him. “I came to see Factor Bertram... quite surprising to see you here!”

“Hmm, yes, well, surprising things are happening,” said the other. “I think Factor Bertram should be the one to explain, though.”

Donn raised one eyebrow, curious, but let it ride.

“I wonder if there’s another...” he stopped as Captain Tenuk approached with another snifter in his hand. “I’m sure the Factor would not begrudge you a glass of his fine Cydathrian brandy.”

“Thank you,” replied Donn, breathing in the rich fragrance of the dark red liquor. “I wonder if this is one of the kegs I sold him...”

“It is. I only buy from you,” said Factor Bertram, bustling into the room. He was an enormous fat, standing close to two meters tall, and looked fat at first glance. Donn knew just how strong he really was, how brilliant that mind was under the bald bullet-shaped head, and how much those tiny pig-like eyes saw.

He was no man’s fool, and for years had masterfully controlled the City Council, and through it, the entire city of Dylath-Leen.

Donn had a working relationship with Bertram which served both of their needs, but he harbored no illusions about his importance: if necessary, he knew Bertram would throw him to the wolves in an instant.

Bertram dropped into his own luxurious chair and leaned forward to rest his arms on the table.

Tenuk set another snifter of brandy on the table close by.

Bertram’s eyes, shining brightly from deep under protruding eyebrows, shifted between Sefu and Donn, impossible to read.

“I was thinking of calling you,” he said, looking at Donn. “Factor Sefu suggested you would be a valuable asset, and from what I know of you I agree.”

Donn stayed silent.

“Factor Sefu is not on the Council, although I know for a fact that he was invited to apply at least twice. Both of those times he declined, but in my opinion he would have been approved.

“He has played a very cautious game here, as would only be expected of one of Chóng’s best people. But he has always played an honest game, win or lose, and over the years I’ve come to trust him, as much as a man in my position can trust anyone.”

He took a gulp of brandy—no mere sips for this man.

“And I know of your position as well, not only as one of the few outside traders to work with Chóng, but also because of our arrangement with regard to Garood.”

Donn nodded.

That arrangement—regular payments to Bertram in return for keeping Garood and his men out of Penia—was certainly not known by more than a handful of people. Captain Tenuk knew, of course, but Factor Sefu probably didn’t. He saw no reason to fill him in now.

“Garood has been maneuvering to gain his own seat on the Council,” continued Bertram. “Normally this would not be a problem, and if it were anyone else in similar circumstances they would probably be approved. Unfortunately, he has offended too many of the Council over the years, causing them significant losses both monetary and social. That makes it almost impossible for him to dream of winning approval through the usual bribery, politics and whatnot—and instead he has turned to blackmail and other methods to win supporters.

“Blackmail is hardly unheard of on the Council, of course, but Garood has threatened several Council members, or their families, with death. Yesterday Master Kartensia, the head of the Shipwrights’ Guild here, was murdered by Garood’s men for refusing to join his cause.

“There was quite a battle, it seems, but regardless of the casualties on both sides, the end result was the death of Kartensia. And Garood has crossed the line.”

Donn clenched his fists.

Garood on the City Council would be bad enough, but if he managed to assassinate Bertram—one of the few defenders of House Penia, even if he only did so because it was profitable—his family and the whole community would be in terrible danger.

“He’s asking for our support, and for support from Factor Chóng, to help keep things stable here,” explained Sefu. “Garood has no interest in keeping Dylath-Leen quiet, or even in trade—he only wants gold, and no matter the cost.”

“I have avoided Dylath-Leen politics for years, deliberately,” said Donn. “Factor Bertram and I have continued our agreement because it is mutually beneficial. For me, at least, it helps preserve the status quo, and that is very important to me.

“House Penia also has specific reasons to fear Garood, as you both well know. We fight slavery; Garood uses it as another means to collect gold. He would love to see House Penia destroyed, and me dead.”

He thought for a moment.

“What exactly do you want me to do? House Penia has no troopers and little gold...”

“Information,” said Bertram flatly. “You have channels into the slave quarters, collecting information from every House, home, and hovel in the city.”

“Those channels are how I keep House Penia safe,” protested Donn. “I cannot...”

“I don’t want your channels,” said Bertram. “Just any information about Garood and what he’s up to.”

Sefu nodded.

“I will be helping Factor Bertram as well, but your network is unique here. If you were a less honest man it would be downright dangerous, I think, but it could make a real difference in curbing Garood’s ambitions and keeping things from getting out of control.”

“I see...” He took a sip of brandy as he thought, oblivious to its sensuous taste. “How long have you known of my network, if I may ask?”

Bertram smiled.

“My network is much older than yours, Master Donn. But I must admit that you have a much deeper network among the slaves and servants. That will be remedied eventually, of course, but we must deal with the situation as it is now. And at present your information would be critical.”

“I see. Factor Sefu, have you spoken to Factor Chóng about this?”

“No, but I’ve notified him of my intent. I have no doubt he’ll support me—keeping things peaceful and profitable is what I’m here for, after all.”

Donn thought for a moment.

“As far as I can see you’re asking me to keep doing what I’m already doing: working with the two of you, and trying to protect myself and Penia from Garood... I don’t see any reason not to join with you in pursuit of the same goals.”

“Good,” snapped Bertram, nodding his head once in affirmation that it was done. “Now then, I want you to start—”

“Uh, Factor, excuse me...” broke in Donn softly. “I said I don’t see any reason not to join with you,” he continued, “but you haven’t given me a good reason to join you. I would be continuing what I do already, but you will gain access to a new source of information that would be quite valuable, I think.”

Bertram sat still, eyes fixed on Donn.

After a moment he spoke up again.

“Surely you agree that stopping Garood would be in our mutual interest?”

“We are all merchants here, Factor.”

“Hmph. I see why Chóng likes you so much, Master Donn. What do you have in mind?”

“I would like to demand you ban slavery,” he began, and heard Sefu draw in his breath in surprise. They both knew how Bertram would react to that demand. “I realize that’s not possible. But if my intelligence helps prevent Garood from taking a Council seat, you will remove the orphanage and shelter from the Sisters of Mercy, and relocate them to Penia.”

“But the Sisters donate much to the city’s coffers!” protested Bertram.

“We all know what they really do, and where their money comes from. They feed Moung’s ravenous maw with human flesh, and the Dreamlands will be a fairer place once they and their foul God are gone.”

Bertram tilted his head slightly as he considered the possibilities.

“Relocating them to Penia would provide everyone with a safer, healthier environment. They would need a small detachment of guards for safety, of course but that’s a minor matter. I think it only reasonable that the city would pay a small sum each month to assist in their upkeep, and it would make sense for those funds to be collected and managed by the head of the Council. I’m sure the Council will see the need for that, and it would remove all their various complications from the city entirely.”

“The Council might be willing to do that, yes. And what would you think a reasonable amount for such funds?”

“I’m sure you would have a better idea of how much would be reasonable, Factor, and how much it would cost you to manage and disburse the money. It would only be reasonable for you to cover such expenses from the collected money.”

The Factor nodded, understanding the hidden suggestion: he could collect what he liked from the city, and keep as much of it as he liked.

“And what would you ask for?”

“We are allies, Factor Bertram, are we not? Surely one wouldn’t demand something from an ally,” chided Donn. “Although, given the amount of time and trouble the orphanage and shelter will need to relocate, and operate, I won’t be able to come and visit you here so regularly. I’m afraid you might have to buy your own wine and cheese, if that’s not a problem.”

Bertram knew what he meant: no more bribes from Donn.

Donn and Sefu suspected he received payments—bribes, if you will—from the Sisters of Mercy, but money would do him little good if Garood controlled the City Council, or assassinated him. And both possibilities were very real. As far as Donn knew, Sefu (and Chóng) were unaware of his own payments to Factor Bertram.

Donn had demanded that Bertram abandon both sources of income in return for his intelligence, which could be the difference between Garood on the Council, or in the ground.

“I have come to enjoy your wine and cheese, I must say,” mused Bertram. “It would be a pity to lose them… perhaps we could find a way to continue, say, the cheese alone?”

He was proposing a reduction in the amount Donn paid every month.

“I think that would be reasonable, yes. Or perhaps continue both but only every other month instead?”

“An excellent suggestion, thank you. Anything else?”

His voice was calm, relaxed. They’d settled one point, and it was time to deal with the next.

“No, thank you Factor. I will be delighted to work with you—with the two of you—to defeat Garood’s plans.”

Factor Bertram began to explain who he needed more information on, and Donn heard Factor Sefu let out a long-held breath as the tension ebbed. Few people refused requests from Factor Bertram and got away with it.

* * *

Factor Sefu said he had a few other things to discuss, so Donn rode out of Factor Bertram’s estate alone. That suited him just fine, in fact, because he wanted to make a visit to the Temple of the Unwanted, and then later to The Spitting Tabby.

The horse walked through the city streets at a leisurely pace: he certainly didn’t want to appear to be in a hurry, and in spite of the press of people and odors, it was still a beautiful day.

The alley grew quieter and narrower as he proceeded until it was barely wide enough for his horse, and after a final sharp bend it opened up onto the relatively spacious grounds of the Temple of the Unwanted.

The grounds and the small temple building were deserted, of course, but incense smoke was still rising from the low table, and the dish had a considerable number of coins in it.

Donn painfully dismounted and, leaving his crutch on the horse, hobbled over to the table. Unable to kneel easily, and unlikely to be able to stand up once again if he did, he merely bent over to light a stick of incense, and stood for a moment, head bowed and palms pressed together.

He raised his head and pulled out his wallet, pouring a handful of coins into his hand. He examined them, returned half to the bag, and poured again, adjusting the coins in his hand until there were enough—and there were exactly three of the strange pyramidal silver coins of Sona Nyl.

He gently poured them into the dish, cursing under his breath when one bounced off to fall to the ground. He checked to make sure it wasn’t one of the silver pyramids, then left it.

The horse munched happily on the weeds as Donn pulled himself back up into the saddle, then left the Temple to carry him to his usual inn: The Spitting Tabby.

The innkeeper, Rolf, helped him down off his horse and had one of his boys take it back to the stable, picking up Donn’s pack himself and welcoming him in.

They were old friends, Donn stopping here irregularly for over twenty years. Rolf was also one of Donn’s customers, buying mutton, wine, and cheese for at least half that.

“I heard about your leg, Master Donn,” he said. “Nasty things, n’dara. Never been bitten by one, but they got close once.”

“I’m lucky to be alive, Master Rolf, so I can’t complain too loudly.”

“Hurts like a bitch, I imagine...”

“That it does, Master Rolf, that it does,” agreed Donn. “I suspect a mug of your best ale would lessen the pain, though.”

“Sure you wouldn’t prefer some excellent Penia wine?”

“No, I drink quite enough of that at home,” laughed Donn. “Your ale, on the other hand, is one of the few things that makes my time in this smelly city at all pleasant.”

“One mug of my finest coming right up!” grinned Rolf as he helped Donn settle down into a vacant booth at the back. “The first one’s on me.”

“Thank you! Maybe some of your spicy chicken would go well with it, too.”

Rolf turned his head toward the kitchen.

“Mari! Chicken and rice for Master Donn!

“Let me go get your ale,” he added, and trotted off toward the counter. “Good to see you again!”

Mari, the woman who’d been working with Rolf for decades, trotted up promptly with a plate heaped with roast chicken, The Spitting Tabby’s famous spicy fried rice-and-greens, and a large mug of warm ale.

“Good to see you again, Master Donn. Sorry to hear about your leg,” she said, sliding the plate in front of him and setting the mug down with a thump. “If you need help later just ask.”

“Thank you, Mistress. You’ve been well, I hope? How’s the boy?”

She laughed.

“Not a boy anymore, Master Donn. He’s off on a ship somewhere; said he wanted to see the world. Couldn’t’ve held him back if I tried.”

“I was the same, and would’ve left on my own if my father hadn’t agreed to take me with him. Saw the world and came back here after.”

“I hope he’ll be back, Master Donn. Miss him, after all.”

“My son Jasque is married now, living in Zretazoola. Probably won’t see much of him anymore, either

“Married! Jasque! Well how about that... and in Zretazoola, you say. It’s not that far, but I never liked the jungle, all dark and buggy like that. The ocean breeze of Dylath-Leen is best!”

Donn laughed and raised his mug in agreement.

She gripped his arm and squeezed gently.

“Later, Master Donn.”

After she trotted off to serve someone else he sat and ate in peace, exchanging greetings with people he knew, and listening to fragments of conversation.

“Master Donn?”

A middle-aged man pulled a vacant stool up to Donn’s table.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Master Vinchanti! Of course, of course, have a seat, please.”

“Haven’t seen you for a while... been up around Laudonia and Lomar, carrying all sorts of cargo. Captain finally got tired of freezing her tits off and decided to come back here where its warm.”

“Still with Captain Morooka?”

“Yep. She’s a good captain, and a good ship. We aren’t rich, but we aren’t poor, either, and she takes care of us.”

“Good, good. I thought she’d be a good captain then, you know.”

“You mentioned it once before. That’s why you loaned her the money, right?”

“Well, that’s part of it... I prefer to deal with people I trust, and I felt I could trust her. She held up her side of the deal and proved I was right.”

“Glad you did, Master Donn,” he said and held up his hand with two fingers raised, catching the eye of a server. “Another round!

“This one’s on me.”

Donn raised his mug and drained it in one swallow before putting it back down on the table with his empty plate. “Much obliged.”

Years ago he’d met Mistress Morooka, then a sailor on one of Chóng’s merchant ships. She had been born a slave and Chóng had had a hand in emancipating her—Donn never did hear the whole story—before hiring her on one of his ships. She’d saved her pay and eventually bought her own ship with a few partners, continuing to work with Chóng and other merchants.

She’d asked Donn for a loan to purchase the ship, and had repaid it in full.

The server brought another round of ale, along with a plate of roasted, skewered fish.

Vinchanti held out some money but the server waved it away.

“Master Donn’s tab is to be settled up later, not now.”

Vinchanti shrugged and turned to Donn.

“In that case I guess I might as well pay you instead of him,” and held out his hand with the coins.

“If you insist,” replied Donn and held out his hand.

Vinchanti dropped his handful into Donn’s, and Donn glanced at it. It was mostly bronzes, but he could also see three silver pyramids: the coins of Sona Nyl, the same as he’d left at the Temple earlier.

They were well hidden by the cup of his hand and the general dimness of the inn, but he put them away in his wallet promptly.

“Thank you, Master Vinchanti. Allow me to pay for the next round, then.”

They talked of various things for a while, throwing in a joke every so often, and ordered new rounds of ale every so often, obviously enjoying themselves.

Donn threw his arm over Vinchanti’s shoulder and pulled him close, apparently to tell another bawdy joke.

“You overpaid me for that ale, Master Vinchanti,” he said quietly.

“The Captain said you left it at the Temple,” he responded in a low voice. “Said to give them back and find out what you needed.”

“Well, well, well... so you’re with us now, are you? Always thought you were a good man; now I know it.”

Donn broke away laughing as if he’d just revealed the punchline, and was joined a second later by Vinchanti, who slapped the table in his mirth.

A few minutes later it was Vinchanti who pulled Donn closer.

“Garood is trying to get a seat on the Council, through bribery and blackmail. Bertram and Sefu have asked me to help keep things stable. I need anything you can get on Garood’s activities, and what other Council members are up to.”

“They know about us!?”

“No, not at all. But they know I have spies throughout the city. Don’t trust either one of them, even Sefu.”

Vinchanti nodded and let his head drop as if commiserating.

“Well, Zretazoola’s not that far, you know. Hell of a thing to happen with that leg, though...”

Obviously he’d been talking to Donn about Jasque moving to Parg, or so it seemed.

The sailor drank down the rest of his ale and picked up the last skewer.

“Gotta go, Master Donn, or the Captain’ll have me scraping those damned crusty foulers again.”

“Good to see you again! Regards to Captain Morooka, if you will.”

“I’ll let her know you’re in town. How long’re you here for, by the way?”

“Leaving tomorrow morning, I’m afraid,” said Donn. “No problem. We’ll run into each other eventually. Safe voyaging, Master Vinchanti.”

“Safe journey, Master Donn.”

Donn had drunk quite a bit himself, and he figured it was about time to call it a night. He waved to the innkeeper, Rolf, and clumped upstairs to his room with his crutch, collapsing on the mats.

Tomorrow he’d head back to Penia, and wait to see what his spy network here in Dylath-Leen, mostly slaves and servants, might bring.

>– 3 –

It had been busy month.

There was always so much that had to be done on the farm, and unless Donn had been off on a trading trip, he’d done a lot of it. But not this year.

His bad leg made it difficult to get around and almost impossible to do any of the labor the farm needed—sheep, horses, wheat, the vineyard, cheese-making, and more. He thought it was getting worse, too, because he’d needed the Trooper’s Friend more often. He resisted it as long as he could, until gritting his teeth wasn’t enough to stop him from groaning with the pain.

He didn’t feel weak afterwards, so the continuing bleeding wasn’t enough to hurt him yet, but if his needs kept growing eventually it would. The slugs were always hungry for more, and he constantly yearned for the relief they brought.

Even without manual labor, though, he had plenty to keep him busy: he exchanged dragolet messages with Jasque and Yunisar several times a week, setting up their new trading routes and arranging all the buys and sells they’d have to make throughout the region.

He had hoped that Jasque would eventually take over as he and Hakim got too old, and indeed Jasque would be taking over, but not as Donn had planned.

Hakim was rarely in Penia anymore, instead accompanying Jasque or Yunisar, or sometimes setting out on his own journeys. He refused to enter Oonai, naturally, but he was familiar with most of Khem and the Stony Desert past Mount Hatheg-Kla and even to Ygiroth, and knew Meroë well.

Donn had told Yunisar a little of why Hakim avoided Oonai, but kept most of the details to himself. Yunisar knew there was more to the story, but was smart enough not to pry too deeply.

He also had to oversee the newly built shelter, dealing with a variety of problems.

Factor Bertram had agreed to move the shelter, which included the orphanage, out to Penia. House Penia had always been a haven for the helpless, especially escaped slaves, and a majority of the people living in the valley were either former slaves or their families. Garood and other slave-holders hated the whole valley, of course, but with Bertram’s protection they’d muddled through thus far.

As part of his deal with the Factor he’d also managed to get a small guard contingent assigned to Penia, ostensibly to protect the northern road through Penia to the city. It was also a major improvement in defense not only for the shelter, but for the entire valley.

He received his usual intelligence from his sources in Dylath-Leen, and spent considerable time deciding which bits should be passed onto Sefu and Bertram, and which bits he should keep to himself. Keeping Garood off the Council was crucial, but not if it meant revealing everything he knew to Bertram, or even to Sefu.

Already he’d discovered one council member who was deeply in debt to Garood after losing heavily at one of Garood’s gambling halls. Factor Bertram said he’d take care of it, but hadn’t explained what he planned to do. Paying off the debt would be the most direct solution, but throwing money at Garood might not be the best approach.

Two more members planned to support Garoods’s request to join the Council, but it wasn’t clear exactly why. In one case there was a rumor that the Council member’s daughter had been seen with Garood, but whether that was by choice or force was unclear. For that matter, it was yet unknown if the rumor was true or not.

Blackmail was certainly a possibility.

He was also getting a much clearer idea of where Garood was making his money, although Donn was sure there was a lot still hidden. Sefu and Bertram could interfere with some of them, and Donn could arrange for a few others to run into problems. There was one in particular that Donn thought he could steal entirely, taking over a very profitable smuggling route, without anyone even realizing he was involved. He hadn’t told Bertram or Sefu about that one.

It had also become clear that Garood was hiring. Some were ex-troopers, some merely ruffians, but they all seemed to be on weekly contracts and just waiting for orders.

He picked up his teacup again to take a sip, and frowned when he discovered it was empty.

He poured more from the teapot.

Cold.

Damn.

But it would hurt to try to stand, and hobble into the kitchen.

He drank the cold tea, grimaced, and turned back to his work.

Factor Sefu was coming to visit him later, and he had to get through the latest reports before he arrived.

A few hours later he was finally done, everything pigeonholed properly for Sefu, for Bertram, even one message for Chóng’s eyes alone—that would have to go out by dragolet.

He rubbed his eyes and grabbed his crutch, pushing himself up onto his feet to clump into the kitchen where Mahelt was peeling and slicing turnips.

“You look pale, Donn... are you OK?”

“Just the leg, Mahelt, as always,” he said, rubbing it. “Funny. I used to hate it when I sat too long and my leg fell asleep, now I wish it would stay asleep all day.”

She set his knife down and came over, kneeling at his side.

“Let me massage it for you, maybe that’ll help.”

“Thank you, Mahelt.”

He closed his eyes and let her take his leg in her hands.

Massaging it didn’t help at all but at least it sort of took his mind off the pain for a few minutes. Even if she couldn’t do anything to ease his suffering, he knew she wanted to try.

He kept his thoughts to himself.

“I think maybe later, after Factor Sefu leaves, I’ll use it again.”

“That disgusting slug!?”

“Disgusting, yes, but it takes away the pain for a while,” he protested. “I can’t ask you to massage my leg all day!”

“I still hate it,” she pouted.

“I hate it, too, dear Mahelt, but I hate this leg more.”

“Let me give you some rice and pickles,” she suggested, turning back to the stove. She scooped out a ball of hot rice and squeezed it between her palms, rolling and bouncing it until it was roughly spherical. The rice was still steaming but it didn’t seem to bother her.

In a few moments there was a plate with two slices of fresh-baked bread and a bowl of mutton stew in front of him.

She changed the tealeaves and poured him a cup of fresh hot tea to go with it.

As he was halfway through the stew when Pensri called from the front door.

“Donn? Donn? Where are you?”

“In here!”

She burst into the kitchen.

“What? What’s happened?”

“Donn, come quick. Let me help you,” she said, pulling him up and handing him his crutch. “It’s Sefu... he was ambushed on the road.”

“Sefu!? Ambushed?” He raced to the door, swinging his good leg and the crutch with abandon, ignoring the pain. “Where is he? Is he OK?”

“They took him to the Nest, with his guards. I don’t know—”

“Damn damn damn! This is Garood’s doing! Where’s my damn horse?”

Gangly Arthit, beginning to change from a child to a young man, came running with a pair of horses.

Only one of the horses was saddled, and Pensri helped him up into it.

She took the other one; there was no time to get it saddled, and they could all ride bareback anyway.

It was only a few minutes to the Nest, and Donn practically leapt off his horse, only grudgingly allowing Pensri to help him down.

Headmistress Kiarna was standing in front talking to a trooper he didn’t recognize.

“Headmistress! Where is he? Sefu?”

“Master Donn! They’re inside, this way!”

She scurried inside and he saw several people clumped around another lying on the wood floor. It was Sefu.

At the sound of his crutch one of the kneeling men turned.

“Master Donn!”

It was trooper Oltahm, who had been with him on that disastrous journey to Zretazoola.

“I just heard…how is he?”

Oltahm just shook his head, remaining silent as Donn dropped his crutch and collapsed to kneel next to him.

Factor Sefu was dead, with an arrow in his neck and two in his side.

“It was an ambush, and they set it up specifically to kill the Factor. Arrows, and as soon as he fell they fled.”

“Garood?”

“Of course, but no way to prove it.”

“God damn it! The Factor isn’t even on the Council! God damn Garood!”

He gently straightened Sefu’s tunic, drenched in blood, and closed his eyes, muttering a prayer under his breath.

“Headmistress, would you send someone up to the house and tell them to put out black and yellow blankets, please?”

Donn’s house was built on a hill overlooking the valley, and could be seen by almost all the other homes. Blankets of various colors were hung out on the second floor to warn the people of Penia of danger, natural threats like floods or bears as well as robbers or invaders.

The black and yellow blankets would put them on high alert for intruders, and warn that someone had already died.

“Trooper, I will ride with you back to Dylath-Leen, in the wagon. I must take his body to his family, and there are many people I need to talk to.”

“There are three of us now,” the trooper said, almost to himself. “Unharmed. And useless. We couldn’t protect him…”

“Nobody could have protected him, Trooper. At best, you might have sent some of them to accompany the Factor, but you could not have saved him.”

Oltahm nodded, unconvinced.

“We’ll get him ready,” he said dully, and sighed before he got up from the floor and walked over to the well to draw more water.

“I don’t think we’re in any danger, but I’ll get a party together to ride with us, and clear the road,” said Donn, pushing himself back up again with his crutch, one hand supported by Oltahm’s fellow guard. “Twenty minutes.”

A few of the people leaving nearby had already gathered at the Nest, talking among themselves quietly, and now one of them pointed up to Donn’s house, where the yellow and black blankets were being stretched out on the laundry poles.

Several of them broke off, returning home to fetch weapons or secure their farms and families.

His leg was hurting again, hurting bad, but he was so angry that he found the power to ignore it, channeling his pain into fury and determination.

“Factor Sefu of Dylath-Leen was ambushed on the way here,” he said to the growing crowd. “He was killed by arrows, by assassins sent specifically to kill him.

“I think we all know who was behind it.

“We will take his body back to Dylath-Leen, and I need some people to scout the way and make sure there isn’t another ambush waiting.”

Three men and a woman stepped forward immediately; Donn knew all of them. Two were former slaves, two were former troopers, and all four were experienced fighters.

“Thank you.

“I need to get some things from home first, but we’ll be riding light and fast.”

“We’ll get started right now,” said Arne of Thorabon, an older ex-trooper who had settled here half a decade ago. “Mistress Breda, you got your horn?”

The red-haired woman nodded. “Right here, trooper. If we see anyone I’ll blow a blast loud enough to be heard to the city, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” said Donn. “We’ll leave in twenty minutes.

“Give me a hand up, would you?”

Donn was back with Pensri and the wagon—they were in the small wagon, which was a lot faster to harness the horses up to, since there were only two of them—in less than twenty minutes.

Trooper Oltahm and the others had cleaned Sefu’s body up a little bit, and wrapped him in a clean banket for the trip. It wasn’t a proper shroud, but it was all they had at hand. His wife—no, widow, now—would take care of the funeral, if any. There were an awful lot of different cultures and traditions here, and they had no idea what she might want.

The least they could do was transport his corpse back to her with care and respect.

It was not a pleasant trip.

The three guards were subdued... after all, they were supposed to be there to protect the Factor, and they’d failed.

Oltahm kept feeling for his sword pommel, his jaw clenched, eyes searching the trees.

It was obvious he wanted to encounter the ambushers again, but they reached the gates of Dylath-Leen without incident.

After they passed through the gates, Oltahm pulled his horse up next to the wagon.

“I’ll take the Factor home,” he said, motioning to halt the wagon. “Take my horse and go on to the warehouse with the others. I’ll be along later.”

Donn shook his head.

“This was not your fault, trooper. He was my friend, too, and we will take him home to Oluhai, together if you wish. Send one of the others to the warehouse; we must tell Factor Chóng and Betsy, too.”

Betsy of Kadatheron was—had been—Sefu’s trusted second-in-command of the trading branch, and would no doubt become the new Factor once Chóng heard what had happened.

Oltahm sent one of the other guards off to handle that, but was silent thereafter. They reached Sefu’s home a few minutes later.

It was in one of the better sections of the city, but still far poorer than would have been appropriate to his station and wealth. After all, he’d been Chóng’s factor in Dylath-Leen, one of the major trading cities of the Dreamlands, for many years.

Sefu had always tried to stay out of politics, avoiding most of the constant infighting among the Council members, and those who wanted to join it. He’d played his cards behind the scenes, working with individual members and others to gain advantages in trade, or support various official and unofficial measures that would be beneficial.

Donn suspected it was his support of Bertram against Garood that had led to his death.

He wondered if Garood would try to kill him next.

He reined the horses in at the gate, and Pensri helped him painfully climb down from the wagon. Oltahm opened the gate and walked to the house.

He stood there, silent and immobile, waiting for Donn.

Donn, leaning on Pensri, finally limped up and grasped Oltahm’s bicep, squeezing lightly, then stepped forward to rap on the ornately carved wood door.

Oluhai, Sefu’s widow, was a dusky, plump woman, originally from Lhosk. He’d met her when he was still an apprentice trader working for Chóng, and they’d fallen in love almost immediately. She’d waited for him as he travelled the Dreamlands for Chóng, riding to become one of his trusted agents, and eventually the Factor for his operations in Dylath-Leen, one of the most important trading hubs.

They’d moved here then, and even though their children had already grown up to live their own lives—one as a trader for Chóng, in fact—she still kept the house warm and welcoming for both infrequently seen children and far more frequent guests and friends.

The door opened, and Oluhai’s face broke into a smile as she saw who it was.

“Master Donn! And Pensri! Good to see you again! And Trooper Oltham, welcome!

“I’m sorry, but Sefu’s not here... right... now...”

She slowed when they didn’t react as expected: something was off. She looked around to see why they were so quiet, and her eyes stopped when she saw the wagon.

When she recognized what was wrapped in the blanket in the back.

When she realized why they were silent.

Her eyes widened, one hand flew to cover her mouth. A whispered “Sefu...” leaked out.

“Oh, not my Sefu...!”

She took a step, eyes fixed on the wagon.

She began to keen, a high-pitched wail that went on and on as she collapsed to her knees, rocking back and forth in her anguish.

One of her servants came running from inside, then another, and another. The head housekeeper, an old Pargite, ran to her, kneeling next to her and trying to comfort her.

“I’m so sorry, Mistress,” said Donn. “He was on his way to see me, and was ambushed... there was nothing anyone could do.”

Pensri knelt next to Oluhai, hugging the sobbing woman tight in sympathy. They’d been friends for years.

The two men carried Sefu’s body inside, still wrapped in the blanket, and laid it in the main room. Oluhai waited, holding onto Pensri for strength.

“Thank you,” said Pensri as she comforted Oluhai. “Please tell Godsworn Hangaram for her, if you will.”

They let themselves out as the servants began to unwrap the banket. Oluhai knelt next to his head, eyes fixed on his face as she wiped it clean, Pensri at her side.

“I must inform Factor Bertram immediately,” said Donn. “Help me unhitch the wagon; I’ll take one horse and leave the other one and the wagon here.

“Will you ride with me? Or back to the warehouse?”

“I have little reason to go back to the warehouse now,” said Oltahm. “There’s something I need to check out, though...”

“You’re not going after Garood alone, are you?”

Oltahm smiled, lips thin, as he helped Donn up onto one of the horses.

“I’m not suicidal, much as I want to. No, I just want to talk to some of the city guards, and then back home.”

“Would you tell the Godsworn for me?”

“Of course,” nodded Oltahm. “Master Donn, be safe.”

“And you, trooper, and you.”

They exchanged a wrist-shake and set out in different directions.

– 4 –

Factor Bertram was not happy, to say the least, but he’d been sitting on top of the city for long enough that it didn’t seem to shake him that much. He was unhappy that Sefu had been killed, of course, but Donn got the feeling the Factor was more concerned about losing the assistance Sefu had been providing.

Sefu had been quietly building up support for Bertram behind the scenes, amplifying irritation at Garood, developing allies and more, much of it made possible thanks to Chóng’s gold.

Donn thought about the possibilities as he left Bertram’s estate and rode back towards Sefu’s warehouse.

It wasn’t Sefu’s anymore, but it would still be Chóng’s anchor in Dylath-Leen. It was actually a walled compound with several warehouses, a barracks housing both guards and a few staff, stables, a small kitchen and dining hall, and a few other things.

He guessed Mistress Betsy would be taking it over; she’d been working with Sefu for years and probably knew most of what she needed to know.

That was all Chóng’s problem, though, not his.

He would continue to make his intelligence available to Bertram, and forward intriguing bits to Chóng or Betsy as appropriate. Whenever Chóng appointed a new factor they could discuss details.

The warehouse was in an uproar. There were far more guards at the doors than usual, and none of them looked happy.

He dragged himself down off his horse and handed the reins to the stableboy.

“Has Trooper Oltahm returned?”

“Not yet,” said the boy. “Are you looking for him?”

“No, it’s alright,” said Donn, and limped over to the guards at the gate.

“Who’s in charge of the guards now?”

“That’d be Cap’n Und,” said one of the troopers. “She’s upstairs right now, I think.”

He pointed at the warehouse, with Sefu’s offices on the second floor.

“Thank you, trooper. If Trooper Oltahm shows up, would you get word me, the Captain, or Mistress Betsy?”

“Yessir, can do.”

“Uh, Master Donn, were you with him? When it happened, I mean?” asked the other trooper.

“No, I was in Penia. He was ambushed in the woods on his way to see me, Trooper Oltahm said. Arrows from the trees with no warning, he said. Straight-out assassination.”

“Yeah, we heard. Bastards. He was a good man.”

“We’ll settle the score, don’t worry.”

“When the time comes you tell us... we’ll be there.”

“Will do, trooper. And soon, too, I think.”

There was no guard on duty at the bottom of the stairs, and he decided to go up anyway. He could hear voices coming from the main office where Sefu could usually be found.

A dozen people were there, including Betsy, who had been Sefu’s trusted assistant and manager for years.

“Reciroh, take two guards and three of the warehouse staff with you, and get to Sefu’s home. Make sure Mistress Oluhai is protected, and give her whatever help she needs.”

The trooper shook her shoulders to settle her chainmail vest into place, and turned to leave.

“Master Donn!

Betsy looked up and noticed him for the first time.

“Master Donn, come in.”

She waved him into the room as people stepped back to give him room.

“How is she?”

“She took it badly, as you’d expect, but my Pensri is with her, and the servants. She’ll be alright, I think.”

“We already heard what happened. Where’s Trooper Oltahm?”

“He went with me to Sefu’s house, but said he needed to talk to some city guards before he returned here. I also asked him to get word to Godsworn Hangaram.”

“I already did that,” she said. “And I’ve notified Factor Chóng.”

“Thank you. I came here to do just that.... and to talk to you in private.”

“Right this second? Or can you wait half an hour or so? I’ve a lot to do right now...”

“Half an hour will be fine,” nodded Donn. “Where should I wait?”

“Uh...” She thought a moment. “The Factor’s office will be fine. He trusts... trusted you.”

Donn sat in one of the empty chairs in Sefu’s office, running his eyes over the various items on the shelves and recalling their years together. He’d never actually worked under Sefu, but they’d worked together many times.

He’d miss the man.

Below the mementos and bric-a-brac there were boxes and boxes of files. He made no move to read any of them, much as he wanted to... he and Chóng had been friendly competitors, often allies, for decades, and he had no wish to destroy that relationship.

That was all Betsy’s now. Or whoever Chóng put in charge, but Betsy was the obvious choice.

She walked into to join him some time later, and abruptly stopped in the middle of the room. She was looking at Sefu’s chair. Empty.

“Yes, I think you should sit in it, Mistress,” said Donn. “Until Factor Chóng says otherwise, you’re in command, and everyone needs to see you sitting there.”

She slowly walked over and sat in the leather-upholstered chair. She looked uncomfortable.

“I always dreamed of becoming a factor myself one day,” she whispered almost to herself, “but not like this...”

“We are rarely given a choice in the matter,” commiserated Donn. “You do what you have to when the time comes.”

She was silent for a minute, then “What do we need to talk about, Master Donn?”

Donn turned to check that there was no-one in the doorway, ten leaned forward closer.

“You know that Factor Sefu and I have been working closely together recently, right?”

“Yes, he told me about it.”

“And did he also explain who else we’re working with, and why?”

“Yes, I think so. Factor Bertram, Garood, the Council... everything.”

Donn gave a sigh a relief.

“Outstanding. That simplifies so many things.

“I spoke with Factor Bertram and assured him of my continued cooperation, but he will need to hear from you as well. And before you can say anything official, you need to hear from Factor Chóng.”

“I dispatched a dragolet earlier, but we won’t get a reply until the day after tomorrow, I think. And that’s assuming he’s in Lhosk when the dragolet gets there.”

“You don’t have a portal?”

“I wish we did,” she sighed. “No, Sefu wanted one and Chóng said he would look into it, but we’re still waiting.”

“You know there’s a portal in Rinar, right? I know there’s one in Celephaïs, and I’m pretty sure there’s one in Pungar-Vees, too. Strange that the other three major trading ports have them but Dylath-Leen doesn’t.”

“Yes, there is one in Pungar-Vees. We used it a few years ago.”

“Very strange...”

“Master Donn, the Factor told me he was taking you something. Trooper’s Friends. Did you receive it?”

“He did? No, it must still be in his saddlebag. The guards should have brought his horse back here when they came to tell you what had happened... must be downstairs now.”

He struggled to his feet. “I’ll go down and...”

“No, sit,” she interrupted, and rang a bell on the desk. “I’ll have them bring it up.”

One of the office staff came to the doorway immediately, eyes flicking between Donn and Betsy, noting that she was sitting in the Factor’s seat. The word would spread quickly, Donn knew.

“Factor Sefu’s saddlebags should still be on his horse, or in the stables. Bring them up here, please.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

He was back in a few minutes with the saddlebags, laying them on the desk before he left.

Betsy untied the flap and opened it. An apple rolled out onto the desk.

“...lunch...”

She set it aside and reached into the bag to pull everything else out onto the desktop.

In addition to his lunch there was also a sheaf of papers, a small charm from the Temple of Nath-Horthath here in Dylath-Leen, and the small box of Trooper’s Friends.

She handed it to Donn. He thanked her, and picked up the charm, rubbing it lightly.

“This didn’t help him much, did it?” asked Donn. “You should give it back to Mistress Oluhai, of course, along with all the personal items here.”

“I will go there later, after things are a bit more settled here,” she said. “He knew he might be killed one day, and we talked about how to handle it, but I never...”

A tear leaked from one eye; she swiped it away.

“Was there anything else, Master Donn?”

“No, Mistress Betsy,” he said, pulling himself up. “You have much to do. I’ll be at The Spitting Tabby tonight. I don’t know yet when I will be returning to Penia, or how long Pensri will stay with Mistress Oluhai.”

“Thank you, Master Donn. I’m sure we’ll speak again on the morrow.”

He borrowed a handy pole to serve as a cane, hobbling back to his horse, and rode to The Spitting Tabby. Pensri knew where to find him, but he was sure she’d be spending the night with Oluhai, helping her get through it all.

The innkeeper, Rolf, had already heard the news. Donn doubted there was anyone in the city that hadn’t, by now.

Factor Sefu had never been on the Council, and rarely made much of a splash, but he had been well-known and liked throughout the city for his openness and generosity. Like Donn, he was a frequent visitor to the Temple of the Unwanted, donating money to help others throughout the city.

“Welcome, Master Donn. Always happy to see you, ’though I wish it were for a happier occasion,” he said, greeting Donn at the door.

“Thank you, Master Rolf. Not a happy occasion at all.”

“Let me give you a hand there.”

Rolf took his temporary cane and offered a shoulder instead, helping Donn to an empty table. It was yet early in the afternoon, and the room was mostly deserted.

Donn collapsed onto the bench, and dropped his pack onto the table.

“Ale?” asked Rolf. “No, I think you need a nice, strong tea... let me get you some Eagle Claw.”

Eagle Claw, a black tea from Shiroora Shan, was a spicy stimulant. It took its name from the shape of the leaves, long and spiky like the curved talons of a raptor.

“That would be wonderful,” agreed Donn, and rested his head on his crossed arms, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”

As he was sipping his tea later, and feeling the tiredness begin to seep out of his bones, the door opened and Oltahm stepped in.

“I thought I might find you here,” he said, and sat down heavily across the table.

“Join me in some tea, Trooper? Eagle Claw.”

“An ale for me, Master Donn. Innkeeper! An ale!”

“Right away!” came the reply, and Oltahm leaned forward.

“I’ve been talking to a few trusted friends in the city guard,” he said. “A lot of them are in Garood’s pocket, but not these guys. I asked them if any skilled archers had returned to the city in the last couple hours, especially freelancers.”

“And?”

“And they didn’t know, but the gate guard changed. They said they’d look into it, discretely, and let me know.”

“So you’ve got nothing, then.”

“Now.”

“You trust these guards?”

“Absolutely. We’ve, um, worked together once or twice...”

Donn didn’t press for details, but had a pretty good idea that smuggling was involved, possibly with Sefu’s blessing.

“When will you hear more?”

“Probably tomorrow, I think,” said the trooper. “They’ll be able to hear all the gossip back in the barracks without even having to ask that many questions... they always talk about how boring their day’s been, and who came and went.”

“Have you already told Mistress Betsy about this?”

“Not yet. I thought you needed to know more than she does.”

“She’s your boss now.”

“I guess. I mean, yeah, she’s a good boss and would probably make a good factor, but dammit, Factor Sefu was my boss! Not her!”

“I know how you feel, but you work for Chóng, not Betsy. Or even Sefu.”

Oltahm scowled and took another drink of ale.

“Go on, trooper. Report it all to her, not me.”

He slugged down the rest of the ale and thumped the mug back down onto the table.

“You’re right, of course.

I’ll let you know when I hear more, but I should report back.”

“I’ll be here, at the warehouse, or at Sefu’s house tomorrow. Let me know.”

“I will. Stay safe.”

“You too, trooper.”

He finished his tea alone.

* * *

The next morning Oltahm showed up at the inn just as Donn was finishing breakfast.

“Morning, Master Donn.”

“Good morning, trooper,” replied Donn. “Tea?”

Oltahm sat down across the table.

“Thanks, yes. Haven’t had anything yet today.”

Donn turned toward the kitchen.

“Master Rolf! Fresh tea, if you please, and a breakfast for my guest!”

A muffled “Yo!” came out of the back and Donn waved down Oltahm’s polite refusal.

“Nonsense. Eat something while we talk.”

“Thank you,” said the trooper. “I am a little hungry, must admit...”

“So why are you here at the break of day?”

“I heard back from my friends in the guard, and he says Sombili of Zar came back to the city yesterday. He’s a well-known mercenary with a rep for arrows and murder; a little guy, black as a moonless night. He left the city early yesterday morning, and returned through the west gate in the late afternoon.

“He’s been here in Dylath-Leen before so I’m not surprised he’s here again, but the timing and his rep sure make me think he’s the one.”

“You never saw any of them?”

“Nah, bastards. Shot from ambush, and vanished as soon as they got the factor.”

He spat onto the sawdusted floor for emphasis.

“Is he still here?”

“They said he headed off toward the docks; my guess is that he went to report to Garood and get his reward.”

Donn nodded.

“And...?”

“And I talked to a few of the other troopers. We’re going to go have a little chat with this Sombili. You wanna come?”

“I’m pretty slow, trooper... you sure you want me along?”

“Yes, we’re sure. You can ride.”

“I’ll come. What about Betsy?”

“Haven’t asked her... if she’s going to be Chóng’s factor here it might not be a good idea...”

“Mmm. True, I guess, but I’d ask her anyway. Whatever happens it’ll affect her, too.”

Oltahm fell silent for a moment.

“OK, I can see that,” he agreed finally. “I’ve got some of the boys out looking for Sombili now. When they find him they’re going to meet me back at Chóng’s warehouse.”

He sloshed down one last gulp of tea and stood.

“You coming?”

Donn heaved himself up.

“Give me a hand, would you?”

With Oltahm’s help he hobbled to the door, calling to the innkeeper to bring his horse around.

Oltahm was on foot, but the warehouse was only a short distance from The Spitting Tabby. Half a dozen of the guards were gathered in the yard in front.

Betsy was with them.

“You’re in on this too, Master Donn?”

“Good morning, Mistress. Yes, Trooper Oltahm here came to tell me, and we came to tell you. I see you already know.”

“You condone this?”

“Condone it!? I have no say in the matter at all,” Donn sputtered. “As an interested party, though, I think I’ll ride along and watch it through, though. The Factor was a friend.”

“I can’t be seen to be taking part in this,” she snapped. “And I can’t let Factor Chóng get involved, either.”

She turned to the guards.

“Would it do any good to forbid you from going?”

They muttered amongst themselves, and shook their heads.

“I thought not...

“I’m going inside now. If you are not on guard duty now please leave, and what you do with your spare time is your problem. Make sure it stays your problem and not mine.”

She hesitated for a moment, shook her head, and turned to walked back inside.

“Make sure you do it right, Master Donn,” she ordered, in a voice too low to be heard more than a few meters away. “For the Factor.”

One of the guards followed her and the rest walked back into the street with Donn and Oltahm.

“So. Since we are free to use our spare time as we see fit perhaps we can go visit Master Sombili,” suggested Oltahm. “You found him?”

“He’s at The Gilded Bush, right near Garood’s place,” said one of the guards. “Meli is keeping an eye on his until we get there.”

More muttering. A few of the men double-checked their weapons.

The Gilded Bush was a small, fairly old inn just down the street from the well-guarded walls of Garood’s estate. They approached from the other side to avoid passing near the estate and stirring up Garood’s thugs.

Meli, the guard watching to be sure Sombili didn’t slip away from the inn, waved them over to where she was waiting. She was squatting on the paving stones, just watching and waiting.

“He hasn’t moved, as far as I can see…when I looked inside he was just eating breakfast,” she explained. “He might have slipped out the back, of course.”

Oltahm nodded.

“Karuch, why don’t you step inside and tell our little bowman that Garood wants to talk to him. See if he won’t step outside so we can have a little discussion.”

The red-haired man pulled his sword belt up a bit, and started to walk across the road. At the clatter of hooves he stopped and turned.

Half a dozen horses trotted up, and riders dismounted in front of the inn.

“Captain Tenuk!” called Donn, twitching the reins to move his own horse forward.

The captain, head of Factor Bertram’s guards, was already walking toward Donn and Oltahm.

“Master Donn, Trooper Oltahm. You’re here for the same reason we are, it seems…”

“Sombili of Zar.”

“Yes. The Factor sent us on behalf of the Council. Assassination is forbidden here in Dylath-Leen, and the Council would like a word with the archer.”

“As would we,” said Oltahm. “We want a bit more than a word, though…”

“Trooper, if the Factor—excuse me, the Council—wants to take care of it, why don’t we let them?”

Oltahm’s hand was on his sword, but he nodded at Donn’s words.

“Perhaps we’ll wait, then,” he agreed, “and have our discussion with him after the Council is done.”

“Thank you,” said Captain Tenuk. “A troop of the city guard is holding the rear of the inn for us. Would you care to join me?”

“With pleasure,” gritted Oltahm. “Much as it pains me to let the Guard get first crack at him.”

Captain Tenuk looked up at Donn, still mounted. “Master Donn?”

“I think I’ll just wait here… I’m not very nimble anymore, if it comes to that.”

The captain waved to two of his men to accompany him, and the four of them walked into the inn.

Shouting. Something large and heavy falling over.

Cursing, more shouts, the sound of a sword hitting stone.

Silence.

After a few seconds the door opened again, and Oltahm stuck his head out.

“Master Donn? All done. Come in, please.”

He clambered down off his horse and to the door. Oltahm grabbed his arm to support him, and helped inside.

The room was fairly dark, but his eyes quickly adjusted. The small, high windows let in plenty of light, even if it wasn’t as bright as the morning sun outside. Captain Tenuk was sitting on a bench facing a small, dark man held facing him on a second bench by Tenuk’s two guards.

Donn assumed it must be Sombili.

Behind him stood half a dozen city guards, no doubt via the rear door of the inn. In theory the city guards should be in charge, superior to Factor Bertram’s own private force, but they understood the politics of power here... and since Bertram was also the head of the Council they had a good excuse to let Captain Tenuk handle it.

“Donn One-Leg!? You?”

“No, Master Sombili. I’m merely an interested onlooker. You’ll have to deal with the Captain, there, I’m afraid.”

“You talk to me,” broke in Captain Tenuk. “The Council ordered me to come get you. They seem to believe you’ve assassinated someone in the city. That’s frowned on here, you know.”

Sombili stopped struggling and looked straight at Tenuk.

“I was not in the city yesterday; you have no hold on me.”

“Who said it was yesterday?” asked Oltahm. “Strange that you should already know what we’re talking about.”

Sombili glared back.

“So you claim I was in the city yesterday?”

“You were,” stated Oltahm flatly. “And you came back through the west gate evening last.”

“If I came back through the west gate, as you claim, then I clearly wasn’t in the city.”

“But you were,” contradicted Tenuk. “Dylath-Leen encompasses Penia, although it’s outside the walls. Garood really should have mentioned that fact to you.”

“Garood? What does Garood have to do with it?”

Tenuk grunted; Oltahm chuckled.

“We know who paid you to assassinate Factor Sefu, Sombili,” said Tenuk. “I’d think you’d be more interested in protecting your own skin. You upset the wrong people.”

Tenuk leaned forward, his face only a hand’s breadth from Sombili’s.

“You know, the Council gave me a free hand here... and the punishment for assassination here in Dylath-Leen is death.”

Sombili spat on the floor but was silent, glaring.

“You tell us who hired you, right here in front of everyone, and you could escape that fate,” continued Tenuk. “Or I could put a dagger through your heart right now, if you prefer.”

“I’d be happy to take care of that for you, Captain,” said Oltahm, eyebrows lowered and brow furrowed.

“No, no, let’s see what Master Sombili has to say first.”

The room was quiet for several breaths, and then “It was Garood...”

“Thank you, Master Sombili. We knew it, but it’s always nice to have it out in the open, especially in front of so many witnesses, don’t you think?”

“Let me go now.”

“Of course, of course,” said Tenuk. “Just one more little matter to take care of first.

“Hold his right arm out flat on the bench,” he ordered.

Sombili struggled and kicked, but the two guards forced him into a kneeling position on the floor, with his right hand atop the bench.

“Off with his middle finger.”

“Captain! No, please!”

Without his middle finger he would be unable to shoot a strong bow, and probably any bow at all... his days as an archer would be over.

“Master Oltahm? Would you like to do the honors?”

“With pleasure, Captain, thank you,” said Oltahm, drawing his dagger and stepping forward.

“Captain, if I may offer a suggestion?” said Donn quietly.

They turned to see what he had to say.

“Do you suppose we might offer him his fingers in return for a promise to never visit Dylath-Leen again, and to kill the man who hired him?

“He just said that’s Garood...”

“He might have been telling the truth, or he might have just said what you wanted to hear. But Master Sombili surely knows who hired him, and he does have a reputation as an assassin who keeps his word. Surely it would be better to condemn his employer to death than the assassin, who is merely a tool.”

The scowl on Oltahm’s face grew darker, but he slowly nodded.

Captain Tenuk turned back to the assassin.

“Master Sombili? What say you?”

“My employer... I would hardly be bound by any promise made under threat of death.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” corrected Donn. “I’d be happy to pay the usual rate, half in advance and half on completion. A perfectly normal transaction, yes?”

“...yes... a perfectly normal transaction...”

“And I think we’d have to stipulate that the deed be carried out within, oh, a dozen days, shall we say?”

Sombili nodded.

“Well then, I believe this will seal the deal,” said Donn, pulling out his wallet and pouring a handful of gold Celephaïs crowns onto the table. “Would twenty now and twenty later be acceptable? I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with rates...”

“Fine,” agreed Sombili shortly.

“Excellent! Master Oltahm, if you would be so kind as to sheathe your dagger. And perhaps Captain Tenuk’s guards could let Master Sombili up again?”

“What’s going on here!?” came a roar from the doorway as a dozen men pushed their way into the inn, knocking the assembled guards out of the way.

They all turned to see what the commotion was.

“Donn! And Tenuk! This is Master Garood’s inn, you know that!”

“Well, well, Master Bokorh. Rude and noisy as always, I see,” smiled Captain Tenuk. “We were just enjoying a little breakfast here in this quaint inn; we had no idea that it was Master Garood’s private facility.”

“What are you doing with Sombili there?”

“Master Sombili? Oh, so you know each other? How strange; I wonder why.”

Captain Tenuk stood to face Bokorh, and the three groups of fighters in the room shifted stance in case things got dangerous. Captain Tenuk’s force and the city guards were on this same team this time, and outnumbered Bokorh’s troopers, but a cramped inn was not the best place for a swordfight... and Garood’s headquarters was just a stone’s throw away.

“Just having a little chat,” said Tenuk. “Maybe we’ll be going now, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He walked toward Bokorh, almost stepping on his toes before the ruffian finally gave way, letting the Captain and then his men leave the inn.

Oltahm and one of the other guards from the warehouse helped Donn outside, and up onto his horse.

A dozen more of Garood’s troopers had gathered outside, standing in the road but not attacking.

“Are we really done here?” asked Oltahm.

“I think so, yes,” replied Tenuk. “An excellent idea on Master Donn’s part, and excellent timing, too! Mount up, and let’s get back to the Council, shall we? Before Master Bokorh gets more upset with us.”

Bokorh and his troopers watched them ride back toward the center of town, leaving Garood’s slice of the city quiet once more.

- 5 -

Sefu’s funeral was held that afternoon, and of course Donn and Pensri were there, along with most of the people who had worked with Sefu at the warehouse. A number of other people were there as well: shopkeepers, merchants, a few ship captains and crew, Godsworn from a range of temples, and just common folk that he had helped in one way or another over the years. Many of the Council members had come, including Factor Bertram, he was happy to see.

He caught Bertram’s eye and they nodded to each other almost imperceptibly.

Godsworn Hangaram of Nath-Horthath and her acolytes had helped Oluhai cleanse and prepare Sefu’s body, and dress him.

Donn and Pensri passed through the marble gate, flanked by man-sized statues of lions on both sides, and into the temple courtyard. They looked up at the sheer wall of the temple rising in front of them, black basalt with streaks of a reddish rock running through. The lines of gold T’pictyl script running vertically down its face glinted in the afternoon sun.

The shelf just inside the gate was awash in flowers of every variety of hue.

They selected a few and carried them over to where Sefu lay.

He was lying on a bed of fresh reeds, surrounded by flowers of every kind, dressed in a long, multi-colored robe. Live, he had favored the clashing contrasts of traditional Pargite cloth, usually bold yellows and scarlets, but now he wore one far quieter: a gentle pattern of dark maroon and purple, tied with a black sash.

His eyes were closed, and he looked at peace.

The six acolytes, standing motionless guard around him at the apexes of a hexagon, each held a thick wood staff at an angle, leaning outwards, and from the top of the staff three chains held a dish-shaped censers of aromatic incense.

Donn laid his flowers atop Sefu’s chest, and stood silently for a moment with Pensri before turning to console Oluhai.

A gong reverberated through the courtyard and everyone turned toward the temple.

A black-robed woman emerged from the temple, clapping small wood sticks together and chanting a prayer in a tongue older than the Dreamands, placing one foot down deliberately, halting for a moment, than the other, and again, a solemn, sacred approach. Behind her followed Godsworn Hangaram, dressed in his formal dark red robe and half-black, half-white vest symbolizing Nath-Northath’s command of life and death. Another black-clad acolyte, a young man carrying a tray with a small hexagonal dish and a hammer, both of a silvery metal, brought up the rear.

They proceeded slowly until they reached Sefu’s body.

The Godsworn knelt and placed his hand on Sefu’s forehead, chanting a prayer as the censers at the four corners suddenly began billowing an acrid, black smoke full of ashes and grit.

The Godsworn’s chant rose louder and louder, and with it rose a wind, first gently caressing the flowers, but growing bolder and wilder with each passing second until it was a vortex, a thin whip of shrieking wind that danced and spat through the smoke and over the flowers, growing thinner and livelier, weaving and jumping as it tried to escape the invisible walls of the hexagon, spiraling and twisting up, up into the sky.

There was a flash of light from the reed bed, blinding the watchers for a moment, and when they opened their eyes again the Godsworn was kneeling alone on the paving stones: Sefu, the reed bed, and the flowers gone.

Donn felt something on his face. A wisp of fine ash. It fell around them in a faint mist, snow-white ash so fine it disintegrated when it touched the ground, leaving only the faintest trace of ozone.

Something sparkled on the ground in front of Hangaram.

Sefu’s soulstone was all that was left; the dross was gone, reclaimed by the Gods.

He reached out and picked it, cradling the milky sphere in his palm like something precious.

The young man stepped forward and knelt in front of the Godsworn, holding the metal dish in both hands, and Hangaram gently picked up the soulstone and placed it inside.

He stood, and turned to face Oluhai.

“Mistress Oluhai.”

Tear-tracks glistened on her cheeks but she walked forward bravely, and stopped facing the Godsworn.

“Mistress Oluhai, will you return Master Sefu to Nath-Horthath?”

If she used the orichalc hammer to shatter the soulstone Sefu’s spirit would return to the realm of the God of Life and Death.

“No, I cannot,” she said in a clear voice. “His death is yet unavenged, and I will need his assistance.”

“So be it,” said the Godsworn, and, taking the dish from the acolyte, held it out to her in his own two hands.

Donn had never refused to grant freedom to a soulstone. He had never really thought about the Gods in depth, simply accepting that they existed, and could sometimes be swayed and sometimes not. By shattering the soulstone, the soul of the dead could return to Nath-Horthath, to be reborn. To be trapped in a soulstone for all eternity seemed a fate literally worse than death.

And to die alone in the wild, or in battle and left for the ghouls meant that your soul was doomed to wander the realms forever, trapped between them and forever barred from oblivion or rebirth.

She accepted the dish, bowed, and stepped back, clutching the soulstone to her breast with both hands. Her children—Roth, her eldest, stood at her shoulder, not a tear on his taut face, while daughter Jessica hugged Oluhai from the other side, weeping with her.

Donn sighed.

Pensri took his arm to help him walk over to Oluhai, and he turned.

“Factor Chóng!”

The Factor was there with Gonville, with two quiet guards standing behind, eyes flashing left and right. Betsy, Sefu’s second-in-command, stood nearby.

“Master Donn, Mistress.”

“How did you...?”

“Airship, of course. Factor Sefu was a friend,” said Chóng, “I’m glad I was in time.”

He looked around at the thinning crowd, nodded to someone.

“Let me pay my respects to Mistress Oluhai, but we must talk.”

“Of course, Factor,” said Donn. “I’ll be at the warehouse.”

As the Factor walked over to Ouhai, greeting her as an old friend, Donn and Pensri passed through the temple gate. Pensri helped him up onto his horse.

“I’ll stay with Oluhai for now, Donn. Might be a day or two,” said Pensri.

“If she needs anything, just tell me and I’ll take care of it. And take care of yourself, too!”

“And you, Donn. And you.”

As Pensri returned to the temple, Oltahm walked up.

“Back to the warehouse, Master Donn?”

“Yes. Walk with me.”

“Glad to,” said the trooper, and grasped the halter of Donn’s horse, walking alongside. “She said she’d keep his soulstone until she had vengeance... is she going to get it?”

“Sombili’s a professional, right?”

“Yeah...”

“So if he breaks his oath, he’ll be pretty much out of work.”

“Well, yeah... except for lawless robbers.”

“You think someone with his sort of rep is going to risk that?”

Oltahm plodded in silence for a few paces.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. And he’d certainly like to add Garood’s name to his list of kills.”

“That was my thought exactly,” agreed Donn.

“And what if he fails?”

“Well, if he fails I imagine Garood will take care of Sombili instead.”

“Hmm. We get at least one of them. I’d rather both, but yeah, I’ll take it.”

Once they were safely inside the walls of Chóng’s warehouse, Oltahm helped Donn off the horse and into the building.

His leg was so painful he abandoned the idea of going up and relaxing on the couch there, instead collapsing on a barrel of olive oil.

He massaged his leg but it didn’t help.

The box of Trooper’s Friends he’d received from Betsy was still in his bag. He pulled it out and set one of the ugly red-and-brown slugs onto his arm. It sensed the warm blood and sang its fang-rimmed mouth into the flesh immediately, pulsating as it sucked in Donn’s fresh blood.

The pain began to fade almost immediately, the sharpest pangs softened to until he could relax his jaw again. It never stopped, though, not any more... he’d need at least two of the disgusting bloodsuckers, maybe three, to stop feeling it entirely.

Not today, though.

Not after Sefu’s funeral.. it was painful to say goodbye to such a close friend as Sefu had been, and he just didn’t feel it would be right to deaden his feelings now, pushing that grief away.

He hated it, hated the grief and the loss and the death, but he needed to feel it to properly grieve, and honor his friend.

Maybe later.

He sat there for a few minutes, eyes closed, just enjoying the peace and calm that the Trooper’s Friend had brought. Without the constant pain gnawing and biting at him, he could think.

For Garood to actually start assassinating people... that was a big step. It would terrify some of the smaller councilors and might drive them to support Garood’s bid for admission, but at the same time the more powerful, well-established ones would increase their efforts to bring him under control and ensure stability in the city.

Nobody wanted a fight—it interfered with profits.

It was an opportunity, actually, because now that everything was in flux there was a good chance he could shake loose some of Garood’s supporters, and maybe even convince some of them to take action in response.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and opened his eyes.

It was Nels, the young boy who worked at the warehouse.

“Brought you some tea, Master Donn.”

He thanked Nels and picked the cup up from the tray.

“Are Mistress Betsy and Factor Chóng back yet?”

“Mistress Betsy’s up in the office; she got back a little while ago. I haven’t seen the Factor yet, though.”

“I suppose I must go tell her I’m here,” he grumbled, struggling to his feet.

“That won’t be necessary, Master Donn,” came Betsy’s voice. “I was just coming to find you.”

Swaying a bit, he turned to greet her.

“Please, sit,” she gestured. “We can talk here as well as upstairs.”

Donn sat down again heavily, and glanced at the Trooper’s Friends.

They were quite swollen now, and approaching the point of egg release.

“Do you have a taper handy? Or incense?”

“Of course,” she said. “Nels! Bring a lit incense stick.”

The boy ran off but was back before they even had a chance to settle down, Donn on the barrel of olive oil and Betsy on a nearby pile of rice sacks.

“Thank you, Master Nels.”

With the glowing incense it was a simple matter to remove the slug, and he dropped it back into the box.

Betsy made no effort to help.

“Disgusting things.”

“That they are, but even disgusting slugs have their uses,” he said. “Unlike my leg, which now is of no use whatsoever.”

She cleared her throat, looking away for a moment.

“If you need anything from me, Mistress,” he began, “just let me know. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent Factor.”

She looked at him and pursed her lips in hesitation.

“You should really hear this from Factor Chóng, but he’s asked me to become the factor for Baharna. He plans to ask someone else to take over here."

"Is there anyone else who can handle the job?"

She just looked at him.

“That’s why I said you should really hear it from the Factor.”

Donn was silent for a moment.

“Me!? No, no, that’s just not possible. I have my own business to run, and I couldn’t possibly be a proper factor with this leg.”

“I think you’d make a far better factor than I would,” she said quietly. “You’ve taught me at least as much as Sefu did over the years, and you have a lot more connections here.”

“Oh, hush. That simply won’t happen,” he assured her. “I’ll be sorry to see you off to Baharna, but I’ve no doubt you can handle it. Factor Chóng will just have to find someone else here.”

There was a loud cough from nearby, and they both looked up.

Chóng and Gonville were standing there.

“I see you’ve already filled Master Donn in,” said the Factor. “I’m not sure the middle of a busy warehouse floor was the best place to do it, but it’s done.

“Instead of forcing you to use the stairs, though, suppose we just use my airship?”

He sent Gonville to signal the airship, and directed Betsy to clear a space in the yard for it to land.

“The airship steps are quite a bit shorter than the warehouse’s, and once we’re up we can talk in private.”

The airship took off a few minutes later, with Factor Chóng, Donn, Betsy, and Gonville on the main deck.

- 6 -

Chóng had been very convincing, and Donn agreed with him that the situation in Dylath-Leen was extremely important. The city was a key hub for Chóng’s trading empire, and on a more personal level it was where Donn and his family lived.

It had been a whirlwind week: learning all the details of Sefu’s business; making sure he knew everyone, including employees, customers, and suppliers; doing his best to protect Penia by officially moving into the city proper himself; and meeting with Factor Bertram several times to make sure they were coordinating their activities effectively.

He’d written two long, detailed messages and sent them back to Penia with Pensri, who would give one to Hakim, and send the other on to Djimon Jasque and Sadiki in Zretazoola. Among other things, he needed to get a network of dragolets set up between the three of them. That meant transporting male dragolets from mated pairs to each location—when released, the male would fly back to where he’d left his mate. It made it impossible to use them to fly messages anywhere, but where the destination was fixed they were an excellent choice, especially since the three locations were quite close to each other: a dragolet could fly any of the routes in half a day at most.

He’d also promoted Oltahm to sergeant, giving him command over the guard force. For whatever reason, Sefu hadn’t appointed a sergeant after the first one had been killed mysteriously one night on patrol, taking direct command himself. Donn was more than happy to give Oltahm free rein... he trusted the man, and delegating command would give him more time to spend on other things.

Betsy had been invaluable, helping him fill in the gaps in his understanding.

He already knew the trade, of course, and most of the customers and suppliers, but as he and Chóng had been, at times, competitors, Sefu had kept a lot of the details to himself. As he learned both sides of the story, he chuckled at how he had outwitted Sefu now and then, and laughed with delight when he found how Sefu how outwitted him.

Betsy was off to Baharna the next day, leaving him with a good idea of what he needed to knew, a somewhat hazy idea of how to best go about it, and a memory stick with a verbal lock.

Garood would have known soon enough that Donn had taken over, so he made a point of attending the next meeting of the Council, and introducing himself as Sefu’s successor, representing Factor Chóng. Bertram acknowledged him, of course, but the rest of the Councilors stayed icily polite and distant. He already knew many of them through long years of trade in the city, but Donn the trader was a very different person than Councilor Donn One-Leg.

Nobody called him One-Leg to his face, but he heard it now and again in conversation. It wasn’t the most flattering nickname, but at least it was true.

Still, he made the rounds, meeting and greeting every Councilor and stressing that he wanted to work with all of them to better Dylath-Leen, and incidentally their own profits. The ones that didn’t know him certainly knew of him, and he was confident he could start meaningful conversations with most of the them in the near future. He needed to get a better feel for what each thought about Garood and Bertram.

The Council Hall was an ornate stone building, built of the same black basalt as the city walls and many of its buildings, but unlike their stark, angular forms it boasted larger-than-life bas reliefs of various gods and heroes on its walls.

A spacious roofed area in front of the enormous double bronze doors of the main entrance made sure the Councilors would stay dry as they walked from carriage to Council Hall, or back. On one side of the roofed area Old Tormak’s shop offered a selection of fine food and drink for the Councilors or their aides. He pulled his tall cart there every morning, dropping one side to create a low shop counter, with his wares and a tiny kitchen inside.

Donn had been one of Old Tormak’s customers for years, and made sure to visit him again now that he was a Councilor. He had a few things they needed to talk about, too.

Back at the warehouse, he was exhausted and his leg throbbed with pain. He needed three or four Trooper’s Friends to banish it now, and when he was taut with stress and lack of sleep even they didn’t wipe it all away.

He picked up the memory stick once again, turning it over in his hands.

Sefu had stored something on it, but even Betsy didn’t know what. She suspected it was his most secret information.

It had been locked with a spell and would require the spoken key to open. Betsy, unfortunately, didn’t know the key.

It would be easy enough to have someone remove the lock, but more than likely that would also destroy whatever information Sefu had put on it. Donn decided to wait before taking that gamble, in the hope that he might guess the word to unlock it.

Nothing he tried worked. Betsy had tried, too, with the same result.

He wanted to ask Chóng if he had any ideas, but Factor Chóng had flown back to Lhosk the same day as the funeral, after they’d talked.

He wondered once again why Chóng hadn’t put a portal here in Dylath-Leen… it was one of the four major port trading cities, and the other three had them. Chóng had avoided answering, for whatever reason.

“Master Nels, would you get the sergeant for me?”

“Yes, Factor,” said the lad, and scurried out.

Oltahm came almost instantly; it was a short walk now. Donn had had a temporary office set up on the first floor of the warehouse, taking over what had been one of the guards’ rooms. The displaced guards had moved upstairs, taking over what had been the Factor’s office there. Oltahm was going to change a few things around to provide better protection, but at least he could do his work now without having to walk up and down those triple-damned stairs.

“Yes, Factor?”

“Sergeant, I haven’t been able to unlock this memory stick. Factor Betsy couldn’t do it either. I want to ask Oluhai if she’s got any suggestions; she knew him better than I did.”

“You want me to fetch her?”

“No, of course not! I want to go and ask her myself.”

“Sorry. Horse or carriage?”

“Just horse is fine, unless you think the carriage is necessary.”

Donn hated riding in the carriage. It was safer against arrows, to be sure, but he disliked being cooped up, and especially hated not being able to see anything.

Oltahm thought for a moment.

“Carriage, I think. I’d rather not lose you to an arrow, too.”

“And you might send someone to be sure she’s there, and let her know I’m coming.”

“I’ll take care of it, sir,” said Oltahm, and left.

The carriage and escort were ready to go in about twenty minutes. Oltahm handed command of the warehouse guards to Reciroh, whom they’d both come to trust after that ill-fated journey to Zretazoola. She had proven herself more than capable of handling the job.

Sergeant Oltahm on his own horse was joined by three other mounted guards, and another two guards the carriage. They all wore mail, of course. Oltham insisted that Donn wear it too.

Donn sat by himself inside the carriage, shades down, as the group moved out of the walled warehouse and onto the city streets, hooves clopping on the paving stones.

They left the wharf area and headed toward the wealthier eastern extent of the city.

Oltahm guided his horse up close to the carriage, speaking in a low voice that only Donn could hear.

“Sure enough, we’ve got a tail. Looks like Pailaro, but there’s probably more of them watching the warehouse.”

“Pailaro... he’s one of the three that came out to Penia searching for Sadiki, and stabbed by wife.”

“He stabbed your wife!? But...”

Don shushed him.

“We’re not in the habit of killing people if we can avoid it, even people like Pailaro. We called a Truthing, and it ended up with Reeve Brukah sentencing the three of them to death if they ever set forth in Penia again.”

“I’m sort of surprised he really cared what he was threatened with...” mused Oltahm.

“You’ve never heard about how House Penia protects itself, I gather?”

“Never really cared, to be honest.”

“You know most of the people living there are either ex-slaves or their families, right?”

“Yeah...”

“And a lot of them were troopers at one time or another. When something happens, everyone in the whole valley assembles. That’s a lot of big, strong people, and I’d hate to face them myself without a couple dozen troopers at my back.

“We’ve a gallows set up near the village square, too.”

“Hmm. I see. Like a hive of army ants.”

Donn chuckled.

“Not that many of us, but we’re bigger. We take care of robbers and such quite handily by ourselves,” explained Donn. “Garood is rather more of a problem because he commands considerable force, but Factor Bertram helps there. We’d have plenty of warning, at least, if not actual assistance.”

“Is that why you moved the shelter out there?”

“Part of it, yes. The shelter needs more space, and the people there will certainly appreciate the fresh air and food of the countryside. The old center is still here in the city for people working here, but most of the children should really be in Penia, where they’re safe.

“And having the Council assign some guards there helps, too.”

“Too damn bad they weren’t there when Sefu took that trip,” muttered Oltahm.

“The forest between the city and Penia is still dangerous,” said Donn. “We need regular patrols through there, and maybe even a guardhouse.”

“Have you talked to Bertram about that?”

“Not yet... too much to do right now, and I doubt he’s in the mood anyway.”

Oltahm snorted.

“He’s not one to take kindly to any suggestion he spend more money.”

“No, I don’t imagine he is. Factor Chóng, however, may be.”

“You think he might get directly involved in Council business? That’s a pretty big step.”

“He’s got his fingers in a lot more pies than I’ve got fingers; who knows?” said Donn. “But I think he’s been in close communication with Bertram about Garood, and no doubt other things.”

“That would stir things up in the city for sure.”

“That it would,” agreed Donn. “That it would.”

They fell silent for a moment, then Oltahm spoke up again.

“Factor Sefu’s home is just ahead. Excuse me.”

“Go ahead, Sergeant. I’ll be fine.”

Oltahm nodded briefly and cantered ahead to check that everything was safe at Sefu’s house. His widow, Oluhai, should be waiting.

A few minutes later Donn was kneeling in front of the family altar, his palms pressed together and head bowed in prayer. Smoke twirled up from the incense in a lazy spiral.

He finished his prayer and raised his eyes to the altar.

It was made ofs some dark wood, decorated with detailed carvings of plants and animals, with Nath-Horthath’s face looking down from the top. The shelf was covered with dishes full of all sorts of food and three porcelain cups—one of water, one of tea, and the last of Sefu’s favorite Cydathrian brandy. In the middle of the shelf, surrounded by the food and drink, was a small wooden bowl holding his soulstone, glinting in the candle light.

“Thank you, Factor Donn,” said Oluhai, helping him rise to his feet and hobble to the nearby couch. He collapsed with a grunt of relief.

“I miss Master Sefu deeply, Mistress,” he started. “He was a fine man, and a friend.”

One of the servants brought in a tea set and served them both a delicious Selarn broadleaf.

“He spoke of you often,” she replied. “And Factor Chóng, of course, but I don’t think he was ever as close to the Factor as he was to you. And dear Mistress Pensri.”

“I’m sorry she had to return to Penia,” apologized Donn. “Once a few things are cleared up, though, she’ll be able to spend more time with you here.”

“It’s alright, Factor Donn, she has her own life to lead. There’s no need to—”

“You’re a friend, Mistress. Of course we’ll help.”

“Thank you,”, she nodded, eyes glistening. “But you’re a busy man, and I doubt you came here just to comfort me.”

Donn sighed.

“Unfortunately, no. Sefu left a memory stick,” he said, pulling it out of his wallet. “I’ve tried every word I can think of and cannot unlock it... I was hoping you might have an idea. There is much that even Mistress Betsy did not know, and it would be enormously helpful if some of it were here.”

“Perhaps I can help,” she said, holding out her hand. “What will become of Mistress Betsy? I assumed she would become factor after Sefu.”

“Factor Chóng asked her to become factor at Baharna, and I think she’s glad at the chance. She already knows the territory, and will be able to develop it afresh, without concern as to what Sefu would have wanted.”

“You enjoy that same freedom, I note.”

“I do. But until I know why Sefu did some of the things he did...”

“I see...”

She turned it over in her hands, not really looking at it, but rubbing it gently.

“We lost our first child, you know,” she said softly, looking at a tapestry on the wall. “I was yet young, and she was born too soon. She died only hours later.

“Sefu and I were shattered, and it took years before we felt confident enough give it a second chance. There was Roth, and later Jessica, but we never forgot Rianna. And we never spoke of her to anyone else.”

She handed the memory stick back to Donn, then pulled a small cloth bag from inside her shirt. It was hanging around her neck on a cord. She opened it and rolled a soulstone out onto her open palm.

“She has been alone for so long,” she whispered, “but soon Sefu can finally be with her.”

She reached out and placed it on the same ornate stand as Sefu’s own soulstone.

“Her name was Rianna.”

He felt the memory stick grow warm in his hand.

“Thank you, Mistress Oluhai,” he said. “Sefu will have his vengeance soon, I promise you, and both may pass into Nath-Horthath’s hands.”

She swung her eyes back to capture Donn’s.

“Soon?”

“Soon,” he nodded. “Very soon.”

She nodded in return, then silently rose and left the room.

The maidservant showed them out.

* * *

Sefu had filled the memory stick with countless details of what secret deals he had made, what confidential information he had received and from whom, what payments had been made off the books, and everything else that only he would have known.

There were a few things that Chóng needed to know, but on the whole it was full of the sorts of things any good trader would be doing. Sefu kept better records than most, probably because he had nothing in particular to hide from Chóng if ever asked.

It turned out that he had been keeping an emergency fund, just in case something happened, together with Betsy. Donn quietly checked to see that the gold was still there, just on the off chance that Betsy might have taken it, but it was safe. He decided to mention that to Factor Chóng—she had been a big help to him once he took over, and reporting her honesty to Chóng was one way to say thanks.

Between Sefu’s spy network, mostly shopkeepers and merchants throughout the city, and his own network of servants and slaves, Donn now controlled what was undoubtedly the most extensive intelligence network in the city. He’d have to arrange to meet some of these people—he already knew some of them through his own business transactions—and reassure them that even though he had replaced Sefu, they were invaluable and still safe with him. Some of that emergency fund would probably be needed to reassure them, he thought.

He could fit together more fragmentary bits of information now, too, which would make it much easier to give Bertram what he needed. And knowing more about what everyone else was doing would pay off when it came to business, too.

Already he’d seen one place where he could make a healthy profit connecting someone who had a product with someone who was looking for a new supplier.

He’d sat down with Oltahm and they’d talked—argued, mostly—about how Donn could get out and meet everyone he needed to meet without dragging along a contingent of armed guards. Many people, not surprisingly, felt il at ease when a lot of big troopers with big swords were standing at their backs, and Donn needed their trust.

Finally they decided that Donn would just wear one of the reinforced mail shirts, with steel plates sewn into the front and back for additional protection. He was accompanied by Oltahm and one other guard, usually a young woman from Daikos named Frei. Even Donn had to admit she didn’t seem very dangerous, although anyone taking a closer look at her well-used sword and dagger would realize the truth.

Sergeant Oltahm dressed a little differently, too, at Donn’s request: he still wore mail, of course, but now it was mostly hidden under a cotton jacket. He looked quite a bit fatter and hated it.

Today he had to visit the Temple of the Unwanted.

He’d almost always gone there every time he visited Dylath-Leen, and he kept up the practice now that he was a Councilor. No schedule, but about once a week. Today was a little different, because he’d be meeting someone there.

The three of them—Donn, Oltahm, and Frei—rode out of the warehouse at a leisurely walk, riding through the passers-by on the wharf, and into the city proper. It was the early afternoon, and the streets were quieter than usual as many people relaxed after lunch, resting or napping. The horses still had to weave around pedestrians, street vendors, horses and raptors, and even a few deinos, but for the most part the riders could leave it all up to the horses, who were experienced enough to take most everything in stride.

They all dismounted at the small doorway that opened up to the Temple’s alley. It was the only way there, as far as most people knew, and Frei stayed there to see that no-one else went in until Donn and Oltahm came out again.

Oltahm and Donn walked down the narrow alley and around the bend to enter the Temple. The grounds were deserted except for a single man kneeling in front of the low table. He wore a grey-brown robe, straw sandals and a straw hat low over his eyes, hiding his features in shade.

Oltahm stayed by the gate as Donn limped over to wait his turn at the table

The kneeling man ignored Donn, lightning another stick of incense, waving it to extinguish the flame, and standing it up in the holder. He bent his head in prayer once again, and in the shadow of his hood, signed with his fingers.

I met with Old Tormak, and he’s accepted the payment. He’ll take a vacation for a few weeks, or until we tell him to come back.

Good, signed Donn, scratching his cheek. When will you be set up?

Noon tomorrow. Have to have lunch ready, after all.

The cart is ready?

Everything’s ready to go. Give me three seconds to grab the rope and they’re gone.

Anything else? queried Donn

Nope. Just the waiting, now.

Take care, Hakim.

You too, replied the man as he rose and left the temple enclosure.

Donn knelt in his place to light his own incense and offer a prayer.

He glanced into the donations dish. Three of the strange pyramidal silver coins of Sona Nyl glittered in the afternoon sunlight.

He dropped a handful of his own coins to join them and rose again, limping back to join Oltahm at the gate.

* * *

Donn was staying at the warehouse, in temporary quarters adjoining his office on the ground floor. The guards he’d kicked out had taken over the Factor’s office upstairs. He still dropped by The Spitting Tabby regularly, though, often with Oltahm.

Lately he’d begun taking young Nels, the office boy, with him. The lad lived with his mother and six siblings—there was no father, apparently. The boy took his pay, meager as it was, home for his mother, and was clearly underfed. Donn gave him a pay raise, bought him clothes, and took him out for a full meal fairly often.

Tonight was one of those nights, and Sergeant Oltahm and Trooper Frei were along, too.

Oltahm said that he tagged along because he was hungry, but Donn noticed the way he scanned the streets as they rode, and scanned the tavern when they got there. Frei laughed as easily and tousled Nels’ hair, but her eyes danced around as much as Oltahm’s.

The Spitting Tabby was lit by a number of oil lanterns, scattered about on the walls and tables.

There was one of Donn’s table, as there always was. Rolf, the innkeeper, always held it for him.

“Four meals, Master Rolf,” he called as they trooped in, “and four ales!”

“Evening, Master Donn. Right away!”

Nels was probably the youngest person in the tavern, but he was learning to drink with the rest. Donn figured he was about ten or eleven, and big for his age. Smart, strong, willing... he’d go far.

Rachel, one of Rolf’s waitresses, brought the ales right away.

“Here you go, Master. Your food’ll be along right quick.”

Oltahm grabbed two of the mugs, handing one to Frei, and Rachel handed the other two to Donn and Nels.

“Thank you, Mistress,” said Nels politely, bobbing his head.

The other three echoed his thanks, and Rachel was off to the next patron.

“Fine woman, that,” said Oltahm to nobody in particular, watching her walk away, then grunted in pain as Frei elbowed him in the side.

“Didn’t you say that the red-head over at Bell’s place was the love of your life?”

“Ah, she was, she was,” grinned Oltahm. “But that was last week!”

She snorted, and took a gulp from her mug.

“Too strong for you, lad?”

Nels took another small sip.

“No, Factor, just drinking it slowly.”

Donn smiled.

“No hurry, Nels. Or tea if you like.”

“I’m fine, Factor, thank you.”

The skewered fish and bowls of rice with spicy chicken-and-greens on top showed up shortly, and they fell to eating and chatting about the trivial things. A pair of redwings had built a nest outside one of the second-floor windows, revealed Nels, and talk turned to birds of city and country.

“Excuse me for a moment,” said Donn, rising to his feet. “Nature calls.”

Oltahm started to stand, but Donn waved him down again.

“It’s fine, Sergeant. Even Garood would not strike someone relieving themselves.”

Oltahm cocked his head but sat back down, and watched Donn’s progress across the room toward the rear door. It opened into the back alley and its rough latrine. There was a less fragrant one in the inn itself, but the alley was much closer than walking all the way to the inn side of the building.

It was cool outside, a scattering of stars visible in the sliver of sky left between protruding roofs.

He stood at the open latrine and relieved some of the pressure in his bladder.

A dark figure approached silently in the darkness, standing right next to him, and proceeding to follow suit.

“Garood has something planned for tonight,” the figure said. It was a man’s voice. “At the warehouse. Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”

“My thanks,” whispered Donn, and walked back toward the tavern rearranging his clothes.

The others were still talking and drinking, and the empty plates had been cleared away.

“I’m a bit tired, I think,” he said. “I hate to break it up but I think I’ll be off to bed.”

“Your leg again, Factor?” asked Oltahm.

“Yes. Would you give me a hand, Sergeant?”

“Of course,” replied Oltahm, and rose to support Donn’s arm. “Be back in a few minutes. Don’t drink all my ale!”

Frei laughed.

“Leaving me with the tab again, are you?”

As they left the tavern and entered the inn, Donn warned Oltahm what he had heard.

“Get back to the warehouse and get everyone ready. I’d expect fire, but there’s no way of telling what he might have planned.”

“Yes, Factor. But what about you? I’m sure he knows you’re staying here tonight...”

“I’m riding out the back gate the same time you ride out the front. Send Frei and Nels to the warehouse. You meet me at the public bath in front of the Potters’ Market. We can go back to the warehouse together.”

“I’ll get everybody moving right now, Factor,” said Oltahm. “Watch yourself.”

Donn motioned Rolf over and explained that he needed to borrow a horse, and asked him to look after his own steed for a day or two.

The innkeeper agreed readily, and in a few minutes Don slipped out the back and onto a waiting horse.

“The others just left. Seemed to be quite drunk, actually.”

“They’re not,” said Donn shortly. “Thank you, Master Rolf.”

He twitched the reins and clattered into the shadows toward the Pottters’ Market.

He met up with Oltahm without difficulty and they raced back to the warehouse.

The warehouse was buzzing, everyone up and alert. The torches were lit, guards posted, wood stable walls doused and dripping, and more.

“Should we get the horses out?”

“…I don’t know…”

He looked at Oltahm.

“We might need them, you know… if things go badly.”

“I agree,” replied Oltahm. “For now.”

“Go,” waved Donn. “I’ll be here.”

Oltahm left to check the defenses, leaving Donn alone in his office on the first floor.

The office staff was gone for the night, leaving only the guards, so they were ready quickly.

In a remarkably short time the warehouse facility was as ready as they could make it, and all fell quiet, listening.

Minutes passed, birds calling in the night, echoes of a distant lovers’ quarrel from the rooftops.

A clattering of hooves… a horse was approaching, and fast!

Donn stood, head cocked, listening as they approached.

Shouts from above, Oltahm calling out commands, a few archers running to the wall on that side.

The horse didn’t even slow down, but raced past the warehouse, down the alley, and away again.

There was a crash from upstairs as something flew in the window and smashed into a wall.

“Fire!” shouted someone.

Running feet, more shouts, guards hoisting buckets of water to rush upstairs.

More shouts, then everyone stopped running, low conversation.

“OK, everyone back to your posts,” came Sergeant Oltahm’s voice. “It wasn’t fire this time, but they might be back.”

He clumped down the stairs carrying a large object wrapped in a rice sack, and showed it to Donn.

“It wasn’t a firebomb, Factor, just a message.”

He tugged the rice sack and let the contents roll out onto the floor.

It was Sombili’s head.

- 7 -

They waited for the firebombs to come, but there was only silence, and after half an hour of tension they decided that nothing more was going to happen. Oltahm let everyone go except the regular night watch, and the warehouse buildings gradually fell silent once again.

Donn flew a dragolet to Penia immediately, warning the family that the situation in the city was getting tense. He’d already taken a few precautions to protect House Penia and the family, but it was impossible to tell what Garood might do, or when.

Surprisingly, he had a response in less than an hour.

From Noor, it was short and to the point:

I was just writing you myself.

Relieved you are safe. So are we.

More tomorrow.

Noor

Since dragolet notes could be intercepted and read, they were almost always written in code. This one was not, but the information it held was useless to anyone but him.

He wondered why she didn’t detail the “more” immediately instead of waiting for the morrow, but figured she just didn’t want to both with encoding in the middle of the night.

He sat down and took a sip of his now-cold tea, finally able to relax now that he knew everyone was alright.

As his adrenaline ebbed the pain came back. It seemed worse than ever, perhaps because he’d forgotten it for a few hours.

Gritting his teeth he reached for the box of Trooper’s Friends and pulled out a handful. By touch he flicked back the fat ones—the ones still plump with his blood—leaving only a few hungry slugs. If they were female and had already been fertilized, they began releasing eggs into the bloodstream after they were replete. And once they injected eggs into someone it almost always meant death.

He’d have to get more of the damned things, he thought. Too many were too well-fed, and he was beginning to have trouble finding hungry ones that weren’t dangerous. He needed more these days, too: it took four or five at a time now.

Already he could feel the pain receding, slipping away so he couldn’t feel it anymore. It was still there, but it was farther away, somewhere else... He gave a sigh and closed his eyes in relief.

“...Factor! Factor Donn!”

“Huh? Wha...?”

He snapped awake.

Someone was standing at the door. He squinted.

It was Reciroh.

Behind her the morning sun was shining in the high windows.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled, trying to snap out of his haze. “Just resting my eyes for a minute.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Been a long night,” he said, straightening his tunic. “What is it?”

“The Merry Widow is docking now, from Aphorat and Baharna. You said you wanted to be notified.”

“Ah, yes, thank you. I’ll be right there.”

He sat up and reached for his cup of tea.

The tunic sleeve fell from his extended arm, and he saw the row of angry, red sores along it.

The Trooper’s Friends!

Damn!

He’d been so exhausted he’d fallen asleep with them still on his arm!

They were lying on the table, fat and sated with his blood.

He collected them and dumped them back into the box.

They’d taken so much blood they fell off by themselves.

Had any of them been pregnant females?

Did he even now have fatal eggs flowing through his blood, searching for his liver? Had they already begun to build their little hidey holes there, eating into his flesh and condemning him to a slow death?

He rubbed his face.

Stubble.

Have to shave, too.

He felt weak, too weak to think properly.

“Nels!”

The boy popped up in seconds; he must have been waiting just outside the door.

“Nels, run down to the kitchen and get me some breakfast—eggs’d be good—and some hot spiced tea, will you?”

“Right away, sir!” came the reply, bright and bubbly, and he was gone.

A short while later he walked down to the wharf where the Merry Widow was just dropping her gangplank. Chóng’s double-crescent flag, his glyph in the center, flapped and snapped in the sea breeze.

The crew and longshoremen were already hustling cargo out of the hold, worked copper and brass from Cydathria, and smaller crates holding the delicate porcelain of Baharna and the fragrant resin of Oriab’s inner groves, perhaps with a few finely decorated glass bottles of perfume.

Captain Celi was watching the workers from the forecastle, keeping a careful eye on everything but leaving the shouting up to his first mate.

“Captain!”

Celi turned to nod at Donn, and wave him aboard. She hurried down to meet him.

“Factor Donn!” she said, helping from the gangplank to the deck. “Good to see you again!”

“And you, Captain. Safe voyage?”

“Fine, smooth sailing all the way. And with dolphins to keep us company, too.”

“Good, good.”

“So you’re the factor here now... And we’ve got a new factor in Baharna. Betsy seems to know what she’s doing, even if she is still learning.”

“She’s sharp, Captain. No worries there. Once she understands her suppliers and local demand I think you can expect some big changes out there. And big growth, too.”

“That’s fine with me. I’ve been around the Grim Forest so many times I’ve lost count, and I’ll keep doing it as long as the Cirque carries me.”

Donn scowled.

“The Grim Forest... I’m never going near that again if I can help it!”

Captain Celi raised her eyebrow.

“Something happen?”

“You know the Nausheen, under Yan of Rokol? We lost our rudder and the mainmast. Hakim, Katerina, Abbas, and I got swept overboard, and ended up in the Grim Forest.”

He stopped for a moment, eyes fixed on the ocean’s distant horizon, then shook his head slightly.

“Doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Here some pretty incredible stories about the Grim Forest,” mused Captain Celi, running her hand over her close-shaven head and checking that her single pigtail was still neat. “Don’t think I’d like half of them to be true.”

“Some of them are.

“But let me see your cargo list, Captain!”

She straightened up, the air cleared suddenly.

“Of course, Factor,” she said, and pulled a few sheets of paper from her pocket. “Please, sit, and let me tell you what I’ve got.”

They sat on a low bench to talk as the unloading continued.

* * *

Shu arrived in the early afternoon.

He was in the big wagon they often used to bring crops to market, but this time the bed was covered with corn stalks, a thick blanket of leaves hiding the load. Four Penia villagers accompanied him, one on the wagon and the other three on horseback.

They were all armed.

Donn heard the guards at the gate letting Shu onto the grounds and immediately limped outside to greet him.

As soon as Shu saw him he stopped the wagon and hopped off.

“Donn! You’re alright?”

“Fine, fine,” said Donn, smiling. “Just Garood trying to scare me, and that’s never worked very well.”

“Nope, you don’t scare. I wish you would, though, sometimes, instead of sticking your neck out all the time!”

“He’s just a petty thief with delusions of grandeur, no problem.

“Noor made it sound like something happened at home too...?”

The smile drained from Shu’s face.

“Yes, something did. We took care of it, or rather, Jasque’s family took care of it.”

He pulled some of the corn stalks aside to reveal that the wagon was full of bodies. Troopers, by the looks of them.

“What...?”

“Garood’s men. twelve of them came at night to torch the village and our house. They never made it through the forest.”

“So Jasque got my message, then!” smiled Donn. “Excellent.”

“The Motonga deserve their reputation. The poison they use on their blowpipe darts acts almost instantaneously, and the blowpipes themselves are very quiet. Thimba—he’s in charge of the Motongas—said they didn’t even have time to try to ride to safety. They were happy to repay part of the debt they owe you for Sadiki.”

“Who know who they are?”

“I recognized Bokorh. Glad he’s out of the way, at least. You might recognize a few others.”

“So Bokorh’s gone, is he,” said Donn. “Well, losing his whole twelve will certainly ruin Garood’s day. And Bokorh to boot!”

He turned to the guard standing nearby.

“Get Sergeant Oltahm, would you? And have a freight wagon brought—one of the old ones.”

The guard ran off and Donn sat down, heavily, on one of the wagon wheels.

“Are you really alright? You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, yeah, just a little tired, that’s all,” said Donn. “Lots of excitement lately.”

“How’s the leg?”

“Nothing serious, hurts a little once in a while.”

“Uh-huh,” mused Shu, unconvinced. “You still using Trooper’s Friends?”

“Yeah, sure, when I need them. Just sometimes.”

The conversation was cut short as Sergeant Oltahm walked up.

“Factor?”

“Sergeant, you know my husband Shurala Tokarra, right?”

“Master Shurala, good to see you again,” responded Oltahm. “Yes, we’ve met a number of times.”

“Last night a twelve of Garood’s men tried to torch the village and our home,” said Donn. “They failed.”

He waved his hand toward the wagon, and Oltahm stepped closer to peer inside.

“That’s Bokorh!”

“Yes it is.”

“What happened?”

“Like I said, they failed,” repeated Donn. “I’d like you to deliver them to Garood.”

“Deliver them?”

“I don’t think any message is needed. Just put them on that empty wagon your man is bringing up, and leave the wagon in front of Garood’s place. Or in front of The Gilded Bush, for that matter.

“He’ll know who it’s from.”

“All twelve? How many did you lose?”

“None,” said Shu. “None at all.”

“Damn! Garood’s gonna be pissed, to say the least.”

“To say the least,” agreed Donn. “Hopefully this will convince him to stop trying to kill people, but I doubt it.”

“Did you tell Factor Bertram about this?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

Oltahm gave a low whistle.

“Twelve, and no losses... you Penia people don’t play around, do you?”

“We can’t afford to, Sergeant. Too many people want us dead.”

>* * *

Two days later it was time for the regular meeting of the City Council. This would be Donn’s third meeting, once as a candidate and (soon) twice as a Councilor.

He expected Garood to make his play today, and Factor Bertram agreed. Between them they had a very good intelligence network in the city, and they’d heard similar rumors from multiple sources. Neither one of them had been able to get hold of someone in Garood’s inner circle, because he only trusted a very few close people who had been with him for decades.

“None of us are allowed to bring bodyguards or weapons into the Council Hall, Sergeant Oltahm,” he said, “but I’d like you to stay close and be ready to break in if necessary.”

“You’ve got the whistle?”

“Hanging around my neck right now,” smiled Donn, patting his chest. “Everyone’s ready?”

“There will be a dozen troopers waiting nearby; they can be there in a minute.”

“I hope none of this will be necessary, but Bertram and I both hear that something’s going to happen.”

“We’ll be ready, Factor.”

As they dismounted and walked toward the Council Hall, leaving their horses to the stable hands there, Factor Bertram and his Captain Tenuk rode up with a dozen. Donn stopped and waited for the Council head to join him.

“Good morning, Factor.”

“And to you, Factor Donn. How’s the leg?”

“Terrible, as always,” grimaced Donn, shaking his cane in emphasis. “But here I am.”

“Thank you. It might be an interesting day today, it seems...”

They walked to the door together, Tenuk and Oltahm walking behind them. The doors were enormous, made of bronze and covered in a bas relief of a phoenix covering both doors. Rather than open the heavy bronze doors, normally only used for very special ceremonial occasions, a smaller wooden door to the size was open.

Hakim’s stall was half a dozen meters to the side, turned so the display of food and drink was visible to anyone entering or leaving the Hall. Hakim caught Donn’s eye but they didn’t acknowledge each other’s presence. Hakim’s cart was quite tall, fitted with wooden doors and shelves all over.

“So nice of you to wait for me!” came a voice from the street.

They turned to see Garood approaching alone, a group of his ruffians standing some distance away.

“Just the two I wanted to see!” he continued. “Factor Donn, I wanted to thank you for leaving me such a fine gift the other day.”

Donn stood silent.

“We will not allow you to join the Council, you know,” said Bertram. “I know the Councilors well, and we can match any bribe you might offer.”

Garood smiled, seemingly genuinely pleased.

“Oh, I know that, Factor Bertram. I’ve known that for months!”

He walked closer, and Donn noticed his hand swing closer to his robe. It would be the perfect place to conceal a sword as long as he were standing... he moved to step between Garood and Bertram.

“Kill him!”

Garood yanked out his sword at the same time he shouted, and thrust forward at Factor Bertram.

Captain Tenuk, alerted by Donn’s movement, managed to parry with his sword in one hand while shoving the Factor through the open doorway with the other.

Garood’s men came rushing toward the Hall, followed shortly by Bertram’s guards.

Tenuk swung and thrust, forcing Garood back far enough for Donn to get to the doorway. Just as he was about to step through, leaving Tenuk and Oltahm to defend the narrow access, a sword plunged deep into his gut from behind.

“Oltahm...! Why...?”

Sergeant Oltahm yanked his sword out of Donn’s back and turned just in time to catch Captain Tenuk’s sword deep into his shoulder, slashing almost to the backbone.

Donn collapsed to the floor, and felt Bertram’s hands under his armpits, dragging him farther inside.

Garood’s men swarmed to the doorway, trapped there as Tenuk alone held them back from the narrow doorway until his own men could join the fray.

He heard a loud clunk from Hakim’s cart as the false panel dropped, revealing the loaded porcupines. Rope snapped, the whistle as three dozen arrows flew, thuds and screams and shouts from Garood’s men packed together, Tenuk shouting in surprise.

Men running, Factor Bertram’s voice, then nothing.

END

Jake: Thace

Chapter 1

Jake pulled out the hard case and slipped on his sunglasses, relieved to see the harsh sunlight of the dunes reduced to a cooler shade. He carefully put the hard case back into the leather pouch on his belt. He didn’t wear his shades much these days because they attracted so much attention—they were probably the only ones in the Dreamlands, and highly reflective, too—but they sure helped as he peered outside the cave.

“Bug-eyed Jake! Can’t handle the sunshine, lover boy?”

“Got nothing against sunshine, Nadeen,” he grumbled. “This is way beyond sunshine, though. Your eyeballs made outta stone?”

“Practice,” she replied. “And a good kaffiyeh.”

“We had deserts in Australia, too,” he continued. “Spent a lot of time training in them and hating most every minute of it, but they never got this hot. Christ, you could boil fucking water in your hand out there!”

“It’s not that bad today; still early yet;” she countered. “Might be best to wait until dusk, but if you’d like to keep going and discover what ‘hot’ really mean I’ll be happy to accompany you.”

“Ah, no, but thanks. A little nap would be wonderful.”

The two of them sipped a little water, and Nadeen dripped a little between Beghara’s lips: she was still unconscious and sweating heavily in spite of the coolness of the cave.

Jake was exhausted.

He spread his mat and sat down, unlacing his leather boots and pulling them off with a grunt.

He didn’t miss wearing pants, but he really missed good boots. The boots he’d brought with him from Australia had finally given up the ghost last year, and there weren’t many shopping centers around he knew of. He’d come to appreciate the robes everyone wore here in the Eastern Desert, but their boots—or even worse, sandals—sucked.

He’d gone through desert training in Australia, of course, when he was in the SASR out of Campbell, but he’d spent most of his time in Borneo, Timor, and other jungles north of Australia rather than the deserts of the Middle East. In the jungle you needed good boots for several reasons, and he’d come to appreciate them over the years. The Special Air Service Regiment was the cream of the crop when it came to Aussie special forces, and they didn’t skimp on gear.

He recalled the ’scopes they’d had back then: lightweight binocs, and nightscopes. Once again he wished he’d thought to grab one of those when he left. All he had now was his shades, his Glock and a couple mags, and the Suunto.

Thank God for that Suunto compass. It sure saved their asses this time... Until now, at least. Now they could really use a little luck, and some salt tabs, and the compass didn’t offer either.

As Jake lay down, he placed the small box containing the amulet under his head, wrapped in some cloth to serve as a pillow. He wanted to keep it very close after all they’d been through.

It hadn’t started as a very difficult job...

* * *

They’d been relaxing after guarding one of Chóng’s merchanters from Pungar Vees to Rinar via Aphorat, enjoying a few days off with each other before the ship was loaded up for the trip back, when a messenger handed them a note.

Chóng’s people knew where they were staying, of course, but they hadn’t expected anyone to bother them yet.

The wax seal on the envelope showed that it was from Factor Humaydah, the woman in charge of Chóng’s operations in the Rinar region. Rinar being the hub city it was, she was a major player in Chóng’s trading empire.

Her office was located in one of Chóng’s huge warehouses, in the southern reach of the city.

It was bustling, of course, with horse-drawn carts shuttling in and out of the warehouse constantly, herded along by Chóng’s crew of workers. The office was also huge, with about a dozen workers scribbling in ledgers or scurrying about on various tasks, taking care twice that many customers.

Everyone was talking at once, and nobody seemed to be in charge.

Jake and Nadeen came to a halt just outside the doorway, staring hesitantly at the apparent chaos inside.

They’d been ordered to come but had no idea of exactly where to go... until a short, stocky man approached from the warehouse floor.

“You’re Nadeen? And Jake?”

Barely stopping to acknowledge their nods he turned and walked back into the warehouse, calling back over his shoulder: “Well, c’mon! Don’t just stand there!”

They looked at each other. Nadeen shrugged, and they trotted after him.

At the back of the warehouse, almost hidden in the shadows, was a staircase leading up. The guard at the bottom nodded to the man who had led them there, and stood aside to let them enter.

The woman waiting for them at the top of the stairs gestured down the hallway, a carpeted corridor serving quiet offices where people sweated over their paperwork and sums.

“This way, Mistress Nadeen, Master Jake.”

They followed her silently toward the closed door at the end of the corridor.

She knocked.

“Come!”

She announced them as she opened the door, “Mistress Nadeen and Master Jake.”

The room wasn’t as opulent as they’d expected... it was almost spartan, in fact.

A wide desk with stacks of parchment and scrolls, several chairs and benches, a maroon-and-blue prayer mat to one side, a small library of dozens of scrolls and even a few vellum-bound books, and her. Factor Humaydah.

The woman who’d led them here sat down silently in a chair next to the door and folded her hands.

The Factor looked up from her desk and laid down her quill.

An older woman, maybe in her fifties or sixties, she had a long, thin face and prominent cheekbones, contained in a black hijab that covered her ears and hair. A few wisps of grayish hair escaped its confines on the sides of her head.

Later, Jake couldn’t actually recall what she’d looked like, because all he could remember was the piercing gaze of those brown eyes. They saw him, saw through him, evaluated him, and decided he was a good man for the job, all in the merest fraction of a second before they shifted to Nadeen.

“You come highly rated,” she stated, skipping the introduction. “Factor Chóng says you can be trusted to get the job done.”

“Yes ma’am,” responded Jake. “We can.”

“I have a task that requires guards who can do what it takes. It’s an escort job and should take you about a month if all goes well.”

“Land or sea, Factor?” asked Nadeen.

“Land. You need to escort a woman from Dothur to Eudoxia. The most likely route would be the caravan route through Thace. Her carriage will have its own escort of a dozen troopers. You two will be in command.”

“That sounds simple enough,” mused Nadeen. “Who’s in the carriage?”

“Good,” said the factor, and waved them back toward the door again. “Your ship leaves in the morning.” She turned to the secretary, if that’s what she was, and continued “Give them funds for a month and anything else they need.”

Humaydah returned to her paperwork, and the secretary bowed and ushered us out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“The Factor has hired a swifter to take you to Dothur, called the Bella. It is waiting for you at the No. 8 Chóng wharf, and should get you there in three days. You will join Captain Feng’s party in Dothur, and take charge.”

She handed Nadeen a small scroll, and a leather bag shut with a drawstring.

“Fifty gold pieces. When you reach Dothur, Captain Feng will be waiting at The Silver Cockerel, just outside the dock area. You will receive an additional fifty when the mission is completed.”

“You people don’t waste any time, do you?” said Nadeen, hefting the bag.

“The Factor rewards well for the services she requires, but you would do well to uphold your part of the agreement,” the woman advised. “She does not appreciate those who let her down.”

“Is this just the two of us, or can we hire some troopers?”

“Master Jake, how you accomplish the task is entirely up to you. The Factor wants results, not questions.”

Nadeen raised her eyebrows.

“Well, then, I guess we’re done,” she said, and walked out the door with Jake.

They waited until they were a reasonable distance away to start talking.

“Quite an operation she’s got there... no wonder Chóng’s gotten as powerful as he has, with people like that working for him.”

Nadeen nodded. “I don’t think she even knows our names, really... just tools to push around as needed.”

“We can always just leave,” he said.

“You know you’re not serious... we’ve both sworn oaths to Chóng, and while I doubt he’d bother to chase us down, I’m not quite sure of her.”

“Fifty gold isn’t enough to live on for long anyway...” Jake laughed. “Notice she didn’t say who was in the carriage?”

“Or what... she didn’t forbid us from looking inside to find out, though, either.”

“So she said the carriage already has a dozen guards, but who knows if they’re any good. Could be palace flunkies in silk pantaloons for all we know.”

“Thinking the same thing,” she said, still walking with him. “How about just Danryce for now, and we can always hire more troopers in Dothur later once we see what we’ve got?”

“Works for me,” agreed Jake.

He’d been close friends with Danryce since he’d come to the Dreamlands—heck, he was practically the first person he’d met here! A huge Pargite, the black man was a master swordsman, and wielded a monstrous, two-handed sword that most men would have trouble swinging easily. He’d beaten Danryce at arm-wrestling once (and lost the next two times), but they’d become good friends since. He’d learned a lot about sword-fighting from the man, in return teaching him the intricacies of knife-fighting. Danryce had always relied on his sword and power, and had never learned just how useful a little dagger could be.

“I’m pretty sure he’s still in Rinar,” he continued. “Last I heard he was working on the docks, night watch or something on the merchanters.”

“Still working for Chóng?”

“After that Penglai mess he went to work for a mercenary company here, but ended up guarding Chóng’s ships anyway. We’ll find him quick enough if we just ask around at some of the taverns on the waterfront.”

“Are you inviting me on a date?

“Damn right, Nadeen! Nothing like cold ale to get a hot lady in my bed!”

She waved her hand to let him lead the way.

“Don’t get too drunk, Jake. If you get that hot lady in your bed you’ll have to hold up your end of the bargain, too.”

“Not a problem, drunk or sober,” he smiled, and they strolled on toward the water.

* * *

They found Danryce in the third tavern, arm-wrestling for ale. Friendly bets, with the loser paying for the winner’s refill, and judging by Danryce’s shouts and table-thumping, he’d already won quite a few times. He wasn’t drunk—quite—but he was certainly in a good mood.

The tavern was drenched in odors: sweat, spilled ale, tobacco and thagweed smoke, sawdust... a heady mixture that perfectly matched the raucous shouting and table-pounding coming from a table surrounded by onlookers, many of whom were paying off bets.

Danryce, bare from the waist up and shining like polished onyx in the light of the oil lamps, was smiling and flexing his fingers. The man across from him, a huge desert-tanned man with a hook nose, rose from his bench, massaging his right arm with a scowl.

Jake thumped down onto the empty bench, and slammed his palm into the wood tabletop.

“Do I have to beat you again to buy you an ale, or can we just skip that part?”

“Jake!” shouted Danryce, jumping up in joy and leaning over the table to embrace Jake in a bearhug. “Damn! Jake!”

“Hey, Danny. How ya been, man?” he responded, slapping Danryce’s shoulder half in greeting and half in panic because he couldn’t breathe.

They broke, and when Danryce saw Nadeen he immediately tried to hug her, too, but she backpedaled fast enough to escape.

“Hi, Danryce,” she said. “What’s a girl gotta do around here to get a drink anyway?”

“Master!” bellowed Danryce in a voice that shook the rafters. “Ale! Ale for my friends!”

The serving man promptly brought more ale: a massive mug that must have held a liter for Danryce, and more reasonable sizes for Jake and Nadeen.

Danryce flipped him a few silver tiaras: “Bring a keg, would you, lad? We’ve got some serious drinking to do and I can’t be shouting for more ale every five minutes.”

The man smiled, pocketed the coins, and vanished into the smoky darkness.

As the onlooking crowd began to disperse, the three of them sat down and bumped mugs in a toast “To old friends!”

Danryce chugged down about half his ale in one breath, and set his mug down.

“Good to see you again after all this time.”

“And you, Danny,” replied Jake. “See you’re still beating up innocent bystanders.”

“Ain’t nobody innocent in this place, Jake!” he laughed. “So what are you two up to these days? Still with Chóng?”

“Yep,” said Nadeen. “Good money from people we can trust. Came over on a merchanter a few days ago; guard duty.”

“I hate ships... hey, I thought you did, too, Jake?”

“Still do, but they needed a few guards and we figured it’d be a good way to see the city. Nadeen’s been here before, but not me.”

“So how is it?”

“Pretty much the same as every other city, I guess. Walls, people, markets, pickpockets, temples, minarets...”

“Yeah, but I’ve come to like it. No snow.”

Jake gave a noncommittal grunt and drained his mug. “You got anymore ale in that keg you’re guarding?”

Danryce hefted the keg and sloshed refills into everyone’s mugs. He shook the keg and listened, shaking his head. “Kegs used to hold more... musta brought me a half-full one again.”

He took another swig, belched, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“So are you here to drink my health, or...?”

Jake leaned forward, dropping his voice a bit.

“Humaydah herself wants us to handle an escort job, from Dothur to some place called Eudoxia. Ever heard of it?”

“Sure, True Carpet and all. Never been there, though. Dangerous?”

“Who knows?” said Nadeen. “It’s a carriage with a dozen escorts already. She wants us to take charge, so it sounds like she’s scared of something.”

“Who’s in the carriage?”

“She didn’t say; we didn’t push it.”

“And...?”

“And we were wondering if you’ve got anything planned for the next few weeks.”

“Standard wages?”

“Oh, I think we can do a little better than that,” smiled Jake, handing over a handful of gold coins. “And more later when we get paid the rest.”

Danryce reached across the table to grasp Jake’s wrist to seal the deal, the other hand reaching out to Nadeen simultaneously. They grasped his wrists in the usual Dreamlands “wristshake” and then they were three.

Chapter 2

The voyage to Dothur was straightforward. The Bella was a lot smaller than they’d expected, built for speed. Nadeen pointed out that with the shallow draft and speedy design, it would be perfect for smuggling, even if it didn’t have that much cargo space.

Jake wondered why a major trading company like Chóng’s would need a smuggling ship, but realized that they might not be welcome in every port... Every government has its “off the books” arrangements, he chuckled to himself, recalling a vicious little firefight he’d been in years ago in New Guinea, wearing a uniform with no identifying markings...

Blessed with good weather and a steady wind, they made Dothur on the third day, a little ahead of schedule.

They thanked the captain, who hadn’t said two words to them the whole trip, and located The Silver Cockerel.

Caring for their animals was always a critical task, but they also had to care for their weapons, purchase supplies (including a few sheafs of arrows), and pack everything to distribute the weight reasonably. Danryce was by far the heaviest, and even though he also got the largest horse, his steed carried less in its panniers. This time, though, they’d be crossing the desert, which might mean using both camels and horses.

While Danryce and Nadeen were making preparations, Jake sought out the carriage and its dozen guards. The guards were in the rooms on both sides of a third room where, he guessed, the mysterious woman they were escorting was hidden.

The group was led by a clean-shaven Asian man, who acted a lot more experienced and professional than Jake had expected. He was a head shorter than Jake but with narrow waist and broad shoulders. His muscles and scars made it clear he’d been around.

He was dressed in well-worn tunic and leather, and armed with paired long and short swords.

Jake handed over the letter of introduction, Humaydah’s wax seal yet unbroken.

“So you’re Jake,” said Feng, sizing him up. “The letter’s bona fide, but let me see your famous glasses.”

Jake cocked his head, then nodded. It was as good a proof as the letter, maybe better. He pulled his shades out of their pouch and slipped them on. The mirror lenses cut the afternoon sunlight from brilliant glare to familiar muted colors.

“Good enough for me,” said the Asian, finally reaching out for the standard wrist-shake. “Feng of Oxuhahn. Might be hard to hide in those, though... I could spot them from klicks away!”

“Jake of Penglai,” replied Jake, putting them away again. “I don’t hide much. Usually people try to hide from me.”

“I see you came in with two others... all three of you will be going with us?”

“Yes. Nadeen of Lhosk and Danryce of Parg. Nadeen and I are still working for Chóng and are here at the request of Factor Humaydah. Danryce worked with us for years but is a free lance now, working for us.”

“A large man with a large sword.”

“And he knows how to use it. That’s why he’s with us,” said Jake. “Maybe we can continue this conversation inside over some ale?”

“Excellent idea,” agreed Feng, and they stepped out of the sunlit courtyard into the dim building.

As they continued their talk over warm ale they discovered that they had a lot in common, mostly that they were both professional military men who avoided revealing much about their past experiences. Feng had the advantage, because Jake and his “mirror eyes” already had quite a reputation among Chóng’s people.

Feng ran his own small troop, working as mercenaries or guards. Right now he was also working for Chóng, he admitted, without explaining precisely who he answered to. He and his troop—himself, eleven guards, and a guide—had brought the carriage this far, and the Factor had instructed them to wait here and transfer command to Jake.

He never mentioned just where they had come from, Jake noticed.

“So who’s in the carriage?” he asked.

“I don’t know myself,” replied Feng. “It’s a woman, but whoever it is, she’s important to somebody.”

“Betrothal?”

“That’s my guess. I don’t know if this is something Chóng is doing to cement a relationship with one of the warlords out here, or if Humaydah was just hired by someone, but they’re paying good money to get it done right.”

“Are you being paid by Humaydah?”

“Yes, half in advance, half upon safe delivery to Eudoxia. Plus generous expenses in advance.”

Jake nodded. “Same.”

He didn’t ask exactly what amounts were involved.

“Tell me what I need to know about your people.”

“We’ve all been through it; even the new lad’s got four or five years under his belt. And we’ve all worked together for at least two years. A few of them have been with me for a dozen.”

“Any people problems I need to know about?”

“None. Troopers who cause problems don’t stay. The only problem we’ve got right now is that they don’t know you or your people. They trust me, and if I say I trust you that’ll help, but I think there’ll be some hesitation until things settle out.”

“Maybe we can work out some of those issue tonight, then,” said Jake. “A little wrestling with some free ale to help work out the kinks?”

Feng raised his mug. “That’s be a big help. Arm wrestling or real wrestling?”

“Both?”

“Deal.”

“What else?”

“The carriage is tough, and my people are tightening it up now just to be sure, but if we have to leave the trade route and head into the rough, the carriage is going to be a problem.”

“Spare cartwheel?”

“Yes, and tools, if it comes to that.”

“Can we ditch it and just take the woman with us if we have to?”

“They told me no.”

“Hmm.” Jake thought for a moment. “Humaydah told me I had to escort a woman to Eudoxia, but didn’t say I had to escort the carriage.”

“Not my call,” said Feng. “but hopefully we won’t have to make that choice. You won’t have to make that choice. It’s been a quiet trip thus far.”

“Where did you start from?”

“Up north,” replied Feng vaguely, obviously unwilling to go into details.

Jake let it ride.

“Are you familiar with the route from here?”

Feng nodded.

“Been in this area for some years now, and on this road a few times. Yeah, I know it pretty well. So do about half my force.”

“I’m familiar with deserts and jungles, Captain, but I’ve never been to this desert before. I’m gonna need your help and advice once we get started... Can I count on you to speak up?”

“Yessir, you can,” replied Feng. “And I’m damn glad you brought it up, because I expect I’ll need to, and it helps to know you’ll listen.”

“Didn’t say I’ll follow your advice, but I’m definitely gonna listen,” nodded Jake.

Feng pulled out a map and unrolled it onto the table, pushing aside a small ale spill with his arm.

“Thace is here,” he explained, tapping the map. “It’s an oasis a couple days’ ride east from the Dothur, and surrounded by desert. It’s not a big city because it’s not a big oasis, but it commands the only real trade route between here and there. There are a lot of tiny villages scattered about, of course.”

“Why not just cut through the forest here? It’s less than half the distance...” wondered Jake.

“Nobody goes into that forest and comes out again,” said Feng. “The jungles of Cuppar-Nombo do not welcome visitors.”

Jake filed that tidbit away for future reference.

“OK. So who do we deliver the woman to?”

“Ganzorig, First Lord of the city.”

“Not a king?”

“The city is said to be under the protection of Thuba Mleen.”

Jake took another sip of ale.

“The mysterious Emperor of the Eastern Desert... does he exist?”

“Who knows? He’s been around for as long as anyone remembers, and has one hell of a palace up north, on the edge of the desert. I’ve met people who claim to have encountered his palatial tents on the desert, saved from certain death only by the sheerest chance. Truth? Boasts? I don’t know. Never wanted to go visit that palace myself and find out, considering the tales going around.

“One rumor says those lost in the desert and dying of thirst will meet Thuba Mleen, and be offered a chance at life.”

“A chance?”

“A roll of the dice, they say. Life or death.”

“Maybe we should add some more waterskins to the load...”

“Or wineskins!” suggested Feng. “Do you have a spyglass?”

“Yes. Always.” Jake had a collapsible telescope in his pack. Not as good as what he used to have, but better than nothing.

“Here’s a shimmer and a bag of incense.”

“What’s a shimmer?” asked Jake, looking at the blob of silver hanging from a chain. “Lucky charm?”

“Charm, yes. Hopefully a lucky one. It’s a glamour made for the desert. It makes an area about a hundred meters across hard to see. Anyone who gets reasonably close will spot it, of course, but from a hundred or two hundred meters away, you have a good chance of not being spotted. We use it when we camp. It also cuts the heat and light a little, which is nice in the desert.”

“Neat! I coulda used one of these a few years ago! I gather they don’t work on water...”

“Water moves too much; breaks the illusion. Can’t use it when you’re walking or riding, either.”

“Pity. How do you turn it on?”

“Just light the incense. It lasts six or eight hours, and while it’s smoking, the glamour is active. When the incense burns out, so does the shimmer.”

Jake nodded and slipped amulet and incense into his pack.

The talk turned to details of the route, carriage, the individual guards, column formation, and other matters. They inspected the carriage, mounts, and supplies together, and agreed to meet again later to get to know everyone better.

* * *

They pretty much had the room to themselves... there were two men still talking and drinking at a table to the side, but the dozen troopers making up Feng’s group dominated the room, and other patrons found reasons to go elsewhere. No doubt they’d had experience with the sort of mischief a bunch of drunken troopers could get into, and decided they could get safer drinks elsewhere this night.

Jake didn’t blame them—he didn’t know these people, but if all went well he expected quite a bit of “mischief” tonight. He’d already slipped the tavern owner a few gold pieces, hoping that by paying for broken furniture in advance he could keep things a bit simpler.

Everyone was armed, of course, but most of them had unbuckled their bigger weapons and laid them down at hand, feeling safe in their lodging and the company of their friends.

As Jake walked in with Nadeen and Danryce the conversation stopped, replaced shortly by a quiet murmur as Feng’s troop looked them over. Feng immediately walked up to greet them, welcoming Jake into the room with a wrist-grip, then turning to the others.

“This is Jake of Penglai... some of you have heard of Mirror-Eyed Jake, or already met him today.” He waved in the direction of the other two. “Nadeen of Lhosk, and Danryce of Parg. They’ve all worked with Chóng, and I trust them.”

He lifted his ale mug.

“More to the point, he’s paying for the ale!”

There was a cheer from the watching warriors, and the buzz of conversation started up again.

“Captain Feng tells me you’re all professionals. Looking at the way you’re guzzling my ale, I guess he must be right... Doesn’t look to me like any of you are any good at wrestling, though. Pity.”

A mug slammed down on the table, and a tall man—about as tall as Danryce, but with drooping mustache and a long grey braid hanging behind—stood. He twisted his head around and bounced his shoulders up and down, loosening them up.

“Well, I guess maybe your eyes aren’t as good as you think. Long of Ophir.”

He stepped forward and shoved an empty table out of the way.

“You show ’em, Sarge!” came a shout from the back, and all of a sudden everyone was moving tables and benches out of the way to clear a large space. The floorboards were scattered with straw and sawdust, and stained with ale and other, less appealing things.

“Want me to take this one, Jake?” asked Danryce.

“That’s Sergeant Long,” said Feng. “He’s pretty good at wrestling...”

“Is he now,” murmured Jake, unbuckling his swordbelt and dropping it on a nearby table. “I guess we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we...”

He stepped forward, looking up into Long’s eyes—Jake was about ten centimeters shorter.

“Friendly match? We’ve got a job to do tomorrow.”

“Sure, cap’n. I’ll be very friendly!” laughed Long, stretching out a massive hand to wrist-grip Jake as the onlookers laughed and jockeyed for a better place to watch from.

They gripped once, then separated to take positions a few meters apart from each other.

Almost in synchrony they stripped down to loincloths and bare feet. Long slapped his hand into a nearby platter of meat, and smeared the grease over his torso. Jake bared his teeth and lowered his head a bit more.

There were very few “rules” about wrestling, and it was certainly more than just grappling. Kicks, punches, and throws were common, and a variety of martial arts had crept in one way or another: it was free-form fighting. They’d agreed to a “friendly” match, though, which meant no weapons, and that they’d try to avoid any serious injuries that might interfere with the jobs tomorrow.

Still, accidents happen.

They began slowly circling each other, looking for an unexpected opening.

Long suddenly surged forward, his left foot stamping down into the floorboards with a rattling thump.

Jake didn’t react, and a split-second later Long danced to the right, kicking his left up in a furious swing that could have toppled a small tree.

Jake stepped back just enough to let it pass, slapping his hands onto the other’s calf and giving him a good shove.

Long took a small hop away from Jake, body no longer facing Jake directly, off balance and on one leg.

Jake’s own foot kicked forward, smashing into Long’s right leg, and Long collapsed, his head narrowly missing a too-close bench.

Jake danced back again, hands loose and ready in front of his chest, feet light on the floor.

Long was back up in an instant, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, back and forth, checking if anything hurt.

Apparently it didn’t, because he hunkered down a bit more and advanced toward Jake, ready for another kick.

Jake dropped, and kicked out low, aiming for Long’s ankle—and missed as Long jumped into the air, letting loose a sledgehammer kick toward Jake’s head.

Jake dove to the side as the other’s foot missed his temple by a finger’s width, neatly rolling and springing to his feet again.

Expecting Long to be on the attack, he dropped and spun, ready to defend, and caught Long’s punch right into his solar plexus, a perfect shot that collapsed him to the floor gasping and groaning for breath.

Long slowly rose from his crouch, breathing heavily.

“Enough?”

“Enough,” gasped Jake, or tried to, still unable to draw enough breath to speak. He hit the floor with his palm to signal his surrender.

“Good,” sighed Long, collapsing onto a bench and massaging his thigh, where Jake had kicked him. “Leg hurts like a summabitch; don’t think I could’ve kept it up much longer...”

Still wheezing on the floor, Jake sat up.

“Good punch you’ve got there,” he wheezed.

Long stretched out an arm and helped Jake up onto the bench.

“I guess you’ll do OK,” he said, offering Jake a mug of ale.

“And I guess maybe you aren’t so bad at wrestling after all,” replied Jake, his voice almost back to normal. “Of course, they can whip me every time, you know,” he added, pointing to Nadeen and Danryce.

“Can they now,” mused Long. “Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

He turned to look at the crowd.

“Hey, Seri! Get your skinny little ass up here!”

A tall, thin woman stood. Her head was completely hairless, even her brows and lashes, and head and body both were covered in intricate tattoos from top to bottom.

Nadeen stepped forward.

Again, Feng’s choice was the taller, but Nadeen’s chunky body looked significantly heavier and more muscular.

“Serilarinna of Cydathria,” said the tall woman.

“I recognized your tattoos,” said Nadeen. “I’m not familiar with your tribe, sorry to say, but the blue falcon on your shoulder tells me all I need to know.”

“You bear no tattoos,” replied the other.

“No need,” smiled Nadeen. “I’m a natural.”

The two women faced off against each other: Nadeen with cropped black hair and a short, stocky build, Seri tall, hairless, and brilliantly tattooed. Both stood motionless, studying their opponent and waiting for an opening, Nadeen with knees slightly bent and arms half-stretched out forward, Seri standing straight, legs only slightly separated and arms straight at her sides.

There was a tiny whisper from one of the onlookers, and then silence.

Seconds passed.

Suddenly both women leapt into the air, Nadeen high and Seri low, and there was a furious tangle of arms and legs, and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Grunting, both women hit the floor. Seri landed on her feet, Nadeen on her side, rolling to jump up immediately.

They froze again, panting as they glared at each other.

Somebody let out an explosive breath, unable to bear the tension.

Nadeen slowly, ever so slowly, began sliding her right foot forward, leaning into it. A millimeter, five, ten... she stopped, and her left foot began sliding forward from behind, her body slowly rising with it

Seri’s leg snapped out with incredible speed and absolutely no warning, a straight kick to Nadeen’s knee that was almost impossible to see... or stop.

Nadeen didn’t try to stop it, she merely rolled to the side, smashing her fist into Seri’s calf as she fell. She pulled her body into a ball and rolled farther away from the other woman.

Seri crashed to the floor only a few centimeters from Nadeen, knee ramming into the floorboards with an audible thump. Nadeen, still trying to get out of reach, tried to defend herself, but the edge of Seri’s hand managed to get through, somehow, chopping into Nadeen’s right arm.

Nadeen twisted her body away, and simultaneously kicked into Seri’s injured calf.

Seri wobbled, off-balance for a second, and Nadeen took advantage of the instant to break free.

The women faced each other once again, this time Nadeen standing, half-hunched, massaging her right arm, holding it folded up against her chest. Seri stood tall as always, but one leg was bent, off the floor. She tried to stand on it and quickly abandoned the trial in pain.

“I think you need no falcon after all,” said Seri, eyes fixed on Nadeen.

“And I think yours is well deserved,” replied the other woman. “Can you stand?”

“In a few minutes; it’s not broken,” said Seri, relaxing and dropping to sit on a bench. “Your arm?”

“I hope it’s not broken, but that’s a hell of a strike you’ve got!” Someone in the watching crowd pushed another bench forward. “Maybe call it even before we get serious?”

“Yes, let’s. I’d hate to hurt you so badly you couldn’t come,” smiled Seri.

Nadeen bared her teeth. “You probably could, at that... but you’d not be going, either!”

“Master! Another round for everyone!” shouted Jake, and the innkeeper stepped back from the crowd of spectators to scurry off for more ale.

Conversation bubbled up again as they began dissecting the fine points of the fight. A few of the younger troopers hadn’t even been able to see what had happened, it was so fast. Jake noticed a few wagers being paid off.

Sergeant Long, sipping a new mug of ale, cocked his head as he looked at Danryce.

“So you gave me a good run for my money, and said both of them could beat you...”

“Yup,” said Jake, noncommittally.

“And she seems pretty even with Seri, who’s probably the best wrestler I’ve ever known...”

“Yup.”

“And this big guy—Danny, did you call him?—still hasn’t gotten up off his bench...”

“Nope.”

Jake took a gulp of his own ale.

“Danny-boy doesn’t like working for free,” he said, leaning forward toward Long. “Now, if one of your troopers is silly enough to bet him a mug of ale on arm-wrestling, I imagine he’d love a free drink.”

“Win a mug of ale off us in arm-wrestling!?” guffawed Long. “As it happens some us like free drinks, too!”

He turned to his fighters.

“Hey, Danny here says he’ll buy you a drink if you beat him in arm-wrestling.”

Everyone turned to look at him, falling quiet for a moment.

One middle-aged woman smacked her hands flat against the table-top, pushing herself up off the bench.

“I’m never one to turn down free ale!” she said, picking up her mug and draining it in a single gulp before slamming it back down on the table.

“Go to it, Beghara!”

“Remember what she did to that mason back in Ilarnek? He’s big but she’ll take him, she always does.”

She walked over to where Danryce was sitting. She was almost as tall as he was, and almost as broad.

“Axe?” asked Jake.

“Double-sided axe,” confirmed Feng. “Has a habit of cutting people in two.”

Jake nodded. Quite a bit different than boasting you could put one through a rabbit’s eye at a thousand meters, but he’d gotten used to it.

She took a seat opposite Danryce.

“Beghara of Baharna.”

“Danryce of Parg.”

They shifted their weight on the benches, finding firm footing. Left hand stretched out to grasp table edges, and their right hands grasped each other.

“Captain Feng, would you...?” Jake motioned toward the two, inviting Feng to serve as referee.

Feng bobbed his head in thanks, and stepped over to take a knee at one end of the table.

“Trooper?” he called, inviting Nadeen to do the same from the opposite end.

She shook her arm and flexed her fingers once more, then knelt down across from Feng as a second referee.

Danryce, gripping Beghara’s hand securely, suddenly turned to Jake: “Hey, Jake? Would you get me a refill on the ale? It’s running a little low.”

As he was speaking, looking away, Beghara gave a grunt and her body tensed. She concentrated all of her considerable strength into her arm, determined to slam the his hand into the table while he was distracted.

Danryce didn’t seem to notice, and held out his mug with his left hand for Jake to refill. His right arm didn’t even tremble.

Beghara roared, kicking the bench backwards out from under her and bracing her feet solidly on the floor. Red in the face, teeth clenched, she screamed as her bicep swelled even larger, fingers white with pressure.

Danryce turned back to face her, new mug in hand.

“Oh, did you start already?” he asked kindly, not even out of breath. “My apologies.”

He took a sip of the ale.

“Sorry. Shall we get on with it, then?”

Ignoring Beghara’s efforts completely, he set the mug down and inquired pleasantly, “On the count of three, OK?”

“One...”

Beghara’s feet shifted again, and she leaned more of her upper body weight over the table.

“Two...”

Beghara tried to scream with rage but only a squeak came out.

“Three.”

Her arm began to move, slowly but smoothly, backwards toward the tabletop.

Danryce was smiling, but he put his mug down and gripped the table edge with his left hand for leverage.

It was over in a few seconds.

The back of her hand kissed the tabletop, and Danryce held it there until she relaxed.

“I owe you an ale,” she said, her hand still lying limp on the table.

“Well then, you’ll have to join me,” said Danryce, handing her his own (almost untouched) mug. “That’s a mighty good grip you’ve got there...”

“Not good enough by half,” she grimaced. “Never had any problem with it before.”

“Not enough ale,” he smiled, and waved for a new mug full.

“Impressive,” observed Feng quietly, studying Danryce.

“Give it a try?” invited Jake. “I’m sure Danny would love another free ale...”

“No, everything seems to be going well as it is. No point in getting everyone all fired up again,” declined Feng. “Still, I can beat Beghara, you know...”

Jake smiled and leaned towards the other man.

“And I can beat Danny,” he replied. “Most of the time, anyway...”

Feng grinned. “Next time, then.”

“Next time,” Jake agreed, and they raised mugs to clink in a promise.

Chapter 3

The next morning they were up with the sun, preparing for the first stage of their journey.

The two groups were still not well integrated, but at least they accepted each other as professionals, and everyone—as far as Jake could tell, anyway—could live with that and get the job done.

He wasn’t quite sure how to handle that couple in Long’s dozen, though... He couldn’t care less what other people’s sexual preferences were as long as they didn’t try to impose them on others. The fact that two men—Bjørn and Renweard—were married to each other was fine, but having them in the same dozen seemed dangerous. If they had to make a choice between the mission and their husband, which would it be?

He tapped Feng on the shoulder and pulled him aside, letting Nadeen and Feng’s two sergeants handle things.

“We’ve been in that situation,” advised Feng. “Bjørn had to make a hard call, whether to cover Renweard or the group, and chose the group. As it happens we were able to break the ambush, thanks to Seri and Khairi, and saved Renweard. We lost Khairi and another trooper, and Renweard was out of action for a few weeks, but Bjørn didn’t hesitate that I saw.”

“Good, thanks,” nodded Jake. “I prefer people who leave their wives—or husbands—at home, and want everyone to stay alive so they can get back home. Never had a couple in the ranks before.”

“They’ve been through some hard places, Jake. They’re solid.”

Just then a woman stepped out of the inn, completely concealed in a burka. Even her eyes, hidden deep within the hood, were hidden from view.

She seemed to be of average height and build, judging from what he could see through the burka, and walked easily, so unlikely to be old or infirm. Could be a cute bride-to-be, could be.

She stepped into the carriage without a word, and another woman climbed in after. The second woman was dressed in more casual garb but also with niqab and eye veil hiding most of her face. She also had well-worn twin daggers sheathed obviously on her thighs.

The carriage was a light-weight, two-wheeled affair with a wooden roof and curtains hanging all around. The curtains were heavy enough to hide the faces of the riders, but their silhouettes should still be visible. Hopefully the breeze will get through, he thought, or it’s gonna get pretty warm in there.

They were taking the caravan route Eudoxia, which meant about ten days to Thace, a day or two to rest, and then another week or so to Eudoxia.

Jake studied the map again. It would be so much quicker to cut through the forest, northeast straight to Eudoxia. Or even start in Despina instead of Dothur, but that would mean a longer trip through the desert on a less-traveled route, instead of using the well-established caravan route they would be taking.

And even if Feng warned that nobody ever goes into the forest, at least they’d be walking through grasslands and along the coast: far better than more hot sand!

The guide was a local man, Malchinkhüü. He was a bearded, taciturn man with a dark, weather-worn face. Dressed in well-used robes and an off-white kaffiyeh, he could have been any of a hundred men lounging about the market. According to Feng, he’d been guiding caravans throughout the Liranian Desert and Cuppar-Nombo for decades. They’d worked together several time in the past, he added.

“He’s in it for the money, no question, but he does what he’s paid to do and does it well. No rumors about him.”

“But rumors about other people?”

“Every time a caravan vanishes there are rumors.”

“How frequent is that?”

“One out of every three or four caravans gets attacked somehow, usually losing an animal or two, a few men. A couple caravans a year never make it. Sometimes the battleground is discovered later, but usually the desert reclaims it all.”

“The route is patrolled, correct?”

“Yes, sporadically. Troops from Dothur, Thace, and Eudoxia are common, even Despina, sometimes, but there’s an awful lot of desert out there, and lots of places to hide.”

“Why doesn’t the route go through the Hills of Noor, here, instead of Thace?”

“It’s shorter, that’s all. There is a route from Thace to the mountain-fed lakes of Noor, but their waters vanish into the desert all too soon.”

He pointed to the map again.

“There is also a route from Thace due east, through the mountains here to Adelma and the Night Ocean. Dothur to Thace to Eudoxia is the shortest, quickest route. Unless you fly over the forest.”

“Why didn’t Humaydah just fly the woman there? Would’ve been a lot faster...”

Feng shrugged.

“She’s not stupid. There must be some good reason. I’d guess she worries more about attacks from the air than from the desert.”

Jake looked out over his command: Feng’s troop of a dozen, Malchinkhüü, the two mysterious women in the carriage, Nadeen, Danny, and himself. Eighteen in all.

In addition to the two women, the carriage also carried an ample supply of water.

Feng said the caravan route was well-marked and well-traveled, and most caravans would share water in need. He didn’t expect any problems, but mentioned the possibility of bringing along some camels just to be safe. Jake was unsure, because camels were so slow.

The ancient roads networking through the desert were paved stone, marked by eroded stone pillars sculpted in bizarre shapes. For the most part they were kept free of sand by minor magics, but there were always tales of sandstorms that buried roads—and caravans—or unknown roads suddenly exposed after millennia, leading to forgotten cities that should have stayed buried in the shifting sands. Assuming all went well, horses would be better because they could travel two or three times faster than camels. Camels could carry enormous loads, but only moved about as fast as a man could walk.

Their only loads this time were the carriage and their own supplies—food and water, mostly—and they expected to make good time.

He decided to stick with horses, opting for speed over load, and increasing their dependence on water. Camels could go without drinking for a week, but not horses.

Jake put Danryce up front with a small dark woman named Ridhi Chabra, who looked like she might be Indian or Pakistani. Feng recommended her for scouting, commenting she was silent and deadly, but better scouting or infiltrating than in a melee. He knew from personal experience that Danryce, in spite of his bulk, could move swiftly and quietly. And he was very good in a melee.

The guide, Malchinkhüü, and the rest of Feng’s six joined Nadeen around the carriage, while Sergeant Long’s half-dozen brought up the rear. He would stay mobile, moving along the tightly spaced column as he felt the need. He didn’t expect too many surprises with Danryce on top and Long watching the tail.

He checked with Feng once again, as Feng was far more familiar with the route than he was. Feng didn’t seem to have any difficulty bringing up potential problems, which he appreciated, and had said they didn’t expect any surprises, but then again... if nobody expected trouble why had Humaydah hired him? Or not just flown the woman?

Feng didn’t suggest any adjustments to the plan. It may have been overkill, but Jake always liked keeping the pucker factor as low as possible. Feng was a pro, too... he knew the drill.

He scanned the column once more, not so much looking for anything in particular as just trying to catch anything that looked out of place.

He nodded to Feng, who gave the long whistle to move out, and the wheels began to roll.

The horses were trotting, which wouldn’t tire them much. They’d stop every hour or so to give the horses a chance to catch their breath and drink, and should be able to make forty kilometers a day, give or take. And still have energy to run away from something if they had to. The coastal region of Cuppar-Nombo was as hot as the desert, but very, very humid, and troopers and horses both would need water to stay cool.

Outside the city walls and past the rough shacks and odors of the unfortunates living outside the city proper, the road straightened out, passing through farmland—mostly rice paddies, with vegetable or barley fields every so often—and tiny clumps of houses not yet big enough to call a village. To the west was the Sea of Thul, and across the eastern horizon stretched the dark jungle of Cuppar-Nombo.

He kept a close eye on Feng’s troopers because he hadn’t worked with them before, but was quite pleased... he was especially happy to see his fears about the couple, Bjørn and Renweard, were unfounded. They stayed alert, eyes trained outwards, and made no effort to stick together. When on the job, at least, their minds were on the job, too. Good.

Danryce and Ridhi were way out in front, keeping a good distance. Every so often one of them would leave the main road to investigate someone or something, while the other would hang back.

Good visibility around here, for the most part, so it was a lot easier to scout, and unexpected surprises a lot less likely.

Plenty of water, too.

After about an hour he signaled Danryce, who rode onto the next good watering place—the road forded through a fairly wide stream, with grassy banks perfect for resting the horses—and dismounted. The rest of the caravan followed suit as they reached the ford, and Feng called out a few people to keep an eye out while the rest of them rechecked the loads and animals.

The two women stepped out of the carriage, too, but Jake still couldn’t tell anything about the mysterious lady hidden in the burka. She even kept her face hidden when she drank.

Throughout the day he moved up and down along the column, getting to know everyone on a more personal level, and letting them see that he might not be that bad after all. In particular, he wanted to check on how the married men—Bjørn and Renweard—handled things.

Renweard, a big, bearded man, looked to be in his forties, he guessed, while taller, slender Bjørn was maybe a decade younger. They both struck him as professionals, and he noted that while they sat next to each other at rest, they usually stayed apart from each other on the road.

Jake guided his horse over to Renweard.

“How long you’ve been with Captain Feng?”

“Must be almost a dozen years now... He hired me down in Zaïs after he lost a few troopers to the Rot.”

“The Rot?”

“The blue mold from the southernmost jungles... it’s usually only found deep in the hottest, wettest jungle, but every so often it pops up in Zaïs, or the lands of King Kynaratholis, or even Cydathria.”

“Deadly?”

“It’ll eat you alive if you’re unlucky. I was lucky.”

“You contracted it yourself?”

“I had a mild case. My wife bathed me in vinegar for a week until it was gone.”

“Your wife? You mean Bjørn?”

“Bjørn’s my husband. Things change.”

Damn, thought Jake. Dangerous subject.

“Once you recover, can you still catch it?”

“Unfortunately. I haven’t, though.”

“Feng tells me he’s been throughout this whole region, from Shiroora Shan through Cydathria. You been with him all that time?”

“Yup. We’ve been beyond Cydathria, though... once we went all the way to Theth. Damn spiders. Lost a couple of good troopers in that damned jungle.”

“Strange... all jungles and deserts down here... you ever see snow?”

“Sure! We’ll probably see some this time, too. The mountains of Noor are almost always snow-capped, even if the desert around them is hot enough to fry bacon.”

Jake recalled seeing the mountains on the map. It hadn’t occurred to him they might be that tall, but it would explain where the water in the oases up there came from.

They passed by another faceless, unidentifiable roadway column.

“You have any idea what these statues are of? Or who made them?”

Renweard shuddered and turned away, looking out in the farmlands instead.

“Nope. And I’m glad I’ve never seen one clearly.”

“Me too,” said Jake. “Me, too.”

They traveled north along the coast throughout the day, stopping every so often for a rest as the forest grew closer and closer, until the sun began to slip toward the horizon.

Jake cantered up to join the two scouts, and asked them to start looking for a good spot for the night. He was pleasantly surprised to see Danryce turn to Ridhi.

“Ridhi? You’re more familiar with the area...”

She thought for a moment, then nodded.

“About half an hour ahead of us is a small village, which should have an inn. We might as well enjoy the comforts while we can.”

“Works for me,” said Jake. “Lead on!”

The village wasn’t even that, really... it was basically an inn for travelers on the trading road, with a few houses clustered nearby, surrounded by fields. An ancient stone bridge spanned the broad, placid river, and the inn’s front gate and stables could be seen on the other side.

The inn itself was a strange combination of ancient, old, and new... the stone walls seemed to be as old as the road itself, weathered over the centuries, and the woodwork had been patched and fixed and replaced so many times it was impossible to tell what the original inn might have looked like. If it had even been an inn.

The sign at the front gate was fairly new, though, the carven words still standing out in white against the darker wood of the signboard: Snailsworn.

“A strange name,” mused Jake.

“An old and honorable one in these parts,” said Malchinkhüü. “Once the snails saved Dothur from the jungle.”

“Snails!?”

“Not garden snails, Captain,” the guide corrected. “Giant snails, the size of your head, or larger if legend is to be believed. You can still see them here and there along the road, if you look.”

He looked. It occurred to him that what he had thought were rocks scattered among the rice seedlings were actually snails, moving so slowly he hadn’t really noticed.

“Doesn’t seem to me that snails could move fast enough to protect anybody from anything.”

“The story goes that in return for being free to wander the paddies, the snails would keep the jungle at bay. It is said that they even slimed the city walls with something toxic, killing off the vines trying to tear them down and reclaim the land.”

“Did it work?”

“City’s still there,” snorted Malchinkhüü, and led his horse off toward the stable.

Feng, who had been listening, broke in.

“Don’t know how much truth there is to the tale, but it’s a fact that snails cover the city walls, and vines can’t seem to climb it. The farms close to the jungle that try to farm barley or corn, in dry fields instead of paddies, have to burn the jungle back every few weeks, or be overrun.”

“It grows that fast?”

“Everybody claims to know of a farm that was swallowed by the jungle, or found empty of all life in the morning. They say the vines twist and burrow as fast as a man can walk.”

“The jungle’s still a good distance from here, I see...”

“Oh, we’re safe here. This wayhouse has stood here since the road was built; I imagine it’ll be here forever,” laughed Feng. “We’d better get inside, though... sun’s setting.”

There was a huge snail shell standing next to the gate.

Jake knocked on it with his knuckles: it wasn’t the thin, fragile shell he was used to, more like knocking on a rooftile. And the damn thing stood as high as his belt...

Jake and Feng went inside to speak to the master, arranging rooms for the night and fodder for the animals. There was already another caravan there, heading toward Dothur, and while Jake was talking to the innkeeper, Feng pumped them for information on the road ahead.

“Only have two rooms open tonight,” drawled the innkeeper. “That caravan master just took the rest.”

“Two will be fine, and we’ll need the food for the horses.”

“Pasture out back, and the river’s always free,” said the innkeeper. “Pay in advance for the rooms.”

Jake dropped a few coins into the outstretched palm.

“Rest of your party can stay in the stable, or the yard. Don’t expect rain.”

“We’ll be wanting some food and drink for ourselves, too.”

“All the venison and pork you can eat, and ale to wash it down with.”

“Let me guess... payment in advance, right?”

“Or on the barrelhead,” the innkeeper nodded. “Extra if you break things.”

He checked out the two rooms.

Both were on the ground floor, which was better if there was a fire, but also easier for intruders to get into.

He decided to put the two women, with Nadeen and Serilarinna if possible, in one room, and a half dozen troopers in the other. The rest of them would sleep outside, and handle guard duty.

Nadeen and Serilarinna seemed to be getting along well after their fight.

He’d just leave that alone and see how it played out; didn’t expect any trouble from Nadeen, at least. Seri? He didn’t have a clue, but she seemed to have herself well under control.

The women from the carriage flatly refused to share their room, offering to stay in the carriage overnight if necessary.

Jake realized that he’d never even heard the woman in the burka speak; it was always the maid—or bodyguard?—with the two daggers.

No help for it. He’d just have to put guards around their room.

All the troopers had their own gear, of course, and roughing it right next to an inn with food and water was no trouble at all.

Nadeen and Serilarinna slept in the hall in front of the room, Feng and his six in the adjacent room, and the rest scattered about outside the inn, with watches set.

He’d get to sleep early but would also rise in the early hours, when things were at their quietest and unwelcome visitors most likely.

* * *

He woke at the changing of the guard at the Hour of the Ox, hours before dawn, and walked through and around the inn, but discovered nothing unusual. The stars were brilliant, and the moon about half-full, providing ample light for the grounds.

He walked with the watch, or sat with them when they rested, and got to know them a little better. They, in turn, discovered that he was as rough and ready as they were, and quick to laugh at a practical joke or jibe.

The eastern sky began to lighten in the Hour of the Hare, promising another hot and sticky day.

The farmers began their morning chores, feeding their oxen, collecting eggs from the henhouses, firing up the stove for the morning rice, and the noise of the community gradually rose around them.

Inside the inn, the kitchen was getting busy preparing to feed their guests—their own group and the larger caravan that had arrived before them.

An oxcart pulled up, piled high with hay, and a young boy, perhaps twelve or fifteen years of age, began unloading it into the yard in front of the stable.

Jake walked over and saw that their horses were already cared for, with water in the trough and fresh grain in their feedbags.

It had been a quiet, restful night, and an excellent start to the day.

It was also, according to Malchinkhüü, the last inn this side of Thace, which meant they’d be camping on the road from now on. No more maids and stableboys to take care of things!

They were ready to go an hour later, and set out on the road in the same formation as before.

As they continued away from Dothur, the jungle gradually grew closer and closer, until they reached The Gullet, as it was called: the narrowest portion, where the road ran between the waves of the Sea of Thul to their left and the vine-webbed darkness of the jungle trees to the right. The worn paving stones of the road were sometimes partially concealed under scattered drifts of beach sand that shifted with the ocean breeze, or under a desiccated root.

There were a few places where the beach had covered the road entirely in sand and stones, but the path was well marked by hoofprints and wheel ruts. Every kilometer or so one of those hulking columns stood, too, marking the path clearly. They were so worn it was impossible to tell just what they might have been statues of, but every so often he thought he could make out something—usually something unpleasant, although he could never identify exactly what it was that bothered him... something about the dimensions of the body, or the way it stood... and whatever they were, they often seemed to have tails.

Jake had yet to see a tree growing close enough to burrow under or through the road... as they rode on, he wondered if it was somehow protecting itself. Or was it the snails after all...?

He noticed Feng’s riders never rode between the road and the jungle, although they would often canter out onto the shore when the rocks were small enough for the horses to move freely.

Jake trotted up to join Feng near the carriage.

“Your troopers don’t seem to like the jungle much.”

“Nobody does.”

“Is it that dangerous?”

“Probably not, but we’ve all seen the trees dance.”

“Dance?”

“It’s not really dancing, but they sort of sway back and forth, and all the branches and vines whip back and forth. Some say they’ve seen roots writhe and trees walk, but I never have.”

“You don’t believe they actually move, then?”

Feng was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know... I’ve never seen one walk, and it sounds pretty unlikely, but I have seen a cow torn in half by something that came out of the jungle and vanished again. I don’t know if it was a tree or some beast, but anything that can tear a cow in half is worth keeping an eye out for in my book.”

“It didn’t eat the cow?”

“Nope, just tore it in half, pretty much, and left the pieces lying there. The birds had already gotten to it by then, of course, but it was still fresh enough that we could see what had happened.”

It was Jake’s turn to fall silent.

“If you ask Malchinkhüü, he’ll talk your ear off with stories of the jungle. Some might even be true!”

Jake laughed, but uneasily... his eyes kept straying toward the shadowed trees.

“Even so,” Feng continued, “I’ll be happier if we get out of The Gullet before we had our midday meal. There’s something about that darkness that makes me uneasy.”

“How much farther is it? The end of The Gullet?”

“We should be out in under an hour, I’d say. Normally we should be stopping around here for a rest, but the ocean breeze is cooling things down and I think even the horses want to clear this section as soon as possible. The road curves a bit inland there, and the shore is covered with grassy hills the horses will enjoy. A much better place to rest, I think.”

“I agree,” said Jake. “To be honest I’ve been watching the jungle get closer and closer as we rode, and something doesn’t feel right.”

“Nope, never does in The Gullet.”

“Why is it called The Gullet?”

“Don’t know, and never wanted to find out.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I get that... Well, another hour or so and then we’re out.”

“Yup.”

Jake twitched the reins and let his horse slack off a little, waiting for the rearguard to catch up.

Sergeant Long looked as alert as always, eyes darting here and there, but he also had a long stalk of wheat dangling from his mouth.

“Sergeant.”

“Cap’n.”

“Quiet again today... think we’ll be this lucky the whole way?”

“It’d be nice for a change, but I doubt Humaydah would spend that much money for a pleasure jaunt.”

“I feel the same way,” nodded Jake. “I know I’d regret it, but I almost want something to happen so it would be so damn boring!

“Nobody hides in the jungle around here—not if they want to ever come out again—and there’s enough traffic on the road to make robbery difficult. I expect it’ll get more interesting once we reach the desert.”

“I don’t mind jungles,” mused Jake. “I trained in both desert and jungle, and spent most of my enlistment walking through jungles that look a lot like that one...”

“Did they eat people?”

“Well, no, they didn’t eat people,” admitted Jake. “People just killed each other.”

“Well, there you go. Not at all the same. No people in there.”

Jake had to agree.

The jungles of New Guinea and Indonesia were deadly, sure, but trees didn’t walk around and eat people. You could get bitten by something deadly, sure—hell, you could get bit or stung to death on his Dad’s old ranch back in Australia!—but the biggest danger had always been other people with guns.

Not many guns here.

He patted his fanny pack, reassured by the heavy hardness of the pistol inside.

“The road always marked in the sand?”

“It’s usually hidden, but the caravans leave trails, and the statues mark the way.”

“Where I come from the dunes can get pretty big, and move in the wind... statues don’t get buried?”

“Hard to say... you hear a lot of stories about new ones being exposed, marking roadways to unknown places.”

“Ever seen one?”

“A few years back we were trapped in a bad sandstorm, and after it passed the road was exposed over a pretty big area. The road we were on was clear because we could see the sun, but all of a sudden we could see that there were two other roads splitting off in different directions.”

“To where?”

“Never found out. Our guide said he didn’t know, and we never saw them again.”

“And nobody knows?”

“The guides are a pretty close-mouthed bunch, who knows? Like I said, though, lots of rumors and stories floating around. Especially farther up north, around Irem.”

“Irem... heard a lot of things about that city. Chóng’s physician, an old Arab named ibn Sina, said he came here—to Dreamlands, I mean—somehow after he entered Irem back in Wakeworld. Something happened, and he was gone from there and he’s been here in the Dreamlands since.”

“There are lot more stories about Irem than these roads, that’s for sure,” said Long. “I’ve no desire to go there, good money or not.”

Jake noticed that the head of the column had stopped, and he could see Ridhi Chabra, the woman on top with Danryce, riding back toward the carriage.

“Column’s stopped,” he said, and spurred his mount to meet her there.

Ridhi was waiting for him near the carriage. Most of the column was stopped now, and he could see Danryce still out in front, keeping an eye on things in that direction.

“The jungle curves back from here, and the open space around the road widens out. There’ll be low scrub and grasses for another few klicks before we enter the real desert.”

“This is a good place to rest, then.”

“Yessir.”

“Thank you, Trooper,” said Jake, then raised his voice. “Danny! Time for a break! Pick a spot for me!”

“Yo!” came the shout back, and he pointed up ahead and inland. “Right over there, Captain!”

Jake waved to Feng to accompany him, and they cantered up to see where Jake was pointing, and it was indeed a good spot... a large flat space with a small stream running along one side, mostly covered in grass, and well away from the jungle.

“Looks good, Danny. Thanks.”

“Wasn’t me, Jake. Trooper Ridhi suggested it.”

“How’s she working out?”

“Good.”

Jake lifted his arm and signaled the column to move up and take a break.

“How long do you think, Captain?” he asked Feng.

“The horses are a little tired after that last stretch, and maybe a little nervous, but they should be back in shape in an hour or so. Give us time to eat the midday meal, top up the water, and get ready for the desert.”

“How tight is our schedule this afternoon?”

“No inns out here; we’ll be camping on the sand.”

“How about staying here until dusk, and starting the desert then? If the road’s clear and we have enough light, ride through the night and stop when it gets hot.”

Feng smiled and nodded.

Jake realized he’d just passed a test.

The desert nights would be far cooler than the days, which would also save water, but at the same time darkness and shifting sand (not to mention snakes and scorpions and God knows what else...) made walking or riding dangerous. If the road stayed clear, and they had enough starlight and moonlight to see where they were going, it made sense to travel by night.

If they couldn’t see the road he knew they’d get lost in a heartbeat, though.

“Unsaddle the horses, and let them graze,” he called out. “We’ll rest here until dusk. Captain, would you assign guards?”

“Sir,” nodded Feng, and rode off to talk to Sergeant Long.

Jake dismounted and unstrapped his saddle gear and panniers, letting the horse relax and roam for the afternoon. It headed straight for the stream.

The rest of the column was unsaddling and inspecting horses, stretching, one man was already stretched out with his hat over his face... and he saw Bjørn and Renweard strap their weapons back on and take positions where they could see what might be coming. Tapped for guard duty.

While most of the column gathered around a central fire they quickly built, there were a few little groups forming, and he watched to see who ended up with whom.

The guide by himself, eating rice cakes on the grass next to his horse.

Serilarinna and Nadeen by themselves... no, now Ridhi was walking over. Three women, but not red-headed Larb, the woman wielding the scimitar in Feng’s six. Or Beghara, the axe woman.. where was she...?

Ah. Over there, sitting next to Danryce. The two of them seemed to be hitting it off right.

And Feng and Long sitting together on a slight rise, back to back so they could scan the entire horizon.

He walked deeper across the field, away from the shore, just enjoying the sea breeze and the smell of wildflowers and growing things.

There was a little depression up ahead, and for no particular reason he strolled that way and glanced down.

Snails. Dozens of snails, some as big as his head.

Rags, white sticks covered with snails... no, not sticks. Bones.

Fresh bones, not yet bleached by sun or wind-worn.

Horses. And people.

He turned to Feng and Long, who were already looking in his direction.

He waved them over.

“Looks like traders,” said Long, “judging from the clothing.”

“I don’t recognize anything in particular,” added Feng, “but I note that most of their weapons are gone, and there are a lot of broken arrows lying about.”

“Ambush, then.”

“Arrows to take out the troopers, then full-on attack, I’d say,” agreed Feng.

“And there are more people than horses... and no trade goods at all,” said Jake. “They just took the whole caravan and left the dead here.”

“See, they dragged them here... from over there somewhere,” said Long pointing. “But I can’t see any place where they might have hidden.”

“No trees, no hills, no nothing. They could have hidden right here, but we’re quite a distance from the road, and a standing horse would be obvious...”

“Maybe they disguised themselves as another caravan, and suddenly attacked?” wondered Jake.

“Could be,” nodded Feng. “It happens, and there isn’t any place to hide around here, that’s for sure.”

“How many archers do we have?”

Feng and Long exchanged glances; Long gestured to Feng.

“Everyone can shoot a bow, of course, but most of us are better with other weapons. Three are masters of the bow, though: Yeung, in my six, and Lau and Renweard in Long’s.”

“I can’t shoot worth a damn. Not with a bow, anyway...”

They looked at Jake curiously.

“You mean... one of those musket things?”

“Something like that, yeah. Called a rifle. If I still had mine I could reach and touch someone a klick away.”

“One kilometer!?”

“If I had a sniper rifle, I could double that.”

“But they take forever to load, and the smoke marks you!”

Jake laughed.

“A rifle and a musket are two different animals, Feng. I don’t have one to show you, but believe me, if I had the ammo I could take the whole column down in about thirty seconds. From a safe distance.”

“Well, I’m just as happy muskets are as noisy and slow as they are,” said Sergeant Long. “Gives us a fighting chance.”

“Anyway, I think we should move those three archers back close to the carriage, pull the rear guard up a bit closer, and push the scouts out a little farther. Comments?”

“We’d have to mix up the sixes,” mused Long. “Should be OK.”

“We’ve done it before,” agreed Feng. “If there’s a problem we’ll be fighting defense, and it won’t matter. Our sixes are balanced for independent action, if needed, but in this case we’ll all be together.”

“Your archers likely to get confused about who’s in command?”

“Nope,” promised Feng. “Won’t be the first time we’ve done it, and sure won’t be the last.”

“Good. So you agree?”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” said Feng. “I’d suggest outriders to the sides, too, terrain permitting. I don’t think a single small carriage with a well-armed guard force has much to fear from desert bandits, but it can’t hurt.”

Long nodded. “It’ll reduce the force we’ve got around the carriage, but it should guarantee us a little more warning, and since everyone’s on horse they can pull in fast.”

“OK.” Jake made up his mind. “Captain Feng, Sergeant Long, tell your sixes what we’ve found, and what we think happened. When we move out tonight we’ll use the new formation.”

“Yessir,” they echoed.

“I’ll inform the lady of the change and why, although she’s never taken any interest in how we handle thing yet that I’ve seen.”

“Nor I,” agreed Feng. “Hasn’t taken an interest in anything at all, as far as I can tell!”

Jake turned to look back at the bodies.

“Should we build a pyre?”

“They belong to the snails now,” said Long quietly. “It’s how they do things here, rites of Nth-Horthath be damned.”

They walked back to the column and the word circulated quickly.

Nobody said much either way, but everyone quietly checked their weapons again. This was, after all, why they were hired, and they’d known it was coming, one way or another.

Chapter 4

The column set out again as the sun was getting low on the horizon, over the Sea of Thul. The towers of Despina should be out that direction, thought Jake, but it was too far to see them even without the sun in his eyes. Just the whitecaps pounding on the shore.

The troopers had been strung out lengthwise while they were still near the city, but now that they were entering the desert—and with extra caution, due to the gruesome discovery he’d just made—the column was shorter and thicker. The rearguard was closer, and there were outriders on both sides, as much as the terrain would permit.

Danryce and Ridhi Chabra were farther ahead, and distanced from each other.

As the grassland fell behind and the dunes began to rise, the column pulsed like a living thing, adapting to ever-changing road and dunes.

The road was still mostly exposed, and the surrounding dunes small enough that the chance of an ambush low. The statues marking the road were clearly visible, stretching off roughly northward, away from both ocean and jungle.

As the evening deepened visibility dropped, and the temperature began to cool. There was even a slight breeze, bone-dry and dusty.

A half-moon and stars provided enough light to keep track of each other, and the road itself was the best guide. Every so often someone would whistle or call out for a quiet response checking that they hadn’t strayed too far.

Jake realized they’d have to start navigating from statue to statue using torches if the nights got much darker... still, the moon was waxing, and unless it got unusually cloudy—this was the desert, after all—it should be OK.

If he had to, they’d put one torch on the carriage, and Danryce or someone would carry a second torch in their direction of travel until he found the next statue, then signal the carriage to move up. It meant showing torchlight on dark nights, but they could shield it most of the way around and still move fairly rapidly.

Malchinkhüü and Feng agreed that the trade road was pretty straight, curving very gradually when it curved at all. If there was a sharp bend in the road, added Malchinkhüü, it almost certainly led somewhere they did not want to investigate. He advised it would be better to wait until morning to find the right road.

It was getting downright cold... The horses blew out spumes of white mist in the darkness, and he could see his own breath. Jake figured it must be getting close to freezing. He’d expected it, of course, they’d all expected it, but it was still a shock to be this cold after the day so hot.

At least the wind stayed down... he didn’t look forward to wind chill and blowing sand in the darkness.

They rode on through the moonlit night, stopping at roadside statues to rest as needed, and as the eastern sky began to lighten ever so gradually, began looking for a good outcropping that could shield them for at least some of the day.

The area south of the Noor range was dotted with mesas and a few plateaus, surrounded by dunes and well-hidden gullies. The road usually traced its route across the broad, windswept highlands, dropping down to cross vast stretches of desert to the next. A gully, or even better a well-positioned cliff, would give them enough shade to make the day survivable.

A flashflood sweeping down a gully could be very unpleasant, and while the chances of rainfall were slim out here, nothing was very definite in the Dreamlands.

The gullies were also excellent places for the Ibizim—the lizard riders—to hide out.

He’d never seen one of their lizards, but from the description guessed they looked much like monitor lizards—or the sand goannas of his homeland, Australia. Even though they weren’t big enough to actually ride, in spite of the name “lizard riders,” they weighed as much as a man, and sported an impressive set of fangs and talons, they said. Deadly on the sand.

Feng said they’d be unlikely to try anything against this large a party with only a single light carriage to plunder. Jake hoped he was right.

“Captain?” It was Feng, pointing up ahead to Ridhi.

She stood in her stirrups on a low rise, signaling that she’d found a promising site.

Danny was a bit farther away, also halted and looking back toward the column.

Jake nudged his horse into a canter to join her, gesturing Feng to accompany him.

The cliff face twisted, creating a sand-floored, mostly walled enclosure. The entrance faced northwest, and the cliff walls were high enough to shield from most of the direct sunlight except at noon, which was all they could really hope for.

It was defensible, and they would stretch shades overhead to keep the noon sun at bay.

“Looks good to me, Captain,” he said, turning to Feng. “What do you think?”

“We’d be trapped in there if anyone attacked, but they’d have a hard time getting to us through that narrow entrance. And it should be cooler during the day. I’d say do it.”

Jake turned back toward the column, which had continued to move along the road toward them. He waved them over, pointing out the way.

The troopers set up camp and set the shimmer near the entrance.

It was a minor glamour that would make it harder to spot them from afar, but anyone getting within a hundred meters or so would be able to see through it immediately. Still, it helped them stay out of trouble, and even better—it was a little darker and cooler inside.

Unfortunately, it didn’t conceal sounds, only sights, so neighing horses or shouting troopers would defeat the whole purpose.

Jake called Feng over again.

“The road’s getting pretty hard to see in places. I’m a little worried about the carriage wheels... you think it’s about time to put on the sand rims?”

“The wider rims will make it harder for the wheels to sink into the sand, but they’ll slow us down on stone,” said Feng, thinking over the day’s performance. “What do the scouts think?”

“Let’s find out.”

Jake whistled, and called out “Danny! Ridhi! Over here!”

They walked over from where they’d been setting up camp, Danny squatting down next to them and Ridhi standing.

“You’ve been watching the road and the sand all night,” said Jake. “You think it’s time to put the sand rims on the wheels?”

The scouts looked at each other for a minute.

“No, I don’t think we need to yet,” said Danny. “The road’s mostly clear so far. We can always do it on the road pretty quickly if we have to.”

“Ridhi?”

“I think we should put them on now while it’s still cool, and we can take our time. It’s too risky to drive that carriage fast through these rocks anyway, so we might as well put the wheels on and accept the slower speed. We’ll make up any lost time crossing sand.”

“Captain Feng?”

“Ridhi’s been through here many times. Danryce hasn’t.”

“Right.” Jake stood up and stretched. “OK, we mount the rims.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Danny. “Be good to get a little exercise instead of just sitting all day!”

“Captain Jake, you’ve been checking that amulet from your belt all day,” asked Feng as the two guides left.

“Amulet?”

“In that pouch there,” he said, pointing.

“Oh, my Suunto!”

“Your what?”

“My Suunto compass,” he said, pulling it out. “I’ve been keeping track of our general direction.”

“Ah, a compass! It’s very small and light!”

“I’ve had it for decades; saved my ass a few times.”

Feng examined the compass carefully.

“This glass is very light, too. How do they make it?”

He handed it back to Jake, who carefully tucked it away in its padded pouch.

“That’s plastic, not glass. I don’t know how they make it. It’s from Wakeworld.”

One horse had a stone lodged in its hoof, but they were able to remove it without any difficulty. Other than that and some sunburns, they were off to a good start.

He checked the water supplies first of all, making sure that nothing was leaking, then the horses, and finally the carriage. Captain Feng took care of the guard schedule.

They all got a good day’s sleep, hot as it was.

The guards woke them as the sun started to drop toward the horizon, shadows lengthening and the first traces of a breeze beginning to stir the sand.

After a quick meal of rice and dried meat they were back on the road again, following it through winding canyons, once up a set of hairpin turns to the plateau top, and then straight as an arrow to the other side, always guided by those time-worn statues keeping watch.

After they descended the plateau, this time via a long, shallow slope, the outcrops of rock became fewer, and the dunes began to grow in size.

The road became harder to see, and at times they were forced to rely on the statues for direction.

[caption id="attachment_1751" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Desert near Thace
Photo by Azzedine Rouichi on Unsplash[/caption]

Danryce and Ridhi continued to scout the path, while Bjørn and Ng, the youngest trooper, rode to the sides.

Jake rode closer to the carriage, eyes darting here and there to check on everyone, and checking the route ahead of them for likely ambush sites. With mostly dunes surrounding them, almost everywhere was equally dangerous, albeit unlikely.

Suddenly Bjørn gave a shout of surprise, and Jake spun in his saddle to see Bjørn—and his horse—suddenly stop, and wheel away from the column.

“Feng! Take over!” he shouted, and kicked his horse into a gallop toward Bjørn’s last position.

Bjørn had dismounted, and was uncoiling a rope.

In front of him was a huge conical pit made of sand, with a boy—Jake guessed maybe twelve or thirteen—struggling to keep from sliding down. Arms and legs splayed out as wide as he could spread them, he was trying desperately to hold onto the sand, with little success.

Every so often a spray of sand and pebbles would erupt from the pit in the center, thrown up by something sinuous and black that flicked like a whip.

The bloodied body of an Ibizim lizard was ahead of the boy, sliding into the blackness at the center... no, it wasn’t sliding, it was being pulled!

A long, sticklike leg was pulling it, huge teeth like scythes lining it, hooked into the dead lizard’s flesh.

“It’s a sandroach!” shouted Bjørn as he threw the rope toward the boy. It landed a few meters away from the boy’s outstretched arm. “Grab the rope, boy!”

He pulled it back and tried again as the boy slipped down another meter.

The rope landed on the boy’s leg, and he quickly grabbed it.

Bjørn began pulling, and Jake dismounted, running over to help.

At the bottom of the pit the sand erupted, a reverse landslide of sand and rock bursting up the slope to engulf the boy and Bjørn both.

Jake turned away to shield his eyes from the sudden sandstorm, then back again.

The boy was motionless on the slope, still holding the rope, but Bjørn toppled from the rim, rolling deeper into the pit, rope useless in his hand.

Another black leg burst out of the sand, driving pincerlike into Bjorn’s stomach to drag him closer. The first leg abandoned the lizard to instead swing at the boy, catching him across the chest with those cruel barbs.

Bjørn’s horse screamed in fear and broke, galloping away into the gathering dusk.

“Bjørn!”

He snatched his gun from its pouch, trying to find something to shoot at, but there was just a thin, black leg holding the limp body of the boy, dragging it down to the bottom of the pit where the thing hid.

There was nothing he could do, and it was all over in seconds.

He heard voices behind him.

His hands wavered, the gun slipping down to point at the ground.

He stood up straight again, rising from his shooter’s crouch, and held the gun loosely in one hand.

Sergeant Long was there, with Nadeen.

Renweard came running up behind them, bow in hand, and stopped on the rim to take in the scene.

He saw Bjørn’s broken body in the pit, slowly slipping into the sand.

The boy, probably dead, being dragged down to join Bjørn.

The rope, lying useless on the sandy slope.

“Renweard, no!”

Sergeant Long shouted, and Jake turned to see Renweard lay his bow down next to his quiver, taking sword and dagger in his hands.

“I must, Sergeant,” he said quietly. “I have no reason to live with Bjørn gone. And that sandroach will die with him.”

Long tried to grasp his arm to hold him.

“We can kill it with fire, lad!”

“If I fail,” said Renweard, and leapt into the pit.

He ran down the slope, sword and dagger out, making no effort to catch himself but instead using his speed to launch himself like a spear at the hidden sandroach.

With a metallic screech the thing’s head reared up out of the sand, mandibles clacking and multi-faceted eyes glinting in pain, Renweard’s sword buried deep into its neck.

Jake fired two shots from his Glock into the thing’s head, the 9-mm round punching a clean hole through the chitin between its eyes and blowing the back of its head off.

As the echoes died, so did Renweard, a mandible punched through his chest.

Jake gradually noticed his ragged breathing, realized he was standing with gun still outstretched, both hands trembling with adrenalin.

He slipped the gun back into its pouch, and knelt to pick up his brass. Eventually he needed to figure out a way to reload the things. Horse piss!

The rest of the group had gathered now, looking down into the pit, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Behind them, on a rocky outcrop, three unknown figures stood silhouetted against the dark red sunset. After a moment, they slipped away into the darkness.

The pit as already beginning to fill, sand and pebbles sliding down the incline to bury the four corpses.

Jake silently mounted his horse once again, and the rest of the party slowly followed suit.

They were back on the road shortly, this time with Nnamdi of Zar riding the right flank.

It was quiet ride, in both ways.

When dawn finally came they made camp once more, and around the fire Feng’s troopers each spoke of Renweard and Bjørn, telling tales of their feats, their love, and their deaths.

Chapter 5

The next night was quiet, and the caravan was more careful than ever to stick to the road—when they could see it. The moon was bright, but the dunes often hid the road entirely for long stretches.

Feng drew his horse up closer.

“Thank you for avenging Renweard.”

Jake grunted.

“That was no musket.”

“No, it’s called a pistol, or handgun. The same thing as a musket, only a lot smaller.”

“You didn’t load it, or light the fuze.”

“No. It is already loaded.”

“And is it still?”

“Yes, but I only have a couple dozen bullets left.”

“Bullets?”

“Shots.”

“May I see it?”

“No.”

They rode I silence for a while longer.

“I see why the Factor put you in charge now,” said Feng finally. “I would have stayed to honor their bodies.”

Jake glanced at Feng. Was he condemning him for not giving them a proper send-off? Burial or funeral pyre or whatever. Or was he just speaking his truth?

“The desert will honor them as well as the snails,” he said. “I hate the idea of leaving anyone behind, alive or dead, but even if we had managed to dig them out again, we could have done nothing but give them back to the desert.”

Feng nodded, sighed.

“I agree. Now. Some of the troopers don’t, yet.”

“Will that be a problem?”

“No, they’ve all bitten the branch. They’ll settle down.”

“Bitten the branch?”

It was Jake’s turn to ask for more explanation.

“Bite the branch. When we need to be sewed up, we ‘bite the branch’ to stand the pain. Like your first kill, it’s a mark of passage.”

“Never bitten a branch,” mused Jake.

“But surely you’ve been wounded?”

Jake pulled up his tunic, exposing his back and the round, puckered scar on it.

“A bullet hole,” he explained. “Through my lung and damn near killed me. But I was unconscious when they sewed me up.”

“Same thing, branch or no branch. It’s the scar that counts, but can’t say I’ve ever seen a round one before.”

Jake grunted again.

“You saw what my two shots did to that thing’s head, right? I was damn lucky I survived this one. Wouldn’t have if the extraction bird hadn’t been right there.”

“You flew on birds?”

Jake laughed.

“No, no, that’s just what we called our heli... uh, flying boats.”

“I wish we had a flying boat instead of slogging through the desert every day...”

Jake laughed.

“I wish I had a lot of things right now!”

The caravan rode on through the darkness, the sky slowly lightening to the east.

After they stopped in the morning and began setting up camp for the day, Feng pulled Jake aside.

“Malchinkhüü is looking at the sky quite often... something’s up.”

“I noticed it, too, but not a cloud in it.”

They walked over the guide, who had not yet set up his own canopy.

“What’s wrong, Master Malchinkhüü?”

“Sandstorm’s coming,” he said. “I think from the west, but I can’t tell yet.”

“Sandstorm? But no wind, no clouds!”

“It’s coming. I can feel it.”

Feng looked around, searching.

“If he’s right, we need better shelter. There’s nothing here but more dunes.”

“Get the word out to everyone, Captain Feng. We might be in for an interesting nap today.”

They split up, warning the caravan of what was coming.

The took the roof and wheels off the carriage, making it as low as possible, and did what they could to prepare their horses and themselves.

Malchinkhüü didn’t put his canopy up.

In about an hour the sky to the northwest—the direction of the enormous Eastern Desert, of which this was but a small part—turned black, and the wind began to blow, small gusts at first but rising steadily until it was difficult to stand.

The wind-driven sand blasted in their faces and hands, whipping words out of their mouths with fierce fingers, and forcing them to wrap cloths over their faces to breathe. They hung on, scrunching low and waiting for it to pass.

Jake turned.

Had he heard something over the howling of the wind...?

A shadow moved, a dark figure running, barely visible through the whirling grains.

“To arms!” came Feng’s shout, and chaos erupted.

“Nadeen! To the Lady!”

She was already running toward the carriage, and Jake followed, dodging the sudden swing of a sword from out of the sandstorm, and thrusting to hit something solid. He pulled his sword back.

A figure dressed in sand-colored tunic and trousers came with it, toppling onto the sand at his feet.

Assassins?

“Jake!”

It was Nadeen’s shout.

He left the body behind and ran toward her voice.

She was holding off another of the assassins, barely holding her own with her swordwork. Behind her the Lady’s guard was down, lying atop one body and half under a second. The Lady herself stood near her body, neatly dodging under a swing to lodge a dagger deep into her opponent’s belly, slicing him open from crotch to ribs.

She was wounded, her left arm hanging useless, clothing drenched in blood from some wound to her abdomen; he couldn’t see.

He ran to her.

She spun around, almost striking him before she noticed who it was.

“My Lady! Are you all right?”

“Take this! You must get it to Lord Ganzorig at all cost!”

“Your wounds! We must get you to safety!”

The Lady yanked off her veil.

“You idiot! Take the damn box and get it to Ganzorig!”

It was the Factor! Factor Humaydah!

She had out a small wooden box.

He took it.

“Master Jake. Get it to Ganzorig. Go!”

She slipped to on knee, almost toppling over.

Jake reached out to steady her.

“Factor! Let me bind your...”

“You can’t escape carrying me, Jake. Just go. I order you.”

He let go.

“Jake!”

Nadeen called out; he turned.

More figures were coming toward them through the sand curtain, figures dressed in sand-color tunics and pants. Three... four... he backed up against Nadeen as they spread out, surrounding them. Six...

He reached for his Glock.

It was the only way.

One of the assassins suddenly moved.

Not to the attack.

He collapsed, folding up neatly like a suit slipping off a hanger.

Within seconds, all six of them were down, silently, dead.

A single man stepped toward Jake, hands empty. An Ibizim.

“There is no time. Come.”

Jake and Nadeen exchanged glances.

She shrugged. They had little choice.

Jake straightened, closed his pistol pouch again, and lowered his sword.

The Ibizim, cheeks daubed with some ochre paint, pointed, and they turned to see three more Ibizim standing, barely visible through the whirling sand.

They ran.

Jake felt a hand touch his shoulder, guiding him through the storm. He could hear Nadeen’s feet next to him.

A few minutes later his guide pushed him into a tent, still air, the whirring of the sand changed to a constant pounding and pattering on the thick walls of the tent as it shook and twisted in the gusts.

Nadeen toppled in after him, he steadied her from falling.

“Captain Jake!”

It was Beghara.

Her enormous axe was at her side, bloody, but she seemed unhurt.

“The Ibizim led me here, and now you. And Nadeen.”

“Only the three of us?”

“So far. Maybe the rest still to come?”

“No, no more,” came a quiet voice from the other end of the tent.

An older woman sat there, something like a rosary in her hands. In front of her a warrior sat cross-legged, sword flat on his knees.

She beckoned them closer.

“Captain Jake. Your man tried to save our little Batu, and died trying, as did his friend. And you killed the sandroach, avenging their deaths,” she said. “We have repaid that debt.”

“Who were those men?”

“Some men, some women. All desert fighters sent by Thuba Mleen to take what you hold.”

“Thuba Mleen? What I hold?”

“Sit. Drink.”

They sat on the carpeted floor, cross-legged.

“I am Altansetseg, Matriarch of the Ibizim of the Copper Beetle.”

The man leaned forward with a tiny cup of clear liquid.

Unsure of how to respond but aware that this was important somehow, Jake carefully accepted the cup with both hand, bowing his head in thanks to the matriarch, and chugged it down in a single gulp, still holding it in both hands.

It was pure, fresh, cool water.

He bowed his head again as he reached forward to hand it back to the man.

The man nodded in appreciation.

I guess I guessed right, thought Jake. Looks like nobody wants to kill me yet.

Nadeen and Beghara followed suit.

“We were only able to save you three,” Altansetseg continued, “but not all of you were killed. Thuba Mleen’s fighters left as soon as they discovered the Factor’s body, and that you were gone. They are still hunting you, however, and what you carry.”

“You knew Factor Humaydah?”

“Yes. We, with others, planned this many moons ago.”

“What is in the box? What’s so important she was willing to die to deliver it?”

“The Emperor of the Sands, Thuba Mleen, does not take kindly to rebellion. The best desert dwellers can hope for from him is to be ignored; the worst, enslavement. In the desert, death is always simple, and many find it preferable to working in his mines.

“We Ibizim have an agreement with him that lets us go our way, but if our way interferes with his desires things would go hard for us. We were able to save you only because we struck quickly, and left without leaving witnesses.

“We can provide you with supplies, to an extent, and escort you unseen a bit farther on your journey, but we cannot protect you beyond our borders.”

“What’s in the box?”

“Something to help Ganzorig, First Lord of Eudoxia, free his city from Thuba Mleen’s rule. The first of many cities to declare their freedom and survive, we hope.”

“This was all the Factor’s idea?”

Altansetseg’s wrinkles crinkled.

“Hardly. Many camels have their tongues in this waterhole.”

“And the Ibizim would like to see Thuba Mleen’s power reduced as well...”

“No doubt,” the matriarch agreed. “No doubt.”

“What of the rest of my troopers?”

“We cannot help them, I’m sorry.”

“But we are safe here?”

“Yes. Thuba Mleen’s fighters are also of the desert, of course, but we are Ibizim, and this is our homeland. They could not find us here with a thousand troopers.”

“What can you tell me of my people? Of the battle?”

“Little, I’m afraid... we could not afford to be seen, or leave one who had seen us alive. The giant Pargite was alive, though, standing over four of Thuba Mleen’s assassins while fighting a fifth. Malchinkhüü is dead. And there were other bodies that were not Thuba Mleen’s.”

“And Feng? Captain Feng?” asked Beghara.

The matriarch shrugged.

“We will look later, after the storm is gone, and see what we can see.”

She stood.

“I will have food and water brought,” she said. “Eat, rest, and be at peace. You leave at nightfall.”

She turned and left through a tent-flap, followed by the silent man. He returned in a few minutes with trays of curried rice and goat meat, juicy cactus chunks, and water.

The shriek of the windstorm was slowly dying, the tent not jumping around as much. They ate, wondering which of our friends—if any—might have survived.

Jake pulled out the Lady’s box and slid the cover open.

Inside was folded cloth, something soft like wool. He carefully unfolded it, and revealed an eye.

At least, it looked like an eye. A lizard’s eye, maybe, with three lobes, yellow in color, and embedded in what looked like amber.

Jake figured it was magical, an amulet of some kind.

He wrapped it up again and put it back in his belt pouch.

Later, after the winds had fallen silent and the afternoon slowly slipped into dusk, the matriarch returned, this time accompanied by three warriors, two men and a woman.

“It is time to go,” she said, skipping the pleasantries. “If Thuba Mleen discovers we have helped you it would not go well for us. Yargui will help you reach Thace in safety.”

The woman nodded when she spoke her name, eyes black above her red-painted cheekbones. She was armed with a long, wickedly barbed spear and a long, thin sword of some kind. The other two were similarly armed, and all three wore sand-colored robes and kaffiyeh.

“Can we return to our camp for water and supplies?” asked Nadeen. “We have nothing.”

“It is too dangerous,” replied Altansetseg. “We cannot be seen with you, and you would be killed by Thuba Mleen’s troopers, who still search for you. We will provide.”

She turned and left the tent, calling back over her shoulder “Come.”

The other woman followed her, halting outside to hold the tent flap open.

It was getting quite dark now, and the stars will beginning to shine dimly. The moon had just topped the ridge in the distance, but the desert shadows were already impenetrable black.

“We run,” said Yargui. “Follow me, and remain silent.”

Without waiting for a response she set off at a jog, and the three of them followed—they really had no other options.

The other two spread out to their flanks, and the matriarch watched the six of them vanish into the desert night.

They kept running for about an hour: a measured pace they could have kept up for longer, if needed, but suddenly Yargui halted next to a rock face.

She waited for them to join him, then squatted down and slipped under an overhang, out of sight underneath.

A hidden entrance!

Jake followed suit, grunting as he dropped down to see the entranceway. Well-hidden by the overhang and adjacent rocks, it was invisible to anyone who didn’t know where to look... and in the middle of a trackless desert, surely only the people of the Copper Beetle would know where to look!

The entrance was quite small—he had to sit and slide forward—but once inside the tunnel sloped downward and larger. Only a few meters in and he could stand comfortably.

Nadeen, Beghara, and the other two Ibizim soon joined him.

Yargui took one of the torches off the wall and lit it with her flint and steel, using it to light two more, which she handed to the troopers.

“We can talk now, if you must,” she said. “We will walk in Xinaián for about another hour to reach Home.”

“Xinaián? Home?”

“This underground world is called Xinaián, and Home is our city. Many roads lead to Home, through the desert or through Xinaián, and it is safest to take these secret routes to avoid the searching eyes of Thuba Mleen. A bit farther there is water, come.”

Holding her torch up, he began walking deeper into the tunnel.

While the desert nights were always cold, in the caravan we had heavier robes, and the warmth of the horses... here, we had only the clothes we had been wearing when Thuba Mleen attacked us.

Fortunately, Yargui set a fairly brisk pace, and we were soon quite warm enough.

As they walked, Jake studied the tunnel. It gradually but steadily sloped downward, and while it had apparently been carved from the stone, it was clear the architects had taken advantage of existing caverns. In one place a stone bridge arched across a chasm. As he crossed he glanced down to see a river moving sluggishly below, glinting in the torchlight.

As they walked deeper into the earth, the tunnel began to glow with a faint, bluish light, emitted by what looked like lichen over the bare rock. It gradually increased in brightness, and eventually their eyes acclimated to the point they no longer needed the torches.

The three guides extinguished their torches, but kept them at hand.

There were a number of branches, other tunnels leading off into dimness, and at most of those intersections a statue stood. It looked like the same statues that marked the roads through the desert, he thought, but these were weathered only by time and fungus, and leaving enough detail visible to reveal that they were lizardfolk.

Walking on two legs, often with sword or spear, they always faced away from their direction of travel, as if protecting the road against invaders. With strangely flattened head and reptilian eyes, pendulous writhing lips that bared curved pointed fangs, and a hideously misshapen, dwarfish body, they set his heart racing and raised the hair on the back of his neck every time he saw one.

“The Children of the Night...” whispered Beghara, shifting her axe to be sure she could use it quickly. “These are their tunnels, and their road.”

“We do not speak that name here,” said the man bringing up the rear. “Some say they are still here and listen.”

“Are these things real?” he asked Nadeen, shifting to the far side of the tunnel to pass.

“Legend says so,” she answered, “but I’ve never heard of anyone actually meeting one...”

“They do not come this close to the sun anymore,” said Yargui, “but I would not like to venture below to Yoth.”

The tunnel walls fell back, the tunnel broadening, the ceiling rising, and the echoes of our footsteps changed... Illuminated by blue radiance, the scene in front of him was like nothing he had ever seen before.

They faced a forest of stalagmites, some rising up into invisibility above, all covered with moss, or fungus... and between them, a lake stretching off into the distance, tiny waves lapping the shore.

“It is safe to drink,” said Yargui, cupping a palmful for herself. “We will give you waterskins when we reach Home.”

Jake dipped a finger in... it was cold, and felt wonderful. He plunged both hands in, washing off the dust and sand, splashing it on his face and shoulders, and drinking down handful after handful.

“Stay alert for snakes,” warned the Ibizim. “There are far larger dangers here, too, but they rarely come here to the shallows. Snakes, though, may be anywhere.”

Jake lifted his head from water, darting his eyes here and there, dagger in hand.

Seeing nothing, he relaxed again, but his eyes continued scanning for ripples in the water.

Their three guides contented themselves with a quick sip, but Jake, Nadeen, and Beghara took advantage of the chance to rinse themselves off, and felt refreshed.

“Now I’m hungry, too!” grumbled Beghara. “No breakfast today. Never did like fighting on an empty stomach.”

“Let us continue,” said Yargui, standing and brushing bit of moss off her clothing. “Come.”

Suddenly a deafening hoot sounded, trailing off into a plaintive whistle, echoing through the chamber in a clash of sound.

“What...?”

“One of the larger dangers I mentioned,” said the woman. “There are too many stone columns here, we’re safe. But it would be good to leave before it notices us.”

They left.

The road, now a broad, perfectly flat structure of black basalt, curved around the lake in a perfect arc, clearly built before the stalagmites grew. In a few paces, stalagmites almost a meter high rose from the surface of the road itself, suggesting how incredibly old it was.

Jake had no idea how long it took them to grow, but since they formed from drips of mineral-carrying water from above, it must be tens of thousands of years. If not more.

The road split, one part continuing around the lake, and a second branching off into the rock away from it.

Yargui took the branch, leading them into a smaller tunnel that gradually inclined upwards.

They were heading back to the surface.

Sure enough, as the blue radiance from the tunnel began to fade, there were more torches.

Yargui lit three, taking one for herself and handing the others to the other two Ibizim.

They walked for a while in their bubbles of brightness amid the pitch blackness until suddenly Yaergui extinguished her torch, placing it to the side of the tunnel. The other two quickly followed suit, and as their eyes adjusted they noticed a faint, yellowish light up ahead.

Yargui motioned them to stop, and walked ahead by herself to stand in the center of the tunnel.

Another Ibizim, sword bare, stepped out of the shadows to talk briefly to her, then nodded and gestured with his hand.

Hearing a rustling behind him, Jake spun around to see half a dozen guards standing in a rough semi-circle around them.

Instinctively he reached for his sword, seeing Nadeen and Beghara reach for their weapons out of the corner of his eye.

“They are just the guard, Master Jake,” said Yargui. “You are free to pass now; this way.”

Keeping one eye on the guards, Jake and the two women followed Yargui up the tunnel, which turned sharply to the right up ahead. As he turned the corner, he stopped in astonishment. Nadeen bumped into him, then stopped in shock herself.

The top of Beghara’s axe hit the stone floor with a clang as she rested it there, the three of them looking at the adobe city that stretched out before them.

Eyes watering from the sudden brilliance of the sunshine, they stared.

They were looking out of a hole halfway up a cliff face that must have been five or six hundred meters high, Jake estimated. A valley stretched out at their feet, with a river winding through it, surrounded by green fields and houses, and beyond the river the ground sloped up, gradually at first and then more steeply until it, too, became a cliff... covered with haphazard buildings of every color of the rainbow.

“Welcome to the Home of the Copper Beetle,” she said.

Chapter 6

It reminded him of the photographs he’d seen of adobe cliff dwellings in the United States, and while these also looked to be made largely of adobe, he could see wood and stone as well. But the colors! Each building seemed to be painted a different color from its neighbors, some bright, some dull, some almost fluorescent. Seen from here, the cliff looked almost like a living thing, pulsing and dynamic with the rainbow of colors, shifting as people and carts moved about.

It was hard to see clearly from here, but it looked like the people were also dressed in brilliant colors. Robes, perhaps? Trousers and tunics? He couldn’t tell from this distance.

“Over here,” called Yargui, pointing to a bamboo cage hanging suspended from a rope. She stepped inside, and beckoned the others to join her.

The floor was made of loosely interwoven bamboo poles, and there was only a simple rail around the edge. If you weren’t careful your foot could easily slip between the bamboo poles of the floor, or you might even topple off the platform completely.

When everyone was aboard, Yargui nodded to the three men standing at the crank, and they began to turn it with a loud, wooden clacking.

The elevator descended to the ground as a counterweight rose in time.

It crunched to a stop on the scree, and they had arrived.

They were standing on a wooden stage at the base of the cliff, flanked by farmland on both sides.

An Ibizim woman, dressed in a rose-red shift with leather belt and matching headband, leaned on her hoe as she watched them, resting from tending the onions.

The fields stretched from here—the cliff’s edge—down to the river, a hodgepodge of different crops and animals, fields packed together tightly in no apparent pattern, dotted with farmers hard at work.

As they walked down the slope toward the river, Ibizim going about their daily lives stopped to briefly assess them, sometimes calling a greeting to Yargui or one of the others, then returning to their own work.

Horses, camels, and even a few of the big deinos could be seen. The sand lizards were everywhere, some tethered, some just roaming about.

“Try not to startle one,” warned Yargui. “Most are trained, but not all. And some spit poison.”

“How can you tell which ones spit poison?” asked Jake.

You can’t. We’ll try to warn you if one gets too close,” said Yargui. “It’s late afternoon. We will walk upstream—east—and rest closer to the road you must take.”

“Damn... totally lost track of time down there,” mumbled Jake, glancing up at the sun. “Have we been walking that long?”

“Exactly where are we?” asked Nadeen.

“This is Home,” answered Yargui. “No enemy has ever discovered it, and none ever will.”

“The tunnels,” mused Jake. “But what about by air?”

“It cannot be seen from above,” said Yargui briefly, without going into details.

Jake figured it must be a glamour of some sort, and since they obviously didn’t want to talk about their defenses, let it drop.

“But you’ve let us in...”

“Are you enemies of the Ibizim?” countered Yargui. “The Matriarch says otherwise...”

“We work for—worked for—Factor Humaydah. She has entrusted us to deliver something to Ganzorig, First Lord of Eudoxia. And apparently Matriarch Altansetseg wants us to complete the mission.”

“So, not enemies, then. And perhaps allies,” grinned Yargui. “No ally has ever been here uninvited, either, Master Jake. We Ibizim rule this desert and the mountains of Noor, and have for six grand dozens of years or more.”

“But Thuba Mleen rules you,” said Jake doing the sums in his head. He worked it out to 864 years.

“No, he claims to, and he collects taxes in return for not killing us when we venture into the world. But the times are changing.”

“So the Factor said,...” agreed Jake. “For better or worse, things always change.”

They crossed a small bridge and continued to the opposite cliff, where Yargui led them to a small tea house overlooking the valley. The proprietor came bustling out with a teapot and six tiny cups. Yargui poured the reddish tea, handing each of them a cup in turn.

It was chilled and spicy—Jake tried to figure out what spices might be in it... cinnamon, maybe, and... tarragon? He gave up. It was good, and it was cold.

Fura’kk and po for all!” requested Yargui, and the cook began banging pots around inside.

She poured another round of tea for everyone.

“After we eat and rest a bit,” she continued, “we will walk the roads of Xinaián again.”

“To where?”

“To the last branch, and from there you can just follow the road to the exit.”

“And once we reach the surface?”

“Travel due east and you will reach Thace shortly.”

Jake mulled that over.

“Any word on Captain Feng or the rest of our party?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid... but perhaps later.”

The fura’kk turned out to be roasted strips of chicken and beans and red peppers, stir-fried in some sweetish sauce, and po was steamed buns full of minced meat. Mutton, Jake thought, but it was hard to be sure.

Whatever it was, it was fresh-cooked and delicious. Famished, they finished off several platters.

“The Matriarch has given orders to provide you with whatever you need,” said Yargui. “Water, food, and sleep are yours, but do you need anything else?”

Jake looked at the other two raising his eyebrow.

“Other than more water and food, what else do we need?” he asked.

“Thuba Mleen’s skull!” spit Nadeen. “That’s all I want.”

Beghara chuckled.

“I left my dagger in someone’s chest earlier—got stuck in his ribs, I think—and could use a replacement if you’ve got one. My axe is great when I can swing it properly, but once in a while I really need a good dagger.”

“I can’t get you Thuba’s skull,” grinned Yargui, “but I can certainly get you a dagger or three. After we eat, though.”

Beghara nodded and turned her attention back to the fura’kk, chopsticks flying.

After food and more tea, they walked through the twisting cliffside labyrinth of Home to a small smithery, where Beghara quickly selected a new dagger. They took advantage of the opportunity to hone their weapons, and then Yargui led them up the river again.

The entrance into the underworld was at the base of the cliff this time, marked by a stone gateway. The pillars were the same lizardfolk statues they’d seen throughout their trip, but these were still well-preserved, although somewhat eroded by time and weather.

Jake decided that he really didn’t want to meet a lizardfolk... while they seemed to only come up to his shoulders, they looked to be very muscular. In addition to the usual assortment of swords and such, they also had a protruding jaw fitted with remarkable fangs, talons, and a thick tail that looked like it’d be handy for balancing.

Inside the tunnel, Yargui lit torches, and they all waited for a minute for their eyes to adjust. As before, the three Ibizim carried the lit torches, but Yargui handed Jake, Nadeen, and Beghara two each.

“Keep them for later. Just leave them inside the tunnel entrance when you’re done.”

They walked. The tunnel was mostly level, inclined very slightly down. After a short distance they extinguished the torches and replied on the blue luminance of the walls.

They passed several intersections, and twice came upon groups of guards who let them pass at Yargui’s word.

They walked for several hours, continuing to slope gradually downwards, until Yargui finally stopped where the path split into three.

“We need go no farther,” she said, pointing to the left-hand branch. “Follow this road to the end, and from there continue due east to reach Thace in less than a day.”

“No other branches up ahead?”

“None. The road curves around a lake, but it is clear.”

“Thank you, Yargui,” said Jake, holding out his hand.

Yargui looked at it but made no effort to shake.

To hide his embarrassment he turned to Nadeen and Beghara.

“Ready?”

“Let’s go,” said Nadeen, checking to be sure she still had her torches.

Beghara nodded.

Jake nodded to Yargui and the two silent fighters, and they started off down the tunnel.

The blue light was still strong enough that they could see without the torches, and the tunnel itself was clear and amply wide.

After about a few hours the tunnel began getting wider, and the ceiling higher... they were approaching the lake. The blue radiance grew stronger, and the air was rich with the smells of water, earth, and growing things.

The chamber seemed to be much smaller than the one they had seen earlier—they could see most of the ceiling, although the far reaches were difficult to make out clearly though the mist. Everything was covered in moss, with huge clumps of mushrooms sprouting in profusion.

There were even a few tiny flowers growing amid the moss, here and there, and Beghara stopped to look closer.

“This tiny flower! Look!” she called. “It has an even tinier frog inside!”

She reached out to pluck it, and something long and thin and scarlet and impossibly fast darted at her hand, and away.

“Damn! Snake!”

She yanked her hand back, holding it to her mouth and sucking the blood out.

Nadeen ran over and looked at it: two deep punctures in the soft flesh of her hand, between thumb and index finger.

She grabbed her dagger and sliced the wound open, spilling a few greenish drops onto the ground, and splashed water onto it, then put her own mouth to it to try to suck out the remaining poison.

Beghara swayed, then suddenly sat down with a thump, legs sprawled.

She screamed, and her eyes rolled up into her head.

She collapsed.

Jake placed his hand on her neck, feeling for her pulse. It was still there, but not as strong as it should be for Beghara.

“The blood is flowing clean now,” said Nadeen, spitting again, “but I fear there’s too much left.”

“Damn. Stay here, or carry her to Thace?”

“Yargui said less than a day to Thace. I’d say wait until dusk and then try for it... she’s going to die soon without help.”

“Agreed.”

Jake stood.

“Let’s get away from this damn lake, and then I’ll scout on up ahead and see how far the exit is. Yargui said there aren’t any enemies down here.”

“Except for snakes.”

“Yeah, except for snakes...”

With Nadeen’s help, Jake lifted Beghara up on his back, and they moved farther down the road until they were a good distance from the lake, on clean, dry stone paving again.

He set her down, checked her pulse once more, and started jogging.

Only another ten minutes down the road and the blue radiance was gone, replaced by the usual pitch black of the upper tunnels.

He took out his tinderbox and lit his torch with flint and steel, then continued in its light until he reached the exit.

He glanced outside... the sun was low above the horizon. The eastern horizon. Sunrise. The desert sand stretched forever around their little outcropping.

He couldn’t carry Beghara in that heat... they’d have to wait for nightfall to have any chance at all.

He trotted back.

“Any change?”

Nadeen shook her head.

“Breathing and pulse are both faint, but no worse than before,” she said. “Did you reach the exit?”

“Yeah, maybe about thirty minutes at a jog. Sun’s coming up. We’ll have to wait until it cools off, or we’ll all die on the way.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. Damn.”

He knelt down to check Beghara’s pulse.

Not very good, but still there.

Maybe she had a chance, if they could get her to Thace.

“Help me get her up,” he said, “I’ll carry her on my back to the exit.”

Nadeen helped lift Beghara’s unconscious body up onto Jake’s back, and he held her arms tight across his chest as he stood, feet planted solidly.

“Damn, she’s built like a fucking tank.”

He wobbled for a moment, catching his balance, and shifted her weight.

“This is gonna be a bitch and a half,” he said, taking the first step.

Nadeen brought Beghara’s axe and bag, walking near Jake and lighting the way with the torch. Every so often she reached out to steady him as he took one plodding step after another, down the long tunnel toward the exit.

It had only taken him a about fifteen minutes to jog there by himself, but it took more than two hours that to finally reach the exit with Beghara on his back. Nadeen couldn’t carry her weight for more than a few dozen meters, and he needed frequent rests himself.

Nadeen helped get her down to the tunnel floor, taking care not to bang her head, and Jake collapsed, panting.

“No change,” said Nadeen, checking Beghara’s pulse and listening to her breathing.

The sun was already up, and they could feel waves of heat radiating into their darkness from the desert sand outside.

Jake pulled out the hard case and slipped on his sunglasses, relieved to see the harsh sunlight of the dunes reduced to a cooler shade. He carefully put the hard case back into the leather pouch on his belt. He didn’t wear his shades much these days because they attracted so much attention—they were probably the only ones in the Dreamlands, and highly reflective, too—but they sure helped as he peered outside the cave.

“Bug-eyed Jake! Can’t handle the sunshine, lover boy?”

“Got nothing against sunshine, Nadeen,” he grumbled. “This is way beyond sunshine, though. Your eyeballs made outta stone?”

“Practice,” she replied. “And a good kaffiyeh.”

“We had deserts in Australia, too,” he continued. “Spent a lot of time training in them and hating most every minute of it, but they never got this hot. Christ, you could boil fucking water in your hand out there!”

“It’s not that bad today; still early yet;” she countered. “Might be best to wait until dusk, but if you’d like to keep going and discover what ‘hot’ really means I’ll be happy to accompany you.”

“Ah, no, but thanks. A little nap would be wonderful.”

The two of them sipped a little water, and Nadeen dripped a little between Beghara’s lips: she was still unconscious and sweating heavily despite of the coolness of the cave.

Jake was exhausted.

He spread his mat and sat down, unlacing his leather boots and pulling them off with a grunt.

He didn’t miss wearing pants, but he really missed good boots. The boots he’d brought with him from Australia had finally given up the ghost last year, and there weren’t many shopping centers around he knew of. He’d come to appreciate the robes everyone wore here in the Eastern Desert, but their boots—or even worse, sandals—sucked.

He’d gone through desert training in Australia, of course, when he was in the SASR out of Campbell, but he’d spent most of his time in Borneo, Timor, and other jungles north of Australia rather than the deserts of the Middle East. In the jungle you needed good boots for several reasons, and he’d come to appreciate them over the years. The Special Air Service Regiment was the cream of the crop when it came to Aussie special forces, and they didn’t skimp on gear.

He recalled the ’scopes they’d had back then: lightweight binocs, and nightscopes. Once again he wished he’d thought to grab one of those when he left. All he had now was his shades, his Glock and a couple mags, and the Suunto.

Thank God for that Suunto compass. It sure saved their asses this time... Until now, at least. Now they could really use a little luck, and some salt tabs, and the compass didn’t offer either.

As Jake lay down, he placed the small box containing the amulet under his head, wrapped in some cloth to serve as a pillow. He wanted to keep it very close after all they’d been through.

Chapter 7

Something had made a noise.

Without moving, he listened, trying to recall exactly why he’d suddenly woken up.

Nadeen...?

He opened his eyes, and started to sit up.

“OK, you just relax,” came a man’s voice. “I’ve got a gun on you, and I’m guessing you know what that is.”

Whoever it was he sounded like he knew what he was doing.

“Can I sit up?” asked Jake.

“Sure, go right ahead. But no sudden movements.”

Jake slowly sat up, and glanced around. Beghara’s body was lying in the same place; he couldn’t see if she was dead or alive.

Nadeen was gone.

“Where’s Nadeen?”

“The other woman? She went outside as soon as it cooled off a bit; I’d guess she’s scouting the area.”

He was wearing dirty, torn fatigues, enormous military boots, a thriving beard, and a very large Browning Hi-Power automatic pistol that was pointed right at him.

“I see you’ve got a Suunto compass, and a real nice pair of shades, so I’m guessing you recognize this, too,” he said, moving the Browning a fraction of an inch.

“Browning Hi-Power. I’ve used one myself,” said Jake. “Haven’t seen one in quite a while, though...”

“Take a good look, then, and let’s keep this nice and friendly. And if your lady friend comes back I’ll have to ask you to stop her from doing anything that might spoil our little chat here.”

“Nadeen? Yeah, I think I can do that. She doesn’t have a gun.”

The other man nodded and sat down on their packs. The gun stayed pointed right at Jake, though.

“Thomas T. Highweigh, United States Marine Corps. Friends call me TT; everyone else calls me either Gunny or sir, depending. And you?”

“Jake Evans, formerly Special Air Service Regiment.”

“That’s Aussie, right?”

“Yup. Out of Campbell Barracks in Swanbourne.”

“You guys saved our fucking bacon in ’nam.”

“Before my time, I’m afraid,” grinned Jake. “Maybe we can relax and put the gun down now?”

“Yeah, might as well. Got no bullets left anyway,” he said.

“Thanks, TT,” said Jake, and pushed his robe open to reveal his Glock.

“Mine’s loaded,” he added. “Glad that all worked out.”

“Well, yeah, me too!” said TT. “Mind if I call the others in?”

“Others!?”

“Yeah, the rest of my team is waiting down the tunnel.”

“Sure, but let’s do it slow, OK?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“And since things seem to all be copacetic here,” said Jake, “Nadeen? C’mon in, it’s OK now.”

TT spun around to look at the tunnel exit as Nadeen stepped in, a throwing knife in each hand.

TT called out “All clear, guys!”

There was a shuffling in the tunnel darkness and three men emerged into the light.

Jake kept his pistol at ready until it became obvious they were unarmed, pointed to the side.

They were all wearing the same fatigues as TT, equally torn and dirty. One had a bloody bandage wrapped around his arm.

“Welcome to my humble abode, gentlemen. I’m Jake Evans, formerly a corporal in the Australian Army, and this is Nadeen. We’re currently employed by a trading company as, um, security, and took a little detour through the caves here.”

The three men found places to sit.

“Speak up, guys... this is the first guy we’ve met that might have a fucking clue what’s going on!”

“Uh, Dr Nolan Geiszler, biologist. On loan from the K-Science Lab.”

“Mack Watney. Botanist. US Army Reserve.”

“Wilhelm Littlejohn. Professor of archaeology at Marshall College. Call me Johnny.”

“And why are you people wandering around these tunnels?”

“We were investigating the tunnel network around Metropolis, and—”

“Metropolis? Where’s that?”

They stared at him.

“You... Metropolis? You don’t know where Metropolis is!?”

“One of the biggest cities on the East Coast!?”

“You mean New York City?”

“No, Metropolis, not New York!” said TT. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“Nope, never heard of it,” said Jake.

“This woman is in bad shape.” It was Geiszler, the biologist. “Snakebite?”

“Beghara was bitten earlier today at the tunnel lake. We have to get her to Thace or she’s going to die.”

“Thace?”

“Whoa, everyone slow down!” shouted TT. “Nolan, can you help her?”

“Yeah, the antivenin should work, I guess.”

He shrugged off his backpack and started rummaging around inside.

Jake’s Glock shifted a bit but stayed pointed at the wall.

Dr Geiszler pulled out a black case and unzipped it to reveal a row of syringes.

He picked one up, bent her head back to reveal her neck, and carefully injected the orange fluid into the artery there.

“Might be an hour or so until she wakes up, but her pulse and breathing should start recovering pretty quickly.”

“You have antivenom that work on these snakes?”

“Yeah, it’s a new type of antivenin developed by Dr. Tompkins at the Project.”

“Nolan, zip it,” broke in TT.

Dr Geiszler shut his mouth for a moment.

“Sorry, not supposed to talk about that. Um, it’s a new type of antivenin that doesn’t need refrigeration and works on most reptilian venoms.”

“And you work for the Project,” mused Jake, “which is presumably some top-secret American deal.”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is secret, and I haven’t been authorized to talk to you about it,” said TT. “Not to change the subject or anything, but you said Vietnam was a bit before your time... what did you mean by that?”

“Mean by it? Damn, I wasn’t even born then!”

“You what....!?”

“I was born in 1974,” said Jake.

“But... it’s 1971!”

A confused babble broke out.

“So we got bumped in the future?” asked Professor Littlejohn.

Jake sighed.

“No, it’s rather more complicated than that, I’m afraid. This is sort of a parallel universe, as far as I can tell.”

“With dinosaurs.”

“With dinosaurs,” agreed Jake. “And magic.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Yup, it is that,” laughed Jake. “I was security for an Aussie mining outfit that discovered a tunnel leading here, and I stayed after things went south.”

“And we wandered around in those damn tunnels until most of our party was dead and we ended up here.”

“How many people in your party?”

“We began with fourteen,” said TT. “I was along for security, not that we really expected to need any. And nobody else was even armed.”

“What happened?”

“We stumbled into a huge chamber full of dinosaurs and what we think might have been Neanderthals. They didn’t like us.”

He closed his eyes.

“I only had a few mags, and used them all up getting us into a tunnel. We lost half our team right there, and more later. Just us now.”

“How’d you get through the tunnels?”

“Just tried to use tunnels that sloped upwards... most of our batteries died, and we were down to two pretty weak penlights by the time we stumbled into that lake back there.”

“And you saw us.”

“Actually, heard your voices. I sneaked up for a look and followed you here.”

“Pretty damn quiet!”

TT grinned.

“Nice to hear that from an SAS man!”

“SASR. Aussie, remember?”

“I was a gunnery sergeant,” continued TT, “until they pulled me out of Hanoi to handle security for Probe Six.”

Jake waved at the men. “You’re Probe Six?”

“Yeah, what’s left of it.”

“Wait a sec... pulled you out of Hanoi? You were in North Vietnam?”

“Yeah, sure, I was there as part of the peacekeeping force. Why?”

“Peacekeeping force? What peacekeeping force?”

“Uh, Kurtzberg—I mean, President Kurtzberg—convinced Mao to let the UN run the country until things settled down, and I was in Hanoi helping to keep everything from falling apart.”

“The President of America is named Kurtzberg?”

“Yeah, Jack Kurtzberg... why?”

Jake shook his head in disbelief.

“Wow. I knew time was wacky here already, but.... wow.”

“What?”

“As near as I can recall, you had Kennedy, then Johnson, then Nixon...”

“Who?”

“Tricky Dick. Richard Nixon.”

“Nope. Johnson lost to Kurtzberg, and the whole Vietnam mess was pretty much cleaned up by 1970 or so, once the US and China began working on it together. Who the hell is Nixon?”

“Doesn’t fucking matter anymore, does it...” said Jake. “The world I came from has a different history. Vietnam was a suppurating wound, and Saigon fell in 1975. President Nixon was impeached for spying. China is a world power, the Soviet Union doesn’t exist anymore, and there is no city called Metropolis.”

TT sat back on his haunches.

Everyone just looked at Jake.

“So those lizard statues are real, then?” asked Professor Littlejohn.

“Yup, I think so,” said Jake. “I’ve never seen one in the flesh, but I’m told they ran this place a ten or twenty thousand years ago.”

Littlejohn’s eyebrows rose. “Ten or twenty thousand? That’s a long time...”

TT broke in. “So where is ‘here’?”

“They call it the Dreamlands. I don’t understand it myself, but apparently a lot of human dreams and creations—I mean, books and movies and stuff—end up here, for real. The guy we work for, Factor Chóng, he was born in China in the Han dynasty.”

“Han Dynasty... That would be about 200 BC to 200 AD,” explained Littlejohn.

“And he’s still alive?”

“Very much so. Like I said, time works funny here. And there’re deinos.”

“And there are dinos,” echoed TT.

“Beghara’s waking up,” called Nadeen.

Jake stood, packed his pistol away in its pouch again, and walked over to Beghara.

Nadeen was helping her drink.

Her eyes were open, color good, breathing normal.

Geiszler squatted down next to her to take her pulse. Beghara pulled back at his sudden approach, not knowing who he was, but Nadeen reassured her.

“It’s OK, he’s with us. Relax.”

“Pulse is strong, breathing’s good...” he said, and lifted her hand.

Beghara yanked it away and sat up.

“Easy, Beghara, easy,” calmed Jake. “He saved your life; let him look at your hand.”

She slowly held it out, deep furrows appearing between her brows as she did.

Geiszler peeled back the bandage he had put on earlier, splashed a little water on the wound, and wiped it clean.

The swelling had gone down considerably.

“I don’t see any major tissue damage,” he said. “Looks like you got most of the venom out early and the antivenin took care of the rest.”

He took a little tube of something out of his pack and smeared it over the wound, then put a new bandage on.

“Antibiotic cream. With luck she’ll be able to use that hand normally within a couple days.”

Beghara’s frown had vanished, and flexed her hand a few times to see how much it hurt.

Apparently not much, because she starting searching for her axe, and stood to retrieve it when she finally found it.

Once it was safely in its sling again she sat back down with a sigh of relief.

“Have any more water?” she asked.

Jake handed over a skin.

“Welcome back.”

“Is it safe to drink that?” asked TT. “We ran out of halazone tabs about a week ago.”

“The Ibizim said it was, and since we didn’t have a choice we’ve been drinking it since. Don’t have the runs yet.”

“Ibizim?”

“Local desert tribe. They led us through the tunnels to here, and told us how to get to Thace.”

“You mentioned Thace before.”

“A good-sized oasis on a trade route. We were escorting a caravan there until we ran into some trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Bandits. We started with over a dozen troopers.”

“And you’re the only ones left?”

“We don’t know. The caravan got separated, and we ended up in the tunnels. I’m hoping the rest of the caravan made it, but I’m still in the dark. They might be in Thace, I guess.”

“Those three profs want to spend the rest of their lives down here cataloging stuff,” said TT, jacking his thumb toward the other three men, “but we’ve gotta get out of here and somewhere with supplies and communications, or those lives will be pretty short.”

“Should be plenty of supplies in Thace, but ‘Who ya gonna call?’”

TT noticed the sing-song quote but just looked blankly at Jake.

“You never heard of Ghostbusters, huh?”

TT just shook his head.

“Never mind, just a dumb movie. Point is, this place is pretty much in the Middle Ages, give or take. No phones, no radio, and nobody to call even if you did.”

“How’d you get here?”

“Through a portal on the other side of the world. And yeah, I think it’s still open, and I think I could probably get you guys there, but even if you go through you’d end up in Australia in the year 2020, I think.”

“2020... you’re shittin’ me, right?”

Jake pulled out a handful of coins: gold, silver, copper, stamped with a wide range of different faces and names. Among them were a few Australian coins.

He held out his hand for TT to take a look...

TT picked up a few.

“Elizabeth II, 1994... Elizabeth II, 2012... 2018... 2006... Well, shit. Ain’t that a bummer.”

“Sorry, TT... I’m afraid you’re stuck here for a while.”

Professor Littlejohn seemed quite happy at the prospect: “There a lot of ruins like this around?”

“Shitloads,” said Jake. “Often inhabited.”

Littlejohn grinned. “I’m staying!”

Geiszler and the quiet botanist, Mack Watney, nodded their heads.

“Hell, yes!” said Geiszler. “Probe Six is supposed to look at wildlife, and what I’ve seen here is as wild as it gets!”

“I’m in,” added Watney.

“Well, I guess we’re staying after all,” grinned TT. “So how do we get to Thace?”

Jake turned to Beghara.

“How do you feel?”

She flexed her shoulders, twisted her head back and forth a few times.

“Exhausted. Doesn’t matter; I’ll walk.”

“It’s just past nightfall, and the temperature will be dropping fast out there. Yargui said to travel due east to reach Thace, and I think we can trust her word.”

TT raised an eyebrow obviously wondering who Yargui was, but when he saw Nadeen shoulder her pack and Beghara tie her mask over her nose and mouth, he turned to get his own people ready.

“Ok, you nerds. We’re going out into the desert, which means we can expect sand in the air and in your face. You have something you can use as a mask?”

The three men found pieces of cloth that would serve; one ended up tearing off a shirtsleeve to use as a makeshift mask. TT had a towel in his pack that would work fine.

“Do we need to fill up on water?”

“We just did,” replied Nadeen, “and we were told we’d reach Thace by morning.”

“Everyone good? TT?”

“Good to go.”

“We’ll handle security,” said Jake. “You keep an eye on your people. And look, if you see anything move, anything at all, you make sure one of us knows about it real fast.”

“Expecting anything in particular?”

“Poison-spitting lizards, venomous snakes, swordsmen wearing sand-colored robes, giant antlions that can snap a horse in half... that enough for you?”

“Yeah, that’ll do,” said TT. “I think we get the picture.”

“Nadeen, you see anything out there when you went out?”

“We’re on the eastern side of a pretty large outcropping,” she explained. “Reasonably flat, sloping up slightly all around, but I could see a couple hundred meters in all directions except the rocks, of course. We’ll have to check what’s on the other side when we get to the top of that rise, but there shouldn’t be any surprises waiting right here, at least.”

“Good. You take point.”

“Got it.”

“Beghara, do what you can on the flanks. I’ll bring up the rear. If there’s a problem everyone head for TT.”

He turned to TT.

“You herd the kittens.”

TT nodded.

“All I have is my Ka-Bar. You got a spare toad-sticker?”

Nadeen drew one of her swords and handed it over.

“I want that back,” she said.

“Pretty long,” said TT, swinging it for heft. “Never used one of these... maybe I’ll just stick with my knife for now.” He handed it back and adjusted his pack.

“Got any ammo you can spare?”

“9 mil, sorry. Your Browning’s .40-cal, right?”

“Crap. Yeah.” He turned to his team members. “Ok ladies, let’s get this parade on the road.”

It was almost a full moon now.

Nadeen scouted ahead, walking up the incline to look over the edge. After a minute she waved, and the rest of the party followed.

Jake checked the horizon for a landmark eastward... there was a nice triangle of stars just above the horizon almost directly ahead... It’ll do for now, he thought, until it rotates out of position. Have to check it every so often.

Nadeen was setting a good pace, and even the three scientific members of the team were keeping up so far.

He spotted a good-sized lizard hunting off to the side, but it was small enough to fear them more than he feared it. No doubt most of the wildlife around here has heard us coming and gotten out of our way. Hope we don’t meet anything bigger, though...

They walked for a couple hours, Jake changing his star target every so often as the sky whirled.

He was a little worried about their pace... the scientists were flagging a bit, unused to walking on sand, but he was especially concerned about Beghara. She looked dead-tired, trudging along on sheer obstinance. She was still sweating heavily in spite of the desert cold, and breathing hard.

They couldn’t keep this pace up until morning, and he sure as hell couldn’t carry her very far; she weighed damn near as much as he did!

Jake decided to start looking for a place to shelter during the day, and was just about to signal Nadeen to drop back so he could tell he when suddenly she crouched, holding up her hand.

TT immediately stopped the others, finger to lips, and got his knife out.

Jake and Beghara moved up toward Nadeen, keeping quiet.

“I heard a horse whinny, up ahead,” she whispered.

“How far?”

“Hard to say, but within a couple hundred meters.”

He hand-waved Beghara to stay with TT. She nodded and slipped back as Jake and Nadeen edged forward into a small outcropping.

They both jumped at the sudden voice from above: “I could pincushion you both with arrows where you stand.”

Chapter 8

Jake’s reflexes jumped him back, rolling and drawing his sword in the same motion even as he recognized the voice. A huge, black shadow leapt from the top to land on the sand a few meters distant. The other’s white teeth and eyes flashed brightly in the darkness.

“Danny! It’s you!”

“Of course it’s me, you idiot! Who the hell else would be out in this Godsforsaken desert in the middle of nowhere waiting for you to come bumbling along!”

“But how...?”

“An Ibizim told me you’d be along in a bit... we searched for you last night, too, but you didn’t show. So we came back tonight, and here you are!”

“Coming up!” came a shout from ahead.

Long’s voice, followed by the sounds of horses approaching.

“Sergeant! You’re alive!”

Sergeant Long emerged from the darkness, riding a horse and leading a few more.

“Good to see you, Captain. We thought you were all gone until the Ibizim showed up.”

“We’re good, but Beghara needs a doctor,” said Jake, reaching up to give him a wrist-shake.

“Who are your friends?”

“Later. What about Captain Feng?”

Danny looked down.

“Sorry, the Captain’s dead. So are Ng, Larb, and Malchinkhüü. Ridhi’s hurt bad.”

“Damn. And the Lady and her guard are dead, too.”

TT approached.

“Danny, this is TT. He’s a friend, but he’s new to this part of the world. Those three,” pointing to the three scientists, “are also friends, but not fighters. TT, Danny—Danryce—and Nadeen have been with me for a long time. Sergeant Long is part of the caravan guard.”

TT held out his hand, and Danryce clamped it in a wrist-shake.

It was the first wrist-shake ever for TT, but he’d just watched Jake do it a few times, and caught on fast.

Danny walked over the Beghara, who was leaning on her axe.

“Glad you made it, Beghara... had me worried.”

“And you, Danryce. They can’t get us that easily.”

He picked her up, heavy as she was, and carried her over to the horses, thrusting her up onto the closest one.

“You ride for now; we’ll be back in Thace soon enough.”

Beghara smiled.

“Nothing like a romantic ride under the stars,” she said, and slung her axe across her back again.

“We don’t have enough mounts for everyone, but it’s a short ride from here,” said Long. “Get everyone doubled up—except you two lardballs; you two ride single,” he warned pointing to Danny and Beghara with his chin.

Jake helped TT get his people up onto the horses, and showed them what to hang on to.

“Now let’s get the fuck outta here before Thuba Mleen finds us!”

Sergeant Long led the way.

* * *

They rode east through the desert for about half an hour until they saw the familiar time-worn statues up ahead marking the ancient trade route. Once they were on the road they increased their speed and reached the walls of Thace shortly.

Sergeant Long trotted ahead to talk to the gate guards, and they waved us through without any problem.

“Take them to the inn,” he called to Danny. “I’ll get the physician.”

He galloped off, and Danny pointed down one of the dark, dusty streets.

There were oil lamps scattered here and there, but the city was mostly quiet and empty as we clattered through.

The Spitting Toad was a small inn built close to the city wall, and even in the pre-dawn darkness had clearly seen better days. Still, they had a stable boy who was awake enough to take the horses, a fire still glowing in the fireplace, and a hearty welcome—Yeung and Lau, the archers, were there, with tattooed Serilarinna of Cydathria and Nnamdi.

Jake and Danryce picked up Beghara, each of them draping one of her arms around their neck, and half-carried, half-dragged her to the corner where another body was already lying on mats. She was only half-conscious.

It was Ridhi Chabra, sleeping or unconscious, bandaged wrapped around her upper leg with a smudge of crimson on one side. There was a bowl of water next to her, and a wet cloth folded up across her forehead.

Nnamdi hurriedly spread out another mat, and they laid Beghara down.

“How bad is she?” asked Jake, indicating Ridhi with his chin.

“Bad slash in the thigh,” said Danny. “Surgeon said he might have to cut it off if her fever doesn’t go down.”

“Jake,” called TT. “I’ve got some broad-spectrums left... we didn’t have many injured...”

Jake looked up, understanding the unspoken thought: most of his people died suddenly.

“If you can spare some we’d appreciate it, TT.”

TT dropped his pack and knelt next to it, pulling out a small medkit. He unzipped it and handed over a metallic strip with a dozen red pills. “One a day’ll do it.”

Danny and most of the others were staring at the medkit he was holding. Everyone watched carefully as he zipped it closed.

“What did I do? What’s the big deal? You never seen a medkit befo.... Oh.” He stopped and looked at the zippered medkit in his hand. “Never saw a zipper before, huh? Wow...”

He reached into his pack and pulled out another small zippered case.

He unzipped it, and touched the rolls of film inside, then transferred them to his pack.

“If we’re gonna be here for a while, I guess these photos won’t be of much use.”

He tossed the empty case to Danny.

“Here you are, your very own zipper!”

Danny caught it, raised it to his eyes to study it more closely. He pulled the tab back and forth a few times and grinned, then tossed it to Nnamdi to have a look.

Jake wrung out the cloth and wiped Ridhi’s forehead, then lay the cool cloth across it.

He punched out one of the pills and pried open Ridhi’s mouth.

“Give me a few drops,” he said to Nadeen, who moistened another cloth in the water.

He placed the pill as far back in her mouth as he could, then closed it after Nadeen dripped in a little water.

They waited for her throat to move, and Jake let out his breath as she finally swallowed water and antibiotic.

Jake sat back on his heels.

At last he could relax.

He closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

“I think you need an ale,” said Danny, and Jake returned to the present.

He looked up, stretched out one hand to Danny to help him get up, and the other for the mug of ale Yeung held out.

TT and the three scientists already had their own mugs, and the innkeeper was bringing a plate of roast meat. It was still predawn...pretty strange for any innkeeper to provide this level of service!

They sat and brought each other up to date.

After the Lady and her guard were killed and Jake’s party vanished, the desert assassins vanished, too, leaving their dead behind. Sergeant Long and the others were astonished to hear that the Ibizim has saved them, although he said he suspected it when one suddenly showed up at the inn a few days earlier and said Jake was coming.

They still had most of their horses, and even the carriage, although with the Lady dead it probably wasn’t needed. It had proven invaluable in getting the wounded—Ridhi and Larb—to Thace, though. Larb had died on the way, but with luck Ridhi might survive.

“Captain Feng, Ng, Larb, Malchinkhüü... and Bjørn and Renweard before that,” sighed Jake. “We still have a mission to complete, though, and with luck Lord Ganzorig will pay us what we’re due.”

“Oh, I don’t think payment is much of an issue anymore,” grinned Sergeant Long, pulling out a lumpy leather bag and dropping it on the table. “The Lady was carrying more than enough to cover our expenses, and keep the innkeeper very happy indeed.”

“That’s... gold?”

“Mostly. A little small change mixed in.”

“May I see it?” asked Professor Littlejohn, who had been listening to the conversation intently.

Jake waved at the bag, “Sure, help yourself.”

Johnny poured it out on the table... It was a diverse collection of coins of all sizes and shapes, mostly gold but with a scattering of silver, copper, and even a few orichalc. Round, triangular, a seven-sided flat coin, a four-sided pyramid of silver, all adorned with the faces of once-famous kings and emperors and gods, or worn smooth through decades and centuries of use.

The archaeologist picked them up one by one, studying them intently and murmuring to himself.

He held one unusually large disc of yellowish metal in hand, hefting it.

“This is marked with characters I’ve never seen before,” he said, holding it closer. “and what is this metal? It’s heavier than gold, and the color’s funny.”

Jake held out his hand.

It had an spiral inscription running one side—at least, he assumed it was characters, although he’d never seen anything like it. It sort of reminded him of Arabic, but this was a single line, jumping and darting left and right, with dots and marks on either side. Maybe more like a signal trace on an oscilloscope, he thought. Weird.

He handed it to Long.

“That’s T’pictyl,” he said after a glance. “Don’t know it, myself. Orichalc, of course.”

“T’pictyl? Never heard of it! Orichalc is famous in history and myth, of course, but I thought it was just brass...?”

Jake laughed.

“I warned you, Professor. You are living in a myth now, and if he says it’s orichalc, I’d believe him.”

“And what’s T’pictyl?”

Jake looked at Sergeant Long, raising an eyebrow.

“Legend says they’re giant beetles, the size of men, who created the gods. I’ve seen their writings here and there in forgotten places, over the years. It’s written vertically,” explained Long. “Never seen a giant beetle, though.”

“Orichalc... wow. I wish Alan was still here to look at this...”

“Who’s Alan?”

“Alan Helmsley. He was our geologist,” said TT. “The dinos got him.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard any legends of giant beetles,” mused Littlejohn. “We’re here, and we’ve still got scattered bits of equipment left, so apparently you can move things between home and here...”

“You had a lot of gear with you?” asked Jake.

“Oh, yeah, tons of cameras and measurement instrumentation and such. The dinosaurs got some of it, and most of the rest we threw away after the batteries ran out. Still have the film, of course, much good that’ll do us here...”

“Shit! You said penlights! Batteries!”

“Yeah?”

“Quick, give me your penlights and any batteries you have left. Everything electronic or electrical that might still have a charge left! Hurry!”

TT and the three scientists were taken aback at Jake’s sudden outburst, but scrabbled around through their bags and pockets to put four penlights (one broken), an assortment of batteries, and one Nikon light meter on the table.

Jake scooped them up and ran to the fireplace. He dropped them on the stone hearth, and picked up one of the large rocks lined up in front of it.

“Hey, what are you—”

TT’s shout was lost in the noise as Jake smashed the rock down on the batteries and lights, crushing them. He lifted it again, and a third time, until there was nothing but fragments left.

“What the hell, Jake!” cried TT, dropping to his knees to look at the pieces. “You fucking destroyed our lights!”

Jake sat down heavily, the rock falling from his hand to clunk on the floor.

“I’m sorry, I should have realized earlier. You can’t use electronics here, and probably not electricity.”

“You mean you don’t want to teach them about electricity?”

“No, it’s not that,” sighed Jake, catching his breath. “It’s magic, and yeah, I know you’re not going to believe me, but believe me. There’s a goddess or shaman or something running around that really hates electricity, and when she notices it she fucking destroys stuff. I mean, everything is just fucking gone.

“Remember I said I came here from Australia? I was a security guard at a mine. They discovered this portal, and had no fucking idea what it was, but when they prospected they found rare earths, so they set up a mine. Made a deal with a local trader, had a whole little mining town running.

“And then this bitch Reed finds out about the mining equipment and radios and shit and in the space of like ten seconds destroyed the whole thing. Huge fucking holes in the ground, spherical gouges where everything was just gone. Equipment, Quonset huts, people. Sonic booms as the air rushed to fill the vacuums where everything had been, and then just fucking holes.

“I was damned lucky to be far enough away to escape.

“Chóng never did find out how many of his people died, but probably well over a hundred.”

“Who’s Chóng?”

“The trader they dealt with here in the Dreamlands. And my current employer.” Jake stood. “Anyway, I’m sorry for destroying your stuff, but I’m not gonna fuck with electricity here again. That fucking bitch killed a couple dozen of my buddies, too, and if she never comes near me again that’ll be just fine.”

“Reed, you said?”

“Yeah. They said something about reincarnation and some god named Amaterasu.”

“Amaterasu is the Japanese goddess of the sun, and the mythical founder of the Japanese imperial line,” said Johnny. “Never heard of Reed; that’s certainly not a Japanese name.”

“Whatever. I’m more interested in staying alive,” said Jake. “You guys sure you haven’t forgotten anything? I’m dead serious—if you’ve got something hidden away, either give it to me now or get the fuck out of this inn.”

“Hey, easy guy, take it easy,” said TT, holding his hands up to placate Jake. “I’m sure that’s everything, but maybe let’s all take another look just to be sure, Ok?”

He turned to the three scientists, and they began rifling through their packs again.

One more tiny battery turned up, a button cell that was rolling around in the bottom of a pack.

TT gave it to Jake, and it was quickly smashed to join the others.

“Jake! Beghara’s waking up!”

At Nadeen’s call everyone turned to look at the corner where Beghara and Ridhi were lying.

Beghara was sitting up, sipping water.

Dr Geiszler walked over and reached for her wrist, and Beghara dropped one hand to her dagger, just in case.

“Easy, Beghara,” called Danny. “He’s a physician. Let him see.”

Nolan took her pulse, then unwrapped the bandage on her hand for a closer look.

“The wound is inflamed, of course, but it’s not badly infected as far as I can see,” he said. “Her pulse is strong, and her breathing’s good. Fever’s gone. As long as that bite doesn’t get infected she should be fine.”

He turned to Ridhi, taking her pulse, prying open one eye for a look, and then peeled back the bandage on her leg for a closer look.

“Not great, but stable, I’d say. Still has a fever, but she only just took that antipyretic a little while ago.”

He replaced the wet cloth on her forehead with a new one.

“We’ll just have to wait and see, but let me clean this. Can you boil some water?”

Yeung trotted over the fireplace where a huge kettle of water was boiling away.

“Plenty of hot water,” he said, bringing back a bowl full.

“Get that cooled down,” said Nolan. “and tell me when it’s about body temperature.”

Yeung began fanning the bowl of water.

Jake and TT sat back down at the table.

Beghara slowly stood, hand on Nadeen’s shoulder for support, and walked to the closest bench, sitting down with a thump.

“So,” said Sergeant Long, “what now?”

“We still have a job to complete,” said Jake.

“But the Lady is dead!”

“You all saw her body, I think... there never was a Lady, only a stratagem by Factor Humaydah to deliver something to Ganzorig, First Lord of Eudoxia. The Factor entrusted me with that message before she died.”

“So we are still under contract, then?” asked Beghara.

“Yes, and as part of that contract, I claim this gold,” said Jake, sweeping it all toward himself. “And, as part of that same contract, I will now pay out the amounts you are owed.”

“Master! A scale, please!”

“In a minute, in a minute,” came a response from the kitchen, and shortly a server came running with a small, handheld scale and weights.

Jake began weighing up gold for each member, paying them the funds that had been agreed upon for the entire trip to Euxodia. He also weighed the amount due the dead—Ng, Larb, Bjørn, Renweard, and of course Feng—and pushed the pile of coinage to Sergeant Long.

“Sergeant, I think you should keep this... you know who should get it, I think, and if they do not have families then of course split it amongst yourselves.”

“I... Thank you, Captain,” replied Long. “Ng Mei-Sun was not married, but he sent cash to his parents in Ophir. I know nothing of Larb of Baharna. Bjørn and Renweard had nothing but themselves.

“I will make sure that Ng’s parents receive his money, but propose giving the rest to Ridhi Chabra,” he continued. “She may never walk again, and will need all the help she can get.”

He turned to the others: “What say you?”

The others—Yeung, Seri, Nnamdi, Beghara, and Lau—all signed their assent.

He handed the piles of coins to each of them, set aside Ng’s pile, and then pushed the remaining, largest pile into a leather pouch.

“You put your own share into that pouch, too, Sergeant,” pointed out Jake.

“Yes, I did.”

Long placed the pouch next to Ridhi Chabra’s head.

“TT, we will be leaving for Eudoxia—a major city several days south of here, again through the desert,” said Jake. “I expect enemies to follow and no doubt attack us again. You are welcome to accompany us, if you like, and here are some funds to help you.”

He handed over another pile of coins, including the large orichalc coin that Johnny Littlejohn was so interested in.

“My recommendation is for you to travel south to the sea and then by ship to Celephaïs; King Kuranes was an Englishman, and would probably be able to help you all better than I can. Still, I’ll circle back here after the mission’s done, and escort you to Celephaïs if you can wait.”

“I don’t think taking these three men on a combat mission is such a good idea... would we be in danger here as well?”

“Only from the usual city thieves and robbers,” said Sergeant Long. “Thuba Mleen’s after us, not you.”

“Wish I knew more about the whole situation out here,” complained TT, “but I guess I gotta play what I’m dealt. We’ll stay for a while—maybe until Miss Chabra is back on her feet—and then head up towards this Celephaïs. Hopefully you’ll be back by then to help us get there.”

Jake nodded.

“Before we go, let me give you a copy of my map, and some info. You’ve got a lot to learn real fast, and no Google to help.”

“Google?”

Jake laughed.

“Sorry, I forgot. After your time. Uh, Google is a communications and information network accessed by mobile terminals. The successor to your ARPANET. Doesn’t really matter that much, since it isn’t here anyway.”

“Great. What other unobtainable surprises do you have to offer?”

“Shit, I’d love a drone right about now.”

“What the fuck is a... Never mind, don’t wanna know.”

“TT, can I rely on you to stay with Ridhi Chabra until she’s out of that bed?”

“I’ll be driving blind half the time, but it can’t be that much different from Vietnamese villages out in the jungle,” replied TT. “We’ll take care of her.”

“Thank you. The innkeeper has already been paid, but once we leave he’ll open it up to other customers, and you’ll have to move into that room in the back. I don’t expect anyone’ll bother you, but keep your eyes open.”

TT nodded.

“Now let me talk to my Sergeant a bit,” said Jake, turning to Long. “Oh, by the way... don’t chuck your brass, TT. I’m hoping to figure out a way to make reloads.”

“Don’t have many left: things were sorta busy.”

“Hopefully I can get new ones made, too... anyway, we’ll see.”

TT stood and walked over to his three charges, and handed Johnny the orichalc disc.

Jake and Long began talking about preparations.

“Do we need to hire more troopers?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” said Long. “but we can’t hire enough to really make much difference if Thuba Mleen attacks... he can field hundreds of warriors. He must have hit us with a couple dozen, at least... speaking of which, what happened? As soon as you vanished, so did his troopers!”

Jake dropped his voice.

“How much do you know about the Factor’s mission?”

“Nothing, really... just deliver a woman to the Lord. Except obviously that was all just a ploy.”

“I don’t know much myself, but Chóng, Ganzorig, and the Ibizim are working together to stop Thuba Mleen. The message I carry is part of that, and the Ibizim saved us because of it.

“They only saved us because they could do it without being seen, in the sandstorm. It has to stay secret.”

“I wondered how you managed to kill so many of Mleen’s fighters...”

“They pulled us into a tunnel, and from there to safety. We walked through their Home, too.”

“You’ve been to Home!? It’s death to enter!”

“Apparently it’s only death if you’re uninvited...”

“Can they help us get to Eudoxia?”

“They said no, but they might be watching from the shadows. Could be useful.”

Sergeant Long digested the new information.

“By the way, we picked up your pack, with your spyglass and shimmer... and a few other things we thought might be of use. Didn’t know if you would be coming back for them or not...”

He handed Jake’s pack over, a little the worse for wear.

“Thanks. Both will be needed, I think. You have you own, right?”

“Of course.”

Jake sat back, and spoke in his regular voice so everyone could hear.

“So, I think we can assume Mleen knows where we are. He hasn’t bothered us yet, because he was searching for you. And now that you’re here—which he no doubt knows by now—he’s likely to come calling.”

“Yup. Which is why we have to be gone before he gets here.”

“Will they be alright?” Long tilted his head toward the four strangers, and Ridhi.

“Probably. Once we leave, four lost tourists and a wounded scout shouldn’t attract much attention.”

“You’re thinking speed over stealth, then?”

“All that rigamarole pretending to be a wedding party didn’t work... I don’t see any reason to believe we can sneak out of here, either. This is Mleen’s territory.”

“Not sure I take kindly being called a tourist,” said TT.

“Well, until you get up to speed on swords and bows, you’re closer to a non-combatant, I’m afraid,” said Jake. “A good swordsman would probably kill you before you got close enough to use that knife.”

“Only if he saw me,” smiled TT. “But I take your point. Dammit.”

“You know, Sergeant, we still have quite a large war chest, thanks to the Factor... I’m thinking maybe we should put it to good use...”

He explained his plan to the Sergeant, who spoke with his remaining troopers. They all slipped out of the inn shortly.

Chapter 9

Ridhi Chabra’s fever broke just as the sun was just peeking above the horizon.

She was weak and terribly hungry and thirsty, but lucid.

Nadeen and Danny helped her get cleaned up, and Nolan Geiszler gave them a quick course in how to keep wounds clean.

After she had a full belly and was up on the latest news, Sergeant Long told her they’d be leaving the next evening, and showed her the gold they’d left her.

Jake sat down next to her , assuring her he’d be coming back to Thace as soon as the mission was completed. “I’ll escort you back to your home, wherever that it, if you like.”

She had little to say... a fighter with a bad leg was unlikely to find much work, and a woman with a bad leg unlikely to find a good husband—except for very rich households, everybody worked. Her future looked bleak.

Jake dropped his voice and spoke to her quietly; the others gave them some space.

Nnamdi returned shortly with a load of paper, followed shortly by Serilarinna with a bundle of small cylinders, and sticks of wax.

As Nnamdi tore the paper into index-card sized pieces, Jake got a quill and ink from the innkeeper and began writing messages on them.

“EXACT FILMY GHOST LOWER PIZZA?” read TT. “Some kind of code?”

“A very secret message indeed! So secret that I haven’t the faintest idea what it means myself!” laughed Jake. “You know any languages other than English?”

“Vietnamese, a little Hmong, a little Russian, six words in French... what do you need?”

“Vietnamese, that’s great! Here, write something that looks like a coded message on some of these, will you?”

“Yeah, sure, but what’s the deal here?”

“I have to deliver a message to Lord Ganzorig in Eudoxia, and Thuba Mleen wants to stop me. I figured since he wants it so much I’d give it to him! In a couple dozen different ways.”

Nnamdi began writing out a handful of messages himself, in Arabic.

As each message was finished, they handed the paper to Seri, who blotted it, carefully folded it, and sealed it with melted wax and one of the many seals she had brought.

“Each one looks very official, and is written in some code, and is sealed by someone, so it must be important. Nobody will be able to actually read any of them, but each one will have to be taken to Thuba Mleen so he can see it,” explained Jake. “And there are going to be a lot of these things...”

“First batch is ready,” called Sergeant Long from the door. Lau Hu stepped inside and picked up a completed message, and a few coins. Outside in the sunlight he gave one of the sealed messages to the robed man waiting there, and then placed a gold coin on top of it.

“You can receive another from Lord Ganzorig of Eudoxia when you deliver this message,” he told the man, who examined the coin and nodded. “Tell him it is from Factor Humaydah, who promised you a gold piece on delivery.”

A few minutes later another fighter showed up, and Lau repeated the process.

Yeung joined Jake at the table and began writing messages in Chinese.

“How about mixing them up a bit?” he suggested. “Might be fun to have Arabic and Chinese on the same one!”

“Sure, go for it!”

Over the source of the day dozens of prospective couriers had come to receive their payments and instructions, and finally they were done.

Seri threw the wooden seals into the fireplace.

The couriers would leave whenever they liked over the next day and night, by whatever routes they liked. Some would travel by themselves, others in groups, but they were all headed toward Eudoxia.

Jake realized a few of them would just take the advance payment and run off, but that was fine, too... they’d still have received a message, and assuming that Thuba Mleen was watching he’d have to collect every one of them even if they didn’t head for Eudoxia.

As the last of the couriers left, the horses arrived.

There were two dozen horses, and after they were tied up to the inn’s hitching post, the merchant walked over to Sergeant Long, who counted out the agreed-upon price.

Humaydah’s gold was just about gone, but they wouldn’t have any more use for it after this, thought Jake. Either this plan works, or we’ll be dead. Or maybe both.

They split into two groups, Sergeant Long saddled up with archer Yeung, lithe Serilarinna, and Beghara, while Jake, Nadeen, and Danryce would ride with Lau Hu, the other archer, and Nnamdi, who favored a scimitar.

Each group took two spare mounts for each rider, and they checked every horse carefully. One horse turned out to have a bad hoof, and was left for the innkeeper. Another, blind in one eye, they decided to keep.

Water and food were distributed among the horses to minimize loads, but Lau’s load included three quivers of arrows.

Sergeant Long left in the early morning, before the sun got very high, and planned to stop at a known resting spot down the road, setting forth again in the evening.

Jake and his group would until nightfall, and would spend the rest of the hot day catching up on sleep.

Jake took the first watch, and at the noon Hour of the Horse collapsed into slumber as Nadeen relieved him.

* * *

The shadows were getting quite long when Nnamdi woke everyone. He had slept until Nadeen woke him at the Hour of the Cock, taking over guard duty until it was dark enough to leave.

After a hasty meal, Jake gave a few of their last gold coins to the innkeeper, requesting that he continue to help Ridhi and TT’s team.

“I expect to be back in about a week,” he said, shaking TT’s hand Western-style instead of with the wrist-shake they used in the Dreamlands. “If something happens, leave me a note, and I’ll try to catch up.”

“We will,” said TT. “You’re awfully confident you’ll be back.”

“I always come back,” laughed Jake. “Considering you’re about, um—ninety years old?—you take care of yourself, too!”

“Fuck you, Jake.”

“And you.”

Ridhi came to the door to see them off, supported by Nolan.

She and Jake exchanged a glance, and she nodded.

“Wait for us, Ridhi. We’ll be back as soon as we can,” said Danny.

“I’ll be here, but don’t dawdle or I’ll sign up with another group and get back to work!”

Danny smiled, and wheeled his horse to join the waiting others.

“Ready? Then let’s go,” said Jake, and they started out at a trot.

They were through the city gates a few minutes later, and back on the familiar store road, marked by the decaying stone statues. They passed a camel caravan about ten minutes later, a string of pack beasts carrying innumerable boxes and bales bound for Eudoxia, and from there to Adelma, Shiroora Shan, and the other cities on the shores of the Night Ocean, and beyond.

“Did you notice the guide?” asked Nadeen quietly, a few minutes later. “He was one of the couriers.”

“I did. Good luck to him.”

“Haven’t seen anything unusual yet, though...”

“Me neither. Hope it stays that way!”

They kept the pace for about an hour, then stopped to change mounts, and let the horses drink and rest. The moon was yet almost full, and the cloudless sky revealed the empty night desert stretching away on all sides. It would be difficult for an enemy to surprise them here.

They hoped to ride another seven or eight hours before finding a place to hide from the day’s heat. The following night should take them to the crags of Adelma, and depending on their speed they might even reach Eudoxia itself.

Several hours later, Nnamdi guided his horse closer to Jake and spoke in a low voice.

“There are at least two riders riding parallel to us on our right. They’ve been there for maybe half an hour now.”

“That didn’t take long,” said Jake, and signaled to Nadeen, Danny, and Lau in turn, holding up two fingers and pointing in the direction of the riders.

Lau Hu picked his bow up from where it was hanging on his saddle, and made sure the arrows in the front quiver were loose.

“Take Nadeen with you,” said Jake. “There might be more out there. And don’t chase them! We need you with us!”

“I’ll let my shafts chase them,” replied Lau. “I’m much too scared to get close!”

They unhitched their spare mounts, handing the ropes to Danny, and suddenly Nadeen and Lau broke into a gallop, breaking right.

It took an instant for the two pursuers to react, and in that instant the two of them cut the distance between them dramatically.

Lau began shooting from the saddle, quickly hitting one of the men in the shoulder and his horse in the flank.

The horse reared in pain, and the rider, caught off-guard in his own pain, was thrown.

Nadeen leaned from the saddle as they rode past and lopped his arm, sword and all, clean off, while Lau fired at the remaining rider. They’d lost their advantage, though, and the other man rode safely out of range, and into the darkness.

Nadeen cursed.

“Damn. One is better than none, but I really wanted to stop them from getting word out.”

Lau grunted in assent. “If they’ve been following us for any length of time, they’ve already sent a messenger... our best bet now is to get off the road, or ride a lot faster than they expect.”

They stopped to recover as many arrows as they could, and check the body.

The dead man had only a few coppers and a cheap sword, but he was missing his ring finger—common among troopers sworn to Thuba Mleen.

“If that’s the best Thuba Mleen has, we’ve little to worry about... not very impressive fighters.”

“Just chaff, sent to find us. Their real troopers will come next time.”

They led the wounded horse back to the road, removed the arrow, and cleaned the wound.... it wouldn’t be able to keep up with them, but they’d leave it here, and maybe a slower caravan would find it before it died of thirst.

“Lau? Nnamdi? What do you think?” asked Jake. “You’re more familiar with this area, and Thuba Mleen... hide, leave the road, or race on?”

“They can ride as fast as we can, and almost certainly outnumber us,” said Lau. “I’d say leave the road, even if it costs us a day.”

“Nnamdi?”

Nnamdi shrugged. “Who knows what Thuba Mleen may do? But he knows the desert better than we do, certainly, and if we leave the road we would lose our only sure guides.”

“So ride, then?”

“That’s my suggestion. Hiding won’t do any good; he’ll just keep combing through the area until we run out of water and have to start running again.”

“Nadeen? Danny?”

“I’m not much on hiding,” said Danny, “and I’m pretty fed up with wandering around the desert... I’d say ride, and fight if we have to.”

Nadeen nodded. “It’d be real nice to see open water again, even if it is the Night Ocean. Ride.”

“That’s that, then. OK, let’s change horses now and give them a little rest, then pick it up.”

They watered the horses, switched to fresh mounts, and got ready.

The desert night was chilly and light enough to ride the road safely... they’d have to move slower on the desert sand itself, or risk unseen holes and loose rock. Their horses were already a bit tired, but they’d been trotting, with breaks every so often... they’d be riding much faster now.

“We’ll have to let the horses loose,” he said. “It’ll be impossible to keep them roped when we start; hopefully they’ll tag long.”

He dug into his saddlebag and pulled out a few apples. Chucking them to the others, he cut his apples into quarters, walking among his horses and feeding them all: “Maybe if they want more apples they’ll tag along.”

In about ten minutes Jake mounted his horse, and the other followed suit.

“Let’s go.”

They broke into a fast pace, not a full gallop but considerably faster than the leisurely pace they’d set thus far. A gallop would tire their horses very quickly, and they needed distance more than they needed speed.

The other horses followed along behind, content to stay with the group for now.

The cloud of dust rising in their wake left a clear trail for any watchers to see, even in the night’s darkness.

They crested a small hill, revealing the road stretching away in both directions.

“Can’t see anyone,” said Lau Hu, straining his eyes. “As long as they didn’t kick up dust, though, they could be anywhere.”

“Let’s hope the one who ran away was the only watcher, then.”

The horizon was beginning to pale with the coming dawn when Danryce whistled and pointed off to the side.

Jake slowed to look... an outthrust of stone half a kilometer away looked to be a good place to camp for the day. No oasis, of course, but merely having a cliff nearby to hide the sun for a few hours—or more, if the shadows fell in their favor—would help. They still have water, and sunshades to cover them and their horses.

They circled around to the far side of the outcropping, out of sight from the road, and set up camp.

They did what they could to camouflage themselves, but it’s difficult to hide a herd of horses in the desert. The shimmer would help—Jake had gotten one from Sergeant Long in Thace; he kept the other one that Captain Feng had used—but it only hid them from people more than a hundred meters distant, and did nothing to block sound at all. Still, every little bit helped, and the fact that it would be a little cooler and darker inside was a bonus.

If they could keep the horses quiet and none of Thuba Mleen’s fighters stumbled close by accident, they should be alright.

They unsaddled the horses, watered and fed them, and prepared for another hot, sweaty sleep.

Danny lost and took the first watch.

Lau woke Jake up in the afternoon for the last watch.

“Anything?”

“Not really,” said Lau. “A single rider went past a few hours ago, out in the desert. Too far to tell if it was one of Thuba Mleen’s troopers or not, but he was in a hurry.”

“Might have been one of the people we hired to carry a message.”

“Might have been... didn’t see anyone chasing him.”

“Thanks. Go on, I’ve got it now.”

Lau Hu stretched out on his own bedroll, leaving Jake to check the horses and keep watch.

They couldn’t make a fire for dinner, of course—the smoke would give them away—but in this heat nobody really needed one. It would be another day of jerky, dried fruit, and stale bread washed down with hot water.

Jake wished he had a cigarette... he never had smoked much, but being forced to sit and wait for the sun to go down was driving him crazy. The desert was swarming with people who wanted to kill him, and he was stuck here watching the sand grow.

They should have had three horses for each of them, and swapping them out every so often had helped them keep their speed up, but that last spurt had cost them. Unable to keep the horses roped together, they’d let them run alongside, and two of them had decided to spit off and go their own way.

Maybe they got injured and slowed down, maybe they smelled water, he didn’t know. The key point was that they didn’t have three apiece anymore, and that meant the horses they still had would be working harder.

He checked them all carefully, and selected the biggest two for himself and Danny: the two heaviest riders. Nadeen was about the same as an average male trooper, but Lau and Nnamdi were both pretty small and light. The two of them got only one spare apiece.

A few hours later he woke the rest of the party and they got ready for the night’s ride.

Nobody had much to say, and the tough jerky kept them all pretty busy anyway.

“Tonight we’ll reach the Adelma mountains,” said Jake. “If the horses can hold the pace we might get within spitting distance of Eudoxia. I don’t think they spotted us here today, but once we start moving it might get real interesting real fast.”

Lau counted his arrows. “They might lose interest after I knock a few off their horses.”

“I hope there are that few,” grimaced Nnamdi, “but I don’t think Thuba Mleen does things that way.”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Jake stood, adjusting his sword belt.

“Shadows are getting pretty long. I want to push the horses tonight, hopefully they’ll last at least until the Hour of the Rat, and we can switch off to our spare mounts. We know we were spotted earlier, and it’s likely there are scouts looking for us.

“I’d rather outrun them than have to outfight them,” he added.

He checked his compass again.

“Assuming we’re where I think we are, just head for the mountains... once we get a little closer we can figure out the best route. And since we can see the mountains, I’d like to stay away from the road for now. We’d be faster on the road, for sure, but we’d also stand out.”

They mounted up and started off at a trot.

“If anyone sees a wadi coming down from the mountains tell me... we could make good time that way, straight to the mountains.”

“Assuming it doesn’t rain,” commented Nnamdi.

“Assuming it doesn’t rain,” agreed Jake. “A good bet in my book.”

They kept up a steady pace, but not a gallop. The horses couldn’t gallop very long without getting winded, and even at this relatively leisurely pace they were getting tired.

Jake pushed them more than usual—he didn’t like to do it, but they were getting close to Eudoxia, and if he had to kill a horse to get there safely, he would.

The desert was a study in contrast: the sand glowing almost white in the moon’s radiance, and shadows a deep black that would hide anything.

This eastern stretch of the desert was covered with crags and outthrusting rocks, with sand everywhere. When the wind blew, very fine dust got into everything, and could reduce visibility to a few dozen meters. When the air was still, he could clearly see the black shadows of rocks a kilometer away, and realize that a hundred enemies could be hiding there, unseen.

They stopped for their first rest about three hours later. The horses were panting, streaked with sweat, and eager to drink. They changed mounts and did their best to rest the animals. One more horse had broken away from the group, who knows why or where... it was gone.

Half an hour later they started off again, and two more horses—the pair that had carried Jake and Danny—followed them for a few hundred meters before falling behind, eventually stopping to rest.

Jake pressed on.

A few hours later and the ground was slowly rising, as they reached the edges of the desert and began entering the mountains.

“Somebody’s following us now,” called Nadeen. “Looks like about a dozen... too far to make out much detail, but they’re following our trail.”

“Damn. I was beginning to think we might make it.”

Jake checked his compass—straight on ahead, right between those two large outcroppings.

“A little faster, then... let’s get deeper into the mountains so they can’t encircle us!”

He picked his horse, urging it to go a little faster. There was no point in riding it to exhaustion, but he needed a little more, and the horse had a little more to give.

The others followed.

Danny was in the lead, with Lau bringing up the rear, but they were all pretty closely bunched. They had no carriage to protect this time.

Suddenly Danny’s horse reared, and leaped to the right, collapsing to its knees on the sand right next to the rocks, then staggering forward, eyes white in terror.

Danny barely managed to hold on, and would have fallen off if his shoulder hadn’t smashed into the rock face.

Sandroach!

Chapter 10

The horses neighed, bucked, and broke.

Nnamdi’s horse, perhaps too tired to pay attention, was unable to stop, and began to slip into the pit. Nnamdi leapt off at once, landing on the flat sand outside the pit, unable to do anything but watch as the terrified animal slid deeper and deeper into the sandroach’s lair.

A black pincer snapped out, a horse screamed, and died.

“Get them under control!” shouted Jake. “Get their blinders on!”

They yanked on their ropes, managing to bring their mounts under control, but all the other horses but one fled into the shadows around them.

“Can we get through on the side?” yelled Jake.

“Yes, there’s enough room. Be careful it doesn’t hit you with a rock, though!” shouted Danny in reply.

They tried it, gingerly leading one horse at a time along the narrow path between rock and pit.

The sandroach flung sand and stones at them, hoping to dislodge more prey into the pit, but outside of getting even more sand in their hair and eyes, they all got across safely.

“We’ve lost our spare mounts, and Thuba Mleen’s troops are coming fast,...” said Danny. “Time to find a good place to make a stand.”

Jake cocked his head.

“How wide would you say that pit is, Lau?”

“Wide? Uh, maybe thirty, forty meters... why?

“And the shimmer is good for about a hundred meters... so if I set up the shimmer here, and they come riding at full speed...”

Danny laughed.

“Oh, you’re a nasty one, aren’t you, Jake! But they won’t be able to see you on the other side of the shimmer.”

“Rope me; I’ll set it up in the pit,” said Jake, tying one end around his waist and walking toward the pit. “Pull me up when I shout, or if that damn thing knocks me out with a rock!

“Nadeen, hobble my horse so it looks like it’s got a bad leg. I want it to look wounded, or exhausted.”

He jumped into the pit, half falling and half sliding down the slope, and about halfway down stopped to place the incense holder, which held both the shimmer and the smoking incense.

“Stay lit, you son of a bitch. I’m counting on you!”

As soon as it was set he pulled away from it, sliding around the pit in the hope of getting any new rocks aimed at him and not the shimmer.

It worked, and he was rewarded with a spray of gravel and sand.

“Pull me up, Danny!”

The rope went taut, and he lost his balance, dragged up out of the pit faster than he could walk.

And faster than the sandroach could react, apparently... a pincer slammed into the sand where he’d been a few second ago, and by the time it was ready to strike a second time, he was almost at the pit’s rim.

“Well,” he panted, “that was fun...”

He sat up and untied the rope.

“They’re all looking for me, so I’ll let them find me,” he said. “Get behind those rocks, and get ready to take care of anyone who makes it past the roach. I’m going to play bait.”

He waved them off, and began slowly walking with his horse uphill, away from the pursuing fighters, as if trying to flee with a wounded mount.

Nadeen watched for a second, then wheeled her horse and followed after Danny and the others.

The horse was very angry about the hobble, and was not in the mood to walk. She bucked and pulled and generally acted like a horse that couldn’t be ridden... which was exactly what Jake wanted.

He heard shouts, and turned to face them.

He swatted his horse’s flank, urging it to continue up the slope to join the rest of the horses. It complied, hobbling along and complaining loudly.

Jake drew his sword, a lone swordsman preparing to defend himself again a mounted force that outnumbered him.

Seeing their prey at their mercy, they kicked their horses’ flanks, surging into a gallop, each eager to claim the bounty.

The man in the front saw the sandroach’s pit at the last minute, and tried vainly to pull his steed to a halt, only to be toppled in by a second horse close behind. One after another they tumbled into that hell of snapping jaws and flashing pincers, screams silenced all too rapidly.

Three managed to pull their horses to the side in time, avoiding certain death, then turning to flee back into the night.

“Thanks, bug... appreciate the assist!” said Jake, racing after his horse. He slashed the hobble free, and mounted, trotting up this hill to join the others.

“Worked like a charm!” he said. “A few got away, though... they’ll be back soon enough, and with a bigger crew. Time to get moving.”

The sandroach had given them a little time, but at the cost of their shimmer and most of their spare mounts... only two left for the five of them.

“We’ll have to try to make Eudoxia tonight, I think,” said Jake.

“Most of our waterskins are gone with those horses,” added Nadeen. “And no shimmer and low on water, it’ll be tough tomorrow. We have to make Eudoxia.”

The others agreed.

“The fastest way is down out of the mountains again,” suggested Jake, “and back into the desert. We’re getting out of dune country and into flat scrubland, so the horses can make some speed.”

“If they’re strong enough...”

“I don’t see any other choice,” said Jake, twitching the reins to guide the horse away from the snow-tip peaks ahead and back down toward the desert.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later they were out of the rocky area and back on mostly flat land.

The full moon was heading toward the horizon, but there was still ample light to see scattered cacti and scrub stretching to the dim horizon. Already the sky was lightening in the east.

They upped their speed, always heading toward Euxodia but letting the horses pick their own courses, for the most part.

A statue appeared off to the right—the road!

They angled toward it, then turned again to head for Eudoxia.

The roadway was buried in sand here and there, but they could see wheel ruts and tracks indicating that caravans had passed very recently. Clearly, this led to the city.

“Horsemen coming up on the left, Jake!” called Lau. “A lot!”

Jake turned to look.

He couldn’t see them too clearly yet, but Lau was right. There were a lot of them.

No time to put Danny on the spare mount after all.

He kicked his heels into his horse, goading it to put forth even more effort, but it was clear their pursuers were gaining.

An arrow hummed through the air over his head.

Damn. They’d pincushion them all, and nothing he could do about it.

Ahead of them, somewhere in the distance, was Eudoxia.

There was no way they’d make it.

He wondered if his plan had worked after all... looked like he’d never find out.

Suddenly his horse snorted, throwing its head.

Jake turned to see what had spooked it.

A tsunami!? Couldn’t be... a sandstorm?

A black cloud, a rolling, crashing storm of sand, came racing toward them from the direction of the city, and before they even had time to react was past them with not a single hair ruffled in the passing.

Behind them, though, it tore into their pursuers like the talons of a monster, ripping them apart, throwing them high into the air, shattering them in an instant.

Then it was gone, off like a light, and their horses slowed to a walk, and stopped.

Behind them, around them, scattered rags and broken bodies fell from the peaceful sky, decorating the whitish desert sands with bits of color and gore.

“...what the hell...?”

Jake laughed.

“Well, damn! That was good timing!”

“What just happened?” asked Nadeen in a tiny voice, still in shock.

“That was the Lady’s amulet, I suspect,” said Jake. “I think Lord Ganzorig just announced he doesn’t need Thuba Mleen’s protection anymore...”

“What amulet!?”

“The Lady wanted me to deliver an amulet to Ganzorig. The bride and the ‘secret message’ were just camouflage.”

“So how did he get the amulet, then? You have it, right?”

“Hell, no. I gave it to Ridhi Chabra when we left Thace, and she flew it here by dragolet. Like I said, I’m just bait.”

“You son of a bitch! We could have been killed!”

“Yup, me too.”

“And Sergeant Long? Does he know about this ploy of yours?”

“Nope, just me and Ridhi. Everything else was just a scam. And it worked!”

“Riders coming from the city,” said Nnamdi, pointing.

About a hundred horse warriors, lances high, rode toward them into the dawning light.

“If they’ve got lances,” said Nnamdi, “they’re not Thuba Mleen’s. Must be Eudoxia.”

With them rode Sergeant Long and Serilarinna.

As the lancers fanned out to make sure there were no more enemies lurking, they greeted each other.

“You made it.”

“We did. Not real happy to find out I was just bait, but it worked,” said Long. “Lord Ganzorig, on the other hand, is very upset with you because he had to pay a half a dozen couriers for worthless slips of paper.”

“He’ll get over it. He’s got the amulet now.”

They clasped wrists.

“Where’s Yeung?”

“Dead. Took an arrow through the chest.”

“Damn. And Beghara?”

“She’s fine. Real pissed at you, and said she’d rather drink alone.”

They let their horses rest and drink, then walked back toward the city slowly.

Yeung, Ng, Larb, Renweard, Bjørn... Feng! All gone.

And the Factor, of course.

Ridhi Chabra probably crippled.

Chóng owed him an explanation.

Whatever.

Chóng, and Ridhi, even TT, they could all wait.

For now, he wanted to get the sand out of his mouth.

END

Jake: Fort Campbell

Chapter 1

The cloud of birds erupted into the sky again at the sound of the explosion, and even the horses in the corral, who should have been used to it by now, whinnied their displeasure.

Jake waved his hand to disperse the smoke.

“Well, it’s got plenty of umph, but it’s still too damn loud, too damn smoky, and too damn inaccurate,” he said, pointing at the target about fifty meters distant. It had a few holes punched through its cloth cover, apparently at random. None were in the bullseye.

“Maybe you just can’t aim for shit?”

“Yeah, fuck you too, TT.”

Jake looked at rifle, clamped securely to a massive anvil for test firing.

“At least the barrel seems to be holding up better on this one.”

“It’s a considerable improvement over anything else they make here,” said TT. “The rifling and the Minié ball ammo is huge, and a little QC on the powder has helped. The spread’s down to maybe twenty centimeters or so; call it plus or minus ten.”

“Wish we could get reliable casings,” said Jake. “Until then this is a step up, but compared to what we’re used to...”

“Yeah, I’d rather have my Browning, but it doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen any time soon, does it.”

“Well, might as well shoot off the next dozen rounds, and let’s see how the barrel holds up. Wish I knew more about metallurgy...”

TT laughed.

“Shit, I wish I knew more about lots of stuff... They already make black powder here, which is great, but I never knew much about how to actually draw brass, or press it. I’d be delighted with some centerfire cartridges, but even if we get all the kinks worked out the best we can hope for is rimfire, I think.”

“Yeah, which means no more loads for our pistols,” said Jake, spitting. “Which means even the best we can turn out here aren’t going to be much better than the competition.”

“We don’t need much,” corrected TT. “A little better will do just fine.”

“How is the latest batch?”

Jake turned toward the speaker.

The young man—still in his late teens, he suspected—sniffed the rifle’s barrel.

“Still lots of smoke, I see...”

“Better than it was, Mintran. And the accuracy has improved, too,” said TT.

Mintran of Nariel was their alchemist, on “loan” from King Kuranes to help them figure out how to make better firearms. Kuranes was running his own development program, of course under master alchemist ibn Sina, safely stashed away in Penglai, Chóng’s secure little realm.

Jake and TT had experience with 20th-century firearms, and understood how they worked. The problem was finding ways to achieve the same results here, without a lot of the requisite knowledge or materials at hand.

Mintran was an inventor, and would probably be a famous one someday, but for now he was in charge of making saltpeter—which was why their base was out here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by horses—and gunpowder.

Captain Long was out on one job now, with Serilarinna and Nadeen. They’d been tasked with scouting out the defenses of a merchant prince in Aphorat. Apparently he’d been impolite to some other merchant prince who took offense, and was planning to do something about it. Seri was the perfect choice for the mission, because not only was she quiet and deadly, but she also came from down there and was intimately familiar with the area, and the city itself.

Nadeen and Long were there primarily to boil her information down to detailed plans and maps on paper that could be delivered to the client.

Unless their target was a lot better at this game than they expected, Long and the others should be back in another week or two. And if they had all the necessary info down in black and white not only would it yield a heavy purse, it would also demonstrate their usefulness to Trius Bart, the Bashir of Pungar Vees—an immensely wealthy ruler Jake would love to get to know better.

Jake and TT finished firing off the next dozen rounds and walked down to the target to see the results more closely.

“Yeah, that’s a big improvement over what we had the last time,” said Jake. “You know, within five centimeters is probably enough for what we need. Firepower.”

“Assuming the shooters know how to aim and shoot, yeah,” agreed TT. “I still want real cartridges and clips.”

“Me, too, but it ain’t gonna happen anytime soon.”

Jake stood up and tore the cloth cover off the wooden target.

“I heard the bell for the Hour of the Sheep a little while ago... ’bout time for you to get your ass whupped again, isn’t it?”

TT punched him lightly in the arm.

“Beghara hasn’t whupped me in a couple months now, and in fact I whupped her ass last week. Once.”

“Once is a good start,” laughed Jake. “Until we get our guns, you’ve gotta be proficient with what you got, and that means swords and axes and bows and arrows.”

“And knives.”

“And knives,” granted Jake. “Very long knives.”

TT lifted a hand to wave goodbye and walked off toward the main building.

Jake watched him go for a second, and ran his eye over the growing base.

After getting the amulet to Ganzorig safely, he’d ridden back to Thace and picked up TT and the three boffins, and escorted them to Celephaïs. King Kuranes was delighted to support the three of them in their research, and of course they were delighted to have a patron.

Jake wanted to start his own company, and he and TT had spent a lot of time talking on the way. TT wanted to be part of it, and the survivors of Feng’s company were all in, too.

He wanted firearms, which meant gunpowder, and if he wanted to make his own gunpowder—which he did—he needed horses. And they wanted gun barrels and brass cartridges, which meant metalworking. He wanted primers, too, but neither he nor TT knew exactly how to make all the ingredients needed, so they’d have to stick with black powder and rimfire cartridges for now.

With a little help from Chóng and Juan Hernández, the new factor of Rinar, they’d moved into this deserted monastery in the grassy hills of Neol-Hungar, east of the River Mursk in Chaldaea. It was a little over a day’s ride to Rinar, and half that to Ilarnek.

He figured the place had been deserted for thirty or forty years, judging by the size of the trees that had grown up on the grounds in awkward places. All the woodwork was ruined, of course, but most of the stonework was untouched, including the building walls and the massive stone fortification. Built as it was atop a projecting cliff it was highly defensible, and the original builders had erected a wall around the cliff, and cut off all the projecting rock underneath, making it almost impossible to attack from over half the periphery. The remaining portion—opening out onto higher ground—was protected by a continuation of the same wall, some two meters thick and three high, pierced by two well-designed gates. It was an excellent wall, but not built to military specs, he guessed... there was a chemin de ronde—a walkway—running its entire length, allowing defenders to move easily along it, but it lacked any defensive towers. The gate was extremely strong, now that they’d repaired it, and the narrow postern also quite well built, but neither had flanking towers to help protect it.

Originally there had been defenses along the winding road up from the plains below, but they were in much worse shape, apparently due to enemy action, and would take an awful lot of work to restore. And people to defend properly.

Jake decided there wasn’t much point, since he didn’t have any enemies who were likely to come after him with an army.


Outline of Fort Campbell

Except maybe Thuba Mleen... hard to tell when he might do. Still, the Emperor of the Eastern Desert was a long ways from here, and unlikely to march an army all this way.

Inside, the two wells had to be dug out, but now they worked fine. The stream through the monastery ran through the main building, including the kitchen, then past vegetable fields, the old outhouse, and off the cliff.

Jake had closed the old outhouse and built a new one closer to the cliff, so human waste didn’t pass through the horse’s drinking troughs. And although nobody had especially wanted one, he built a nice bath, too, with wood-fired boiler, fed by a newly dug channel that bypassed the kitchen and the toilet, instead running through the smithery, the bath, the alchemist’s lab, and then into the stables. Quite by coincidence it also passed right next to his quarters, too.

Captain Long said the monastery had probably been to Nath-Horthath, but it was hard to tell because of the time that had passed, and the fact that all the religious items had been removed—or destroyed. There were signs that some buildings had been torched, but whether by accident or enemies was unclear.

In any case it was more than big enough for his company, which now included not only the eleven troopers under Captain Long’s command, but also the same number under himself, plus a half dozen under Horsemaster Turan Dratund, Alchemist Mintran and his three assistants, the blacksmith and his crew, and Ridhi Chabra running the whole operation with a dozen helpers.

A few buildings had been repurposed, such as using the former weaving building as the blacksmith and armory, and using the ancient looms for firewood. Another building of unknown purpose had been claimed by Mintran for his experiments with gunpowder. And he’d had a new building put up for the people working to keep everything running.

A group of workers from the nearest village, Cadharna, had helped get everything rebuilt, and he’d hired people to work in the kitchen and grounds. The villagers had been reticent to visit the monastery, mentioning old-wives tales of evil lurking, but a little gold and a visit to demonstrate how safe it was convinced them. He’d hired the Horsemaster, too, but let her choose her own assistants.

He was glad he’d brought Ridhi along... there had been too much nerve and muscle damage, and she’d always walk with a bad limp. It turned out she was, however, a very effective manager, and her voice could seemingly reach the farthest extents of the grounds without difficulty, keeping her staff on their toes and everything purring away smoothly.

Nobody had mentioned it, but he could tell they were pleasantly surprised to see that their new boss was willing to continue to look after them even if they got wounded. There wasn’t any such thing as a retirement pension in the Dreamlands, and anyone crippled or sick usually had a short and miserable life ahead of them.

The base was still not complete, but it had come a long way in the last year or so thanks to the generosity of Ganzorig, First Lord of Eudoxia, and King Kuranes, who continued to provide considerable financial and other support. And of course there were the relatively small sums they’d received for jobs since then.

He was spending more time on more important things, especially the firearms project with blacksmith Einar Ibrahimson and the gunpowder project with Mintran. Now that the monastery—he really had to start calling it the fort, not the monastery—was largely complete, he could start working more closely with Horsemaster Turan Dratund.

He didn’t know the Horsemaster yet very well. She’d been sent by Juan Hernández, Chóng’s new factor in Rinar, with a high recommendation. Apparently she had been apprenticed to Abrizzi, the famous Horsemaster of Thraa, and Chóng had convinced her to come out here in the middle of nowhere instead of working for some noble who’d pay her her weight in gold. He didn’t understand why she was called a horsemaster instead of a horse mistress, but tradition was tradition.

In addition to himself and Turan, the only other people here who knew her real goal were Nadeen and Captain Long.

If firearms became more common here in the Dreamlands, horses would gradually become less useful in battle. Even the heavy chargers of Thraa wouldn’t be of much use against rifles. But if they could be bred to be as intelligent as those super-secret raptors bred by Chóng and Kuranes... that would be a game-changer.

There was magic as well as genetics involved, and the King’s personal sorcerer, a little Chinese guy named Chuang, came out here every three weeks or so to do whatever it is he did to the horses. Didn’t seem to make any difference that he could see, but a reasonable understanding of genetics suggested that the results would start showing up in the next generation of horses.

That was something for the future, though, at least next spring, maybe farther. The gestation period was about a year; still time to go before the first results were born.

He didn’t think there was actually anything he could do to help Turan in her work, but he wanted to stay abreast of what was happening. And until firearms started to spread, he would be needing fast, sturdy mounts for his own troopers.

At the very least, he wanted to work with Turan and explain how genetics worked, at least as much as he could recall from his university days. As a horse breeder she already knew “genetics” in practical terms, but a scientific understanding of recessives and dominants and how it all worked would help. If necessary he could always arrange for Nolan Geiszler, the biologist working for the King now, to come out here and go into detail, but since they didn’t have any way to actually tweak genes scientifically—as opposed to whatever Chuang was using—there might not be too much point in it.

“Hey, Jake, you gotta minute?”

It was TT, calling from the smithery.

He walked over, and nodded to Einar Ibrahimson, the big blacksmith from Perdóndaris. He and TT were hunched over a workbench looking at something small.

“What’s up?”

“It’s the compass,” said TT. “Einar’s got some good magnets, and I’ve magnetized the needle well enough, but there’s still too much friction. Damn thing still sticks every so often, and we haven’t been able to figure out a good way of keeping it in position without stopping it from moving freely.”

“A problem with the pin?”

“Einar’s think so... he thinks we’ll need to make it of silver orichalc.”

“Silver orichalc?”

“Orichalc itself is quite soft,” explained Einar. “but it can be allowed with other metals to produce brassy orichalc, like you find in old coins, or silvery orichalc. You’d want silver orichalc because it’s very hard and heavy. It’s a bitch to work, though.”

“So it’s got silver in it?”

Einar laughed. “No, no, that’s just the color. We smiths keep the secret of how to make it to ourselves, I’m afraid. Golden orichalc, in fact, was so secret that now nobody knows how to make it anymore!”

“Harder than steel?”

“Harder than any steel I know. You tell me that alloyed steel can be extremely hard, but you don’t know what those alloys are made of. Iron and other elements, of course, but what elements? And what ratios?

“Armorers have been researching alloys for a long, long time already, and there’s no question in my mind that orichalc is the best material I can offer.”

“You can make this silver stuff, though?”

“Yes. It’d take some time and money to get the materials, though.”

“We don’t need much... a single pin is tiny, and even a grand dozen would fit in a spoon,” mused Jake. “How much time and money are we talking about?”

Einar thought for a minute.

“I should be able to get what I need in Rinar... say, two weeks and a dozen gold pieces?”

“Can’t send one of your apprentices?”

“Secret, remember? They’re still apprentices, not journeymen.”

“What’s the difference?” asked TT.

“A journeyman is a fully trained smith, an apprentice is still learning the trade.”

“OK,” said TT. “What’s next?”

“I’ve got to talk to Mintran about compass glass. Brilliant alchemist...”

“Wish we could just call him a chemist... alchemy really makes it sound like I’m living in a fantasy book.”

“You are living in a fantasy book, TT. ’bout time to get used to it.”

He turned back to Einar.

“Go ahead and make the arrangements, Einar. Take at least one apprentice with you, even if you have to leave him in a tavern somewhere while you take care of business. I want him to get known by the smiths in Rinar, and whoever else you think important.”

“Easy enough, and a good idea. I’ll take Ulzhalgas; he’s been with me a few times already and is just about ready to stand for journeyman.”

“You need an escort?”

“It’s a fair ride, and with gold. A couple guards would be welcome.”

“Captain Long’s on a mission, but I’ll have the sergeants pick two troopers for you.”

He’d appointed Beghara as his own sergeant, preferring to let her handle it than have to place Nadeen—who he lived with—directly under him. Eventually he wanted to give Beghara the team as captain, while he and Nadeen handled other things.

Captain Long had appointed Serilarinna—Seri— as his sergeant.

He’d ask them to pick two troopers, one each, to accompany the blacksmith. A trip to the big city should be reasonably safe, and would probably feel more like R&R than a real mission.

Jake and TT left the smithery, walking over to Mintran’s laboratory.

The building was pretty much the same as the smithery, but they had no idea what it had originally been used for, and had just erected a new wood structure on top of the existing stone foundations and walls. It was some distance from the main building, which was good, because Mintran’s research often resulted in a variety of foul smells and startling noises.

Mintran was about twenty, Jake figured. Looked like a rock star, with a blue pentagram tattooed onto his cheek, and long, ratty black hair. His hands were usually stained with unknown substances, and he had a bad acid burn across the top of one wrist.

Jake suspected he hadn’t bathed in months. Perhaps years.

Still, Chóng had recommended him. Apparently he’d been the senior apprentice under Chóng’s own alchemist, some Arab named ibn Sina, and was brilliant.

He also had a thing for birds, and would spend hours wandering the hills and grasslands around the fort just watching them.

“Alchemist Mintran?”

“In here!” came the muffled response, and Jake walked toward the sound to see Mintran’s rear end sticking out of a huge mud-covered oven.

He clattered about a little more, and then slowly backed out, closing the oven door and standing up.

“Sorry; I was just getting ready to fire up the oven.”

“Ceramics?”

“Heat-treating some new glass I’m working on.”

“Good. That’s exactly what we’re here to talk to you about,” said Jake.

“Careful with this,” he said, pulling out his Suunto and handing it to the alchemist. “The case can be metal, but the important thing is that the case is completely free of moisture, and airtight to keep it that way.”

“I’m pretty sure I can seal it, but let me think about how to make dry air,” said Mintran, handing the compass back after examining it closely. “Speaking of air, you wouldn’t happen to know how to make a vacuum, would you?”

“Um, you have mercury here, correct?”

“Quicksilver? Yes, of course.”

“You can evacuate something with a very simple pump, like this,” explained Jake, making a quick sketch based on his hazy recollections from chemistry class years ago. “Each drop of mercury removes a little more air until there’s none left.”

“Why doesn’t the air just flow back in?”

“Sorry, forgot the traps at both ends...” apologized Jake, extending the diagram to add the S-curved tubing. “The weight of the mercury itself prevents it.”

“You’re brilliant, Commander!”

“Oh, this isn’t mine, Alchemist,” laughed Jake. “It’s called a Sprengler pump, or Sprengel pump, or something like that... something I picked up a long, long time ago, still remember because it’s so elegant.”

“Let me build one immediately and see!”

Mintran was delighted... he had a new toy to keep him busy.

Given the way he immersed himself in his projects, Jake expected he’d have the pump finished in a day; maybe less if he already had appropriate tubing lying around.

And then if he could get him to work effectively with Einar, he might get some half-decent compasses out of it!

“Do you have enough merc—sorry, quicksilver?”

“I’ll need more to make this pump work,” Mintran admitted.

“Master Einar will be going to Rinar soon. Tell him what you need, and he’ll get it for you.”

“Good. I hate Rinar,” replied Mintran. “No interesting birds.”

“Today, Alchemist, if you could.”

“Of course, Commander, of course...” murmured Mintran, staring at the pump diagram.

Jake and TT left, walking back towards the main building.

“You’re pretty quiet these days, Jake... what’s up?”

“You got some time? There’re some things I need to talk to you about.”

“Sure, I’m free. Other than trying to make better gun barrels and practicing with that sword, I’m just drifting.”

“I’m thinking maybe we should give you something to do,” said Jake, leading the way to his quarters.

The building has probably once been the private quarters of the abbot, or whatever dignitary ran this monastery back in the day. Now it was where he and Nadeen lived, and where he did most of his deskwork. Which was increasing steadily, in spite of living in a fantasy world!

Nadeen was off with Long and Seri, and Jake figured (correctly) that TT didn’t really need a cup of hot tea.

They stretched out on the cushions.

Jake grabbed an orange from the basket on the low table and pushed the basket closer to the other man.

“Help yourself, TT,” he said, peeling it as he spoke. “I think you’ve pretty much come to grips with where you are, and the fact that you’re probably going to be here for a while. Like, forever.”

“Yup. Not too bad, actually, although cold beer would be nice.”

“Yeah, that’s on my list of things to do, too,” smiled Jake. “More to the point, though, we’re a mercenary company, and that usually means fighting a lot of melee battles. I can’t do sieges, and I can’t field a thousand-strong army in matching uniforms to try fancy tactics with.”

“Yeah...”

“We’ve only got two teams right now, a dozen troopers each, and there’s no way we’re gonna be taking on forces the size of Thuba Mleen’s, or even Ganzorig’s.”

“Yeah...”

“But you and I both came out of the military, and we were trained to do things differently. We don’t have the gear we used to have, but most of what we learned still applies.”

“So you want to...”

“Exactly. We should be doing small unit jobs, quiet and tactical, staying in the shadows and getting the job done with minimal force, noise, and exposure.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“And I’d like you to figure out how to train our fighters in how to do that. New tactics, new techniques, maybe new weapons. The whole thing.”

TT started to say something and thought better of it.

His mouth snapped shut, and he pursed his lips.

“I’m thinking you should start with a new team of a dozen troopers, and once you get the bugs worked out, put the two existing teams through the program. What do you think?”

TT scratched his cheekbone, thinking.

“Hmm... You know, these guys have been fighting in small units, especially close combat, for an awful long time. A lot of the tactics we know doesn’t apply here, because we don’t have transport, and comms, and rifles and all sorts of handy shit. I’m learning a lot from them, too.

“That said, I think the idea sounds pretty damn interesting,” he replied. “How much freedom do I have in running things?”

“It’s your show,” said Jake, “but I want to hear what you’re planning before you do it. I’m not going to shit on your parade in public, but I want us to be on the same page here, at least.”

“Works for me,” said TT. “I was going a little tired of doing nothing but bother the smith all day and let Beghara beat the shit out of me with her axe.”

“Good. Thanks, TT.” Jake popped the rest of the orange into his mouth. “Take a couple days and get back to me with your initial thoughts on what you want and need.”

“I could teach knife fighting and unarmed combat myself...” he mused. “Scouting, situational awareness, communications, tactics, though... those are the big ones.”

“Not so sure about unarmed combat, TT.”

TT raised his eyebrows.

“I had quite a reputation back in ’nam, you know.”

“You’ve never seen Nadeen or Seri in action, have you?”

“No, can’t say as I have... should I?”

“Oh, yes. I think you’ll need to have a few rounds with each of them, when they get back. Should be interesting.”

“Both women, I note. Any particular reason?”

“Not really... they’re the best we’ve got, man or woman.”

TT shrugged.

“Works for me, Jake. And, thanks for the offer.”

Jake twisted his neck and stretched.

“One more item off the list...”

“What else you got?”

“You know there are some other plans in motion that you’re not dialed in on yet, right?”

“Yeah. Not an issue, I guess.”

“Upgrading firearms is the biggest one: new gunpowder, new primers, rimfire cartridges, new barrels. I want to get some sort of refrigeration working. I want to get a distillery working.”

“Whisky, I hope?”

“No, just high-grade alcohol. I dunno know if it would be ethyl or methyl, but I want it for an antiseptic. Which is another thing we need: better understanding of medicine, germ theory, hygiene, surgery, the works... these people are still in the fucking Middle Ages when it comes to medicine.”

“I know emergency first aid but that’s about it...” admitted TT.

“Yeah, nothing I know anything about, either. But Geiszler does.”

“Nolan? Yeah, he’s got an extensive medical background. He’s still in Lhosk, right?”

“Yeah. I want to get him a few apprentices to absorb what he knows and get it down in writing. And try to keep him under control: Chóng says he’s always wandering about looking at the wildlife, and around here the wildlife can get pretty wild.”

“I’ve seen some pretty amazing tricks with amulets and charms and shit... healing sickness and injury right in front of my eyes.”

“Yeah, magic works, too. But it isn’t always available, and when the magician runs out of umph, that’s it,” said Jake. “I’m a belt and suspenders kinda guy, and I’d rather have a magician who knows germ theory and how to cut a bullet out without killing me.”

“OK, so firearms, new tactical stance, a distillery, medicine... what else you got for me?”

“What, that’s not enough?”

“Hey, I need something to occupy my spare time, you know.”

Jake smiled and ran a hand through his thinning hair.

“There’s another project you really need to know about, but I just can’t. Yet.”

“Something for Kuranes?”

“Something for Kuranes, yeah,” confirmed Jake. “Chuang will be coming out here in a week, and I’ll see about getting you onboard.”

“Why does he come out here all the time? Every month or so.”

“He comes out here every three weeks. The natural estrus cycle of horses is twenty-one days, and he’s got the whole herd on a synchronous cycle somehow.”

“What’s he got to do with horses?”

“Sorry, TT. That’s still above your pay grade, I’m afraid.”

“Not much to spend that pay on way the fuck out here, you know. That grubby little inn in Cadharna is pretty sad. And lonely.”

“You wanna go see the big city with Einar?”

“If you’d asked me an hour ago I would’ve jumped at the chance, but now I’ve got a nice little nut to crack with this small-unit tactics idea... Nah, I’ll save my money for now.”

“Let me know when the time comes, TT... you’re sorta off the books here, for now, and don’t have anyone to complain to but me.”

“No problem, Jake. This is a darn site more fun than wandering around tunnels getting chewed on my dinosaurs.”

TT stood.

“Thanks, Jake. We both got stuff to do.”

They shook, and TT left.


Detail map of the Mohagger Mountain region

Chapter 2

As expected, Chuang showed up a week later.

Unexpectedly, however, he came bearing gifts.

Once the airship was safely moored to the cliff wall, sails furled and suspended gangplank in place, Chuang descended to the wood deck behind the wall with several large cages. The deck was actually the roof of the stables and storehouses, and was almost empty except for a lookout box to provide shelter from wind and rain, and four scorpions—bolt throwers—ready to repel airborne attackers but yet unneeded.

Jake, notified by the watch that the ship was approaching, was of course there to meet him.

“Master Chuang, welcome. I trust it was a safe voyage?”

“Thank you, Commander. Yes, fast and quiet, and far more comfortable than wallowing around on the ocean.”

“What’s in the cages?”

“The King and I feel that we need to establish faster communications with you. I’ve brought you dragolets, nine for Celephaïs and a pair for Factor Hernández in Rinar.”

“Excellent! Communications is another element I’ve been trying to improve down here. The dragolets will be a big help.”

“When I leave in the morning—bit of a hurry this time—I’ll take the Factor his male so he can contact you, and also the three males I’ve brought with me.”

Dragolets were tiny flying lizards, no bigger than a chihuahua. If the male knew where his mate was, which was accomplished by merely bringing them to a particular spot, he would return there by himself when released anywhere. Like carrier pigeons, they would always fly “home” to their mates.

When Chuang left, he would leave behind three males who could carry messages directly back to their mates in Celephaïs, and three females to “call” their mates in turn from the same city. The last pair was so he and the Factor could contact each other quickly in an emergency, a male to fly to Rinar, and a female to call her mate from there as needed.

Apparently magical communication was possible, too, but you had to be a magician to do it, which left Jake out. Dragolets were pretty secure, although of course they could be killed or even intercepted en route. They didn’t spit fire, in spite of the name, but fangs and talons were usually effective against most natural enemies. And since they were also found in the wild, they were hard to identify even if spotted, as the message capsules tied to their legs were very small and hard to see from any distance.

“I’ll make sure they’re properly taken care of,” said Jake. “Now to the stables?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Chuang. “One more thing, though... the King would like you to come with me when I return to Celephaïs.”

“Uh... yeah, I guess that’s OK. Captain Long is on a mission currently, but should be back shortly... I’ll have to put Sergeant Beghara in charge.”

“Good, thank you,” said Chuang, walking toward the stone stairs at the end of the platform.

Jake walked with him.

“May I ask what for?”

“Of course, but I won’t answer other than to say we’re having a rather important meeting.”

“Very informative, thank you.”

“By the way, has Mistress Mochizuki been here yet?”

“Mochizuki? Why would she...? No, she hasn’t.”

Chuang smiled.

“You really need to improve your security, Commander. She’s been through your camp twice, or her people have. She had generally good things to say about you.”

“Nobody’s been in this camp!”

“She said you’d say that, and asked me to give you this,” he said, handing over a small pouch.

Jake pulled the drawstring open and looked inside. His class ring! He’d thought he’d lost it somewhere a few weeks ago, and here it was!

And the only way Chuang could have it is if Mochizuki—or someone—had snuck in and taken it. From his finger. While he was sleeping.

“Mind if I keep this?”

“Of course not, Captain. It belongs to you, after all,” smiled Chuang. “Now, the horses.”

The fort stables were located directly below the outlook they had just left, their ceilings supporting the floor of the outlook.

“Horsemaster Turan?”

There was a muffled response and after a minute she emerged from the back.

Turan Dratund was his Horsemaster, called by that name because tradition demanded it even though she was a woman. Dressed in the colorful, loosely wound Xuran robe, her skin was coal-black in the shade of the stables, eyes standing out boldly.

“Master Chuang! Welcome,” she said, wiping her hands on a cloth tied to her sash.

She bowed to Chuang, and then to Jake as well.

“Commander.”

“I have little time to spare this time, I’m afraid,” said Chuang. “If we could get started...?”

“Of course, Master Chuang,” she said, and waved her hand toward the stalls. “The mares are all here, and a few of the stallions. Should I have someone call the rest of the herd back from pasture?”

“No, just the mares is fine,” said Chuang, following her.

He glanced back at Jake, who was still standing there.

“You’re welcome to come, if you like, but there’s not much to see, as you know.”

Jake had watched the first couple times, and felt no need to tag along.

Chuang just put his hands against each mare’s flank and mumbled something—spells, he presumed—under his breath for a while. If he hadn’t seen magic work numerous times already he’d have pegged the whole thing as a scam and kicked the charlatan out, but he no longer had any doubts about whether or not it was real.

He didn’t understand how it worked, but it unquestionably did.

“No, I have other work to attend to,” he replied. “You’ll join me for supper, I trust?”

“Of course, with pleasure,” replied Chuang absently, focused on the mare. “Horsemaster, this one’s already with foal...”

Jake left them to their work and returned to his office. He had to draft a letter to Factor Hernández and arrange to get one of Chóng’s distilleries for himself... and he suspected he’d have to agree not to sell any distilled spirits, or otherwise compete with Chóng in spite of the fact they were both working on the King’s plans.

That was fine, though... he wasn’t interested in competing.

That evening Chuang and the ship’s crew joined him for supper in the mess, eating together with the company’s troopers and many of the staff, although Jake’s own table was far enough away that they could talk freely, if quietly. Chuang suggested that it might be better if the Horsemaster did not join them. Captain Lang of the Simpleton, who usually joined them, declined as well, saying he would stay on the airship for a minor matter that demanded his attention. Ridhi, as usual, hovered in the background, ordering the staff around to be sure everything got done the way she wanted it.

It was by no means a formal affair, but it did require good organization and a stern hand to get the food prepared on time and in sufficient quantity, and distributed to hungry fighters. The company had more than a dozen new recruits who hadn’t learned the way things worked here yet, and every so often one of them would make the foolish assumption that the staff could be struck for better service.

Most of them had learned that Ridhi was not your average housekeeper, and one of them now had a quite impressive scar on his hand where she had pinned it to the table with his own dagger after a difference of opinion over how quickly he should be served.

Beghara and Danny were breaking them in and trying to teach them the way things were done here, but until they saw combat they were unknowns. Based on their reports of daily training, Jake expected two candidates for sure, maybe three or four, would be let go.

Karlu of Asagehon, the man with the scar on his hand, wasn’t one of them, though... once he’d realized that staff and slave were different, and Ridhi Chabra was perfectly willing to cut him to slices to prove it, he’d settled down quite nicely. He never had any issues with his sergeant, Beghara, perhaps because she outweighed him and wielded a massive double-sided axe.

Local venison they’d hunted themselves, home-grown vegetables, potatoes and ale from Cadharna... not gourmet, but fresh and good.

“Is all well with the horses?” he asked.

Chuang nodded.

“So far, so good. Four are pregnant, and more likely this round. We’ll have to wait half a year to begin to see if we’ve been successful or not, though.”

“The horses are all acting quite normal,” added the Horsemaster. “The stallions are as eager as ever to help us, and the mares to be serviced.”

“Good,” nodded Jake. “Does this have anything to do with why the King wants to see me?”

“Yes and no,” smiled Chuang, his infamous response.

“Thanks, very enlightening.”

“How fast does that ship of yours fly?” asked TT.

“The Simpleton is the King’s ship, of course, but since it is mostly magical in nature it can fly quite fast, and even with no wind.”

“But it has sails!”

“Well, of course it has sails. It’s a sailing ship, after all,” laughed Chuang. “When the wind is right it only makes sense to hoist the sails and let the wind blow us even faster.”

“And when the wind is against you?” asked Jake.

“We lower the sails and rely on the ship itself to get us through.”

“But what drives it?”

“Ah, that’s magic, I’m afraid, and not something you can bottle up for yourself. I understand how engines work, and the Simpleton has none. Or fuel, for that matter.”

“No fuel!? No engines!? But it still flies!”

“Oh, yes, and very well. One of the many advantages of living in a world where magic works.”

“Did the King build it?”

“So to speak... King Kuranes is a Dreamer, Commander, as is Master Richard. He thought it would be useful, and dreamt it.”

He dreamt it!?” cried TT. “He what!?

“Relax, TT,” soothed Jake. “We’ve been over this. You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“Yeah, I guess... but damn, no engine, no fuel, and it fucking flies!”

Jake turned back to Chuang. “Why Simpleton?

“I don’t really know. As you might expect, he said the name came to him in a dream.”

“Does it ever stop flying? Settle down to the ground? Or run out of magic?”

“Not yet,” said Chuang. “The King says it won’t as long as he’s alive.”

“How old is he?”

“Here, he’s old as Celephaïs, which is at least thousands of years. But he was born in England in the 18th century, I believe.”

“So which is it?” demanded TT.

“Does it have to be one or the other? Or anything, for that matter?” countered Chuang quietly.

TT slammed his dagger into a chunk of venison with unnecessary force, shattering the plate.

“Oh, fuck me,” he cursed in disgust, staring at it in disbelief.

Ridhi Chabra miraculously appeared behind him.

“You have a problem, Sergeant?”

“No, ma’am! I mean Captain Ridhi!” TT sat up straight. He knew better than to mess with her.

“If you have a problem, Sergeant, I suggest you take it outside with you,” she continued. “Now.”

“Ah, yes ma’am. My apologies!”

“Ridhi, if you could grant me a favor this time, I’d appreciate it,” said Jake.

She glared at him, dark eyebrows almost meeting in the center, then she turned and stalked away with a cold “As you wish” thrown back over her shoulder.

“Maybe tone it down a bit, TT?” asked Jake mildly. “You really don’t want to get Ridhi angry at you, believe me...”

“Yeah, sorry... it’s all just so... Sorry, never mind,” muttered TT.

“I wonder if Master TiTi would like to join us and see Celephaïs,” said Chuang. “You could meet your fellows once again, and the King.”

“I have no objections,” said Jake. “TT is working on something for me right now, but no reason why it can’t wait a week or to.”

“Your firearms research?”

“Well, yes, that too,” admitted Jake, “but I’ve asked him to look into how to leverage our strengths. You know we are both military men, but our style of fighting is quite different from what’s common here.”

“You referred to yourself as ‘special forces’ once, I believe.”

“Yes. They are called special exactly because they do things that the usual army or navy does not. And I think we could amplify our power significantly by adopting some of their ideas to my company. TT has a similar background, but different enough that he brings additional skills and knowledge.”

“How is what you propose different than what we already have?

“Stealth. Small-unit operations. Traps. Assassination. But more than that, a whole new mindset... the goal is not to win a fight, but to win without having to fight at all.”

Chuang set his mug of ale down and looked at Jake, then TT.

“Master TiTi, I think you shall come with us. You must speak with Mistress Mochizuki.”

“I’d like to have a few words with her myself,” said Jake.

“Who’s she?”

Jake held up his hand.

“See this ring? Mochizuki’s ninja stole it off my finger, while I was sleeping. Chuang just gave it back. Mochizuki runs the King’s spy corps.”

“Ninja? Spies? This is a pretty modern fantasy world!”

“What, you never read The Three Musketeers when you were a kid?”

Now it was Chuang’s turn to look puzzled. “The Three Musketeers?”

“Never mind, just a book back where I came from. Doesn’t really matter.”

Chuang nodded.

“In any case, it sounds to me like your ‘special forces’ have quite a bit in common with her Kingfishers...”

“Is that what they’re called?” asked Jake. “Never heard the name before.”

“It’s not everyday conversation, but it’s hardly a secret. What they do is, though, and I suspect the two of you might have quite a bit to talk about,” said Chuang. “Strange that she never mentioned this to me.”

“She hasn’t had a chance,” said Jake. “TT and I were just talking about it today.”

“Be that as it may,” continued Chuang. “I would very much like Master TiTi to accompany us back to Celephaïs on the morrow.”

“Certainly,” said Jake. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“Are my guys in Celephaïs now?” asked TT. “Be good to see the gang again.”

“I believe Master Johnny and Master Watney are, but Master Geiszler is in Lhosk.”

“Lhosk is across the Celephaïs Strait; quite a distance. Maybe next time.”

“Too bad, but it’ll be good to see Johnny and Mack again anyway.”

“We’ll be leaving with first light,” said Chuang.

“I travel light. Just let me grab my pack and I’m ready to go,” said TT.

Chuang turned back to Jake.

“Commander Jake, I would like to send a message to Celephaïs immediately. You can bring a replacement dragolet back later when you return here.”

“Of course. Now?”

“Yes, please. The sooner the better.”

When Chuang and Jake stood to leave, TT and the Horsemaster stood as well. Their plates were empty, with the single exception of TT’s shattered leftovers.

“I guess this meeting’s over,” said TT. “See you tomorrow.”

Horsemaster Dratund nodded to Jake and Chuang and left, back to the stables.

The dragolets were just in the stables for now, but Jake realized he’d have to build a proper coop for them, and probably hire someone who knew how to keep them healthy. Turan could take care of them for a week or two until then.

He made a mental note to arrange to find someone when Einar visited Rinar later. Might have to send Ridhi, he realized... she’d love the chance to visit the big city again, and she’d proven excellent at picking people.

Turan was feeding the dragolets when they got there. They were carnivores, eating insects, lizards, even small birds and mammals, but tonight they were enjoying raw venison gobbets.

“I’ll have to ride down to the village tomorrow and buy some mice,” she said to Jake. “The children will be delighted to be paid to catch them, and the villagers will be delighted to get rid of them. Where do you plan to keep them?”

“I haven’t had a chance to even think about it yet,” said Jake. “Probably need a new building, and somebody to look after them... you have enough to keep you busy already, I think.”

“They’re cute, but I really prefer horses,” she said. “No problem for now, though.”

“We need one of the males with the blue anklets,” said Chuang. “I need to send a message to Celephaïs at once.”

“That’s easy enough,” she replied, opening a cage and reaching in to pick up one of the blue-banded dragolets. “They’re well-trained and haven’t bitten me yet!”

Chuang pulled paper and quill from his bag and quickly jotted down a note, blotted it, and rolled it up small enough to fit into one of the message tubes.

He carefully tied the leather message tube to the dragolet’s leg, checked to be it was secure, and lofted the beast into the air.

It was hard to see clearly in the evening light, but it circled twice before giving a long, drawn-out honk and flying off toward the northwest. Toward Celephaïs.

“It’ll get there before we do,” said Chuang as they walked back, “and that will give time for Mochizuki to decide what to do.”

“What do you expect her to do?”

“Talk to TT, certainly. Beyond that... I have no idea. She functions is a very different world than I.”

“You sound a little frightened of her, Chuang.”

“No, not frightened, but certainly respectful of her capabilities, shall we say. I’m glad we’re working with her and not against her.”

“Well, we shall find out soon enough, Master Chuang. If you’ll forgive me, I have a number of things to take care of before we leave.”

“Of course. On the morrow, then.”

Chapter 3

He hadn’t slept much, and was feeling downright tired as dawn rolled around. Much of the night had been spent meeting with various people and making sure everything would be alright while he was gone.

It was too bad Captain Long and Nadeen were gone, but Beghara and Ridhi should be able to keep everything under control for a week or two.

He didn’t have any bag to pack, but as always he brought his Glock and his longsword with him. He hated to leave his Suunto behind, but he was unlikely to need it, and Mintran or Einar might want to see it while he was gone. He left it with Beghara, with strict instructions to make sure he got it back in one piece.

As the sun began to break above the hilly plains stretching off to the east, they gathered at the Simpleton. Captain Lang and the crew were already aboard, checking the rigging and preparing for departure.

The three dragolet males they were taking with them back to Celephaïs were unhappy to leave their mates, honking quietly to themselves.

The ship itself was shaped differently than one designed for the sea... while the deck, masts, and rigging were all quite normal, although it was unusually broad in the beam, the hull below the deck was vastly different. Instead of tapering to the keel running the length of the ship, the hull expanded like a shoe, widest at the flat bottom. There was even a hatch in the bottom, called the “solehole.”

It was floating just off the cliff wall, connected to the ramparts by a flexible gangplank, boards roped together like a suspension bridge.

“Come aboard, Master Chuang,” called Captain Lang. “We’re ready to depart as soon as you’re all set.”

Chuang held out him arm, inviting Jake and TT aboard.

As soon as they were across the gangplank safely, the fort troops unhitched the hawsers, tossing the loose ends off the cliff. They were gradually reeled in and stowed by the ship’s crew as it began to rise, slowly picking up speed and turning toward the southwest.

The sails were still furled, Jake noticed.

“So what’s driving this thing?” asked TT, eyes running over every inch of the ship. “No sails, there was nothing on the hull that I saw, no props anywhere...”

“Remember back in basic when you saw a sniper pop up out of the bush two meters from your nose?”

“...Yeah... scared the shit out of me.”

“It was magic, TT, just like this. Eventually you stop worrying about stuff like that, because it keeps happening and it’ll wear you out if you let it.”

TT looked unconvinced.

“So what’s downstairs?”

The captain answered his question.

“Master TiTi, Commander Jake, welcome aboard. I’m Captain Lang, and this is the fine airship Simpleton. We need to make a brief stop in Rinar to give that dragolet to the Factor, and then we’re off to a rendezvous with the King.”

“To Celephaïs?”

“Well, no, not actually. That’s the story we’re telling everyone, just in case the wrong people are listening, but we’re actually going to meet the King at Serannian. It’s a bit closer, in fact.”

He turned to TT.

“To answer your question, the area below deck holds cabins, the galley, mess, and storerooms. And a toilet, of course. I’ll be happy to give you a tour if you like, after we leave Rinar.”

“Thank you; we look forward to it,” said Jake, cutting off TT’s unspoken questions. “Where is Serannian?”

This time it was Chuang who answered: “It varies with the King’s whim, Commander Jake. Serannian is a city that floats in the clouds.”

“Oh, great... now we’ve got a whole flying city.

“TT, cool it,” soothed Jake. “I think I’ve heard it mentioned but never really paid much attention to it. Wherever it is, it must be an amazing sight...”

“It is quite beautiful,” said Captain Lang. “It is certainly not as large as Celephaïs, or even Rinar, for that matter, with soaring minarets of pink marble, and mossy slopes dotted with statues of the gods and myths. I’d say it is closer to a palace than a city, but it’s really created its own legendary status.”

“How does it stay aloft?”

Chuang shrugged. “The same way the Simpleton does, of course. It’s worked for centuries thus far, and there’s no reason to believe it might stop working.”

“Do you know why it works?”

“Of course—it works because the King believes that it does.”

Jake’s mouth opened, froze, closed again.

“That... doesn’t make sense...” he said quietly.

“Many things don’t,” agreed Chuang.

Their conversation was interrupted by a whistle from the bow.

“Party below!” came the call.

Jake looked over the railing. The ship was still low enough to tell who it was: Captain Long, Nadeen, and Seri. They were on the way back to the fort.

They waved at each other, but there was really no need to stop... Beghara would fill them in when they got there. Nadeen looked—they all looked—uninjured, relieving Jake of unvoiced worry.

They reached Rinar in only a few hours, thanks to a tailwind that carried them most of the way. Except when they needed to change course the ship was astonishingly stable. Captain Lang assured them that it could get very bouncy when they needed to cross a weather front, although they had never suffered damage from a lightning strike yet.

The Simpleton was equipped with a large lodestone, and Jake noticed immediately how the mounting interfered with smooth rotation, and its relatively poor precision and response. He would have to get Einar to make a larger compass to replace it with.

When they reached Rinar, Captain Lang moored to one of the taller towers on the city wall, and had one of his crew take the caged dragolet to the factor after they explained to the city guard why they had come. Once they learned this was the King’s airship, everything became much easier.

A small crowd of cityfolk gathered, gawking at the airship, but began to drift away after it became apparent that nothing was happening.

The man returned in about half an hour, carrying a sealed envelope addressed to the King, which Chuang took and placed in his wallet, unopened.

They departed Rinar immediately, heading for Serannian.

Jake checked his map and compass every so often to try to keep track of their course, but since they flew over the ocean and he didn’t know their speed, it was almost impossible.

The airship continued its journey all that day, through the night, and the rest of the following day.

Once he saw islands in the distance east of them, and guessed they must be either Mtal or Nariel, which would mean they were still headed in the general direction of Celephaïs.

On the afternoon of the second day, as the sun touched the western horizon and dyed the clouds a spectacular orange, the bow lookout whistled once more.

Jake looked forward to see a black blob floating in the distance. Below them was featureless ocean. That must be Serannian, he figured, and checked his map once again... it must be in the middle of the ocean somewhere, away from islands and trade routes, and therefore unlikely to be spotted by anyone.

He didn’t know if he felt better to know the King was being cautious, or worse because the King thought he needed to be.

Serannian grew larger ahead of them, gradually emerging from the orange brilliance of the sunset to reveal itself as a veritable paradise. As Captain Lang had explained briefly, it was more a floating park with a small palace in it, than a whole city, but it was breathtakingly beautiful nonetheless.

Everything seemed to have been constructed from pink marble, with accents of onyx and gray granite, and the architecture itself was Grecian, as far as he could tell. Marble pavilions, carven columns supporting shining statues of gold, or silver, or unknown metals, dotting gentle hills covered with lush green grass and wildflowers.

He half expected to see nymphs and satyrs dancing, and suddenly realized that it wouldn’t be unlikely after all.

The airship slowed, drifting to dock at a granite wharf running along one edge of the island.

A small group of guards was waiting to greet them, led by a stunningly beautiful woman with twin swords strapped to her back, and a tiny marmoset on her shoulder.

Once the gangplank was in place, she greeted the group as they stepped off the Simpleton to “solid” earth.

“Master Chuang, welcome to Serannian.”

“Thank you, Commander,” he responded, then turned to Jake.

“Commander Jake, I believe you’ve already met Commander Britomartis of the King’s Guard? Commander, this is Master TiTi.”

She bowed. “Britomartis of Celephaïs. I have heard much about you.”

Jake elbowed TT, who quickly gave a half-bow and returned the greeting, “TT of, uh... Preston, Oklahoma.”

“Preston... a place I am yet unfamiliar with,” she said. “But you are not from the Dreamlands, are you?”

“No, ma’am. I’m not.”

“Nor am I,” she replied, somewhat sadly. “Nor, I suspect, from your realm either.”

Jake broke in to explain that she was a character from an old English book. As TT’s eyebrows rose, he hurriedly added he’d explain more later, but for now just “Deal with it.”

TT did.

Britomartis led them from the wharf toward the center of the island, uphill. As they walked, Jake noticed a second airship—much smaller and far more utilitarian—docked a bit farther away.

“There is a second airship, I see... I thought there was only one...”

“No, there are a number of airships in the Dreamlands.”

“Who owns that one?”

She smiled without answering.

Chuang did instead: “You shall meet her shortly, I think.”

“Her... so I suppose you mean Mistress Mochizuki, then.”

Britomartis laughed. “Perhaps you are as good as she thinks you are after all!”

Just over the crest of a small hill was a pair of sculpted satyrs flanking the road, one with a panpipe and the other a wineskin. Ahead of them was a low, open pavilion with columns all around.

The floor was covered with carpets, and in the center was a long, low table surrounded by cushions.

He only recognized one of the people lounging there: Chóng, the head of the sprawling trading empire that he nominally worked for.

Britomartis stopped the party, and gestured one of her guards to step closer.

“Brand, please guide Master TiTi to the practice yard and provide weapons training until called for.”

“Yes, Commander,” he replied crisply, and turned to TT. “This way, Master TiTi.”

“I’m sorry, but you cannot join us just yet, Master TiTi. I think you will find Brand more than capable as an opponent, and an instructor.”

TT looked at Jake, who nodded.

“Sorry, guy. Rank.”

“OK, I’ll whup this guy for a while and see you later.”

“Um, yeah. That might take a little work, TT... He’s a King’s Guard.”

“Fine with me! I’ve never whupped a King’s Guard before!”

The two of them left the party, Brand leading.

Chuang led Jake in the pavilion, bowing.

“My King, I bring Commander Jake.”

The man wearing a simple gold circlet on his head nodded at us.

“Enter. I am Kuranes, High King of the Dreamlands. Come, sit.”

He gestured at them to take places at the table, which had bowls of fruit, ewers of drinks, and crystalline goblets for each of them.

Jake bowed to the King, naming himself “Jake of Penglai” before sitting.

Sitting around the table with the King were Chóng, Mistress Mochizuki of Shinano (the King’s spymaster), Commander Britomartis, Master Carter of Boston, some monk named Shingan Oshō, Physician ibn Sina, and an Ibizim woman named Matriarch Geriel. There were also about a dozen people sitting or standing at a distance from the central table, presumably various aides, but they were never introduced.

Once that was done, the King took command.

“Please, eat, drink as you wish. If you desire anything they will bring it immediately.”

He took a sip from his goblet, something ruby red, before continuing.

“Commander Jake, Chuang has kept us informed of your various plans. Your ideas on advancing medical knowledge in particular are highly welcome, and needed. You have also been trying to bring a range of new technologies and knowledge from your own realm to the Dreamlands, and this is what we must discuss.”

“May I talk freely here, King Kuranes?”

“Yes, please.”

“The horse project is largely out of my hands at this time, and until it produces enough horses for me to use in combat will remain so. Master Chuang has told me it will be necessary to concentrate on building up sufficient breeding stock for some time.

“In the meantime, I have been attempting to improve the company’s capabilities now, while Mnar and the Eastern Desert are still at peace.”

“Could you briefly explain?”

“Of course.”

Jake thought for a moment.

“We require force to achieve our goals, which are usually the destruction of an enemy, or preventing an enemy from achieving some objective. One of my goals is to equip my company with better weapons, specifically, firearms, to increase the amount of force they can apply.”

“And your firearms will be superior to the muskets available now.”

“Yes. They will offer better accuracy and faster loading, among other improvements.”

“I see. Please continue.”

“In addition to firearms, we need cannons and grenades,” continued Jake. “I don’t really understand why you don’t already have them, to be honest...”

“They have been, um, discouraged, for many years,” said Mochizuki.

“Yes, we can get into that later,” broke in Kuranes. “Please continue, Commander.”

“I see. Well, horses. Horses will provide improved mobility, and depending how the project advances, may lead to significant changes in tactics.

“In addition to these obvious changes, though, we also require fundamental improvements to the underlying system. Specifically, we must develop better logistics, provide better medical care for injured troopers, and better support for our people after they have been mustered out for age or injury. This is why I intend to ask Factor Chóng for a distillery, to produce alcohol for use in surgery, among other things.

“We must provide improved intelligence, such as detailed maps, more accurate compasses, and some form of communications.

“Improved intelligence and communications would benefit from flight. I hadn’t believed it reasonable, but as there are at least two airships moored to this flying island presently, perhaps it could be. Control of the air would magnify our strength enormously.

“Troopers must be trained in different ways. Obviously a variety of tactical designs have developed here, but most of them apply to relatively large units, while small-unit actions tend to be melees. For smaller units, TT and I believe that improvements in tactics and stealth will significantly improve effectiveness, while for larger units hierarchical control is essential even with firearms.

“We require better optics, not only for telescopes, but also for eyeglasses to help those with poor vision see, and for microscopes to assist in medicine.

“For larger units, food production and storage must be improved, so that larger units can be supported in the field without the need for foraging.

“Manufacturing must be improved to eliminate the need for highly skilled craftsmen while producing weapons and other implements of sufficient quality and quantity.

“The construction and operation of medical and educational facilities throughout the region will contribute to improved health and well-being for all, and lead to a higher standard for recruits.

“If some way can be found to control Reed, utilization of electric power would provide significant improvements in every facet of the military and society, but require a massive investment of capital and labor into developing the requisite technologies and infrastructure.

“The list goes on and on, and each of these major points incorporates a number of finer issues to be addressed. All in all, they represent a massive transformation of local society.”

The group fell silent, digesting his comments.

“Factor Chóng, would you describe what happened in Penglai?”

“You and Commander Britomartis saw it with me, King Kuranes, as did Commander Jake, but the rest of you have not. Except perhaps Mistress Mochizuki?”

There was a short round of laughter, and Mochizuki merely smiled.

“Enormous machines were brought to dig huge pits, larger than this building. Often they used explosives to blast out pits or split rock. The machines were noisy, smelly, and left puddles of toxic oil everywhere.

“They were, however, extremely effective at mining the ore they desired.

“The machines were later destroyed by Reed, but the mine continued operation for some time using manual laborers, until Reed attacked once again, obliterating it completely. It remains closed presently.”

“Oil?” asked the Matriarch.

“Yes, thick, black oil that killed the grass where it fell, and the fish in the nearby river when it spilled that far.”

“There are lakes of black oil under the desert,” she mused. “The same, I wonder...”

Britomartis spoke up next.

“Commander Jake, you mentioned firearms offering better accuracy and faster loading. In other words, they will be far more deadly than they are now.”

“Yes. Swords and bows will become useless.”

“And more people will die.”

“Unquestionably.”

“Including our own people, as knowledge of how to make these new firearms spreads.”

“Almost certainly. Which is why we must improve unit tactics, operational control, and strategy simultaneously.”

“So, an arms race,” said Mochizuki. “Just like your realm.”

“Well, yes...”

“Commander Jake,” said the King slowly, “you asked why there are no cannon in the Dreamlands.”

“Yes. Since there are a few muskets I was surprised that I’ve never seen a cannon, on land or on a ship. I’d think the cannon would be invented before the musket.”

“It was. We destroyed them and have since made sure that all efforts to create cannons or more advanced firearms end poorly. We, how shall I put it, actively discourage research into the field.”

“I... see...” said Jake, digesting the implications.

“Physician ibn Sina?” invited the King, dropping the subject.

The thin, elderly Arab spoke slowly but clearly.

“Better medicine and medical knowledge will help us all. Too many die in infancy, or of disease or injury in their prime, or suffer the infirmities of age, and it is one of the sacred responsibilities of the Council to improve the lot of the people. My apprentices have made major strides in understanding the body and sickness, but surely there is much more we must know.

“I am rather less enamored of advances in firearms, although death by sword is much the same as death by musket to the one dying.”

“Randolph?” asked the King, turning to the man who’d introduced himself as Carter of Boston. Jake wondered which world he’d come from, his or TT’s. Or some different one entirely?

Carter sighed audibly.

“We knew it would come to this, my friend, one day.

“Medicine, education, agriculture, manufacturing... all of these would improve the lot of the people, vastly expanding their abilities and their future possibilities. But at the same time we would risk the Dreamlands following the same path as Wakeworld, suffocating in smoke and pollution, the trees and animals withering and dying, people experiencing the same poverty as always but in a land of concrete and asphalt swept by clouds of noxious gas, or acid rain.

“Is there no path to accepting the good without this evil?”

“I know of none,” said the King heavily. “On the one hand it would uplift all, and on the other it would threaten every aspect of the Dreamlands.”

Jake began to understand just what this meeting was all about.

“You’re debating whether or not to modernize the Dreamlands!”

“Yes. Unlike the way things developed in your realm, uncontrolled and uncontrollable, we have the opportunity to control the process here, to direct it and guide it to minimize the death and horror your world experienced.”

“But everything comes with a cost,” complained TT. “Everything can be used as a weapon.”

The old Arab physician, ibn Sina, spoke up again. “Jake, you have given us a considerable list of technologies to digest... are you, a military man, familiar with all these?”

“No, sir. I have seen them and understand how they work, but I do not know how to make most of them in detail. I would have to obtain detailed information, and possibly tools and materials, from my own realm.”

“That could be quite difficult, and perilous,” mused the King.

“Yes, King Kuranes,” agreed Jake.

“Would books be sufficient, or would it be necessary to bring artificers as well?” asked Mochizuki. “It would be vastly simpler to obtain books.”

“It should be possible with just books, yes, but would certainly take much longer. We would be developing multiple technologies simultaneously, and they are all interdependent, making the process far more complicated. An engineer—excuse me, an artificer—would simplify the process by being able to develop key fundamental technologies first, and build upon them in a more efficient order.

“Merely identifying and gathering all the necessary information would be quite an undertaking by itself.”

He turned to Carter.

“I believe I come from the most technical earth... Master Carter, I got the feeling from your comments just now that there is no space travel or atomic energy, for example, in your realm.”

“Space travel!? My goodness, surely not!”

“There is in mine, and probably in TT’s as well. Truly, my realm is facing all the problems that Master Carter has just described, and more. But at the same time, new technologies have emerged, and a new paradigm calling for zero waste, recycling, solar power, and a balanced relationship between the natural and human realms.

“This movement is still young, but it is increasingly recognized as crucial to humanity, and gaining momentum.”

“And you are familiar with these technologies?”

“No. I know far too little about any of the technologies I hope to bring to life, and must rely on the expertise of people such as Physician ibn Sina and Alchemist Mintran, coupled with my memories of what is possible, to find ways of realizing them.”

“So more unknown technologies from other realms, then,” said Chuang, rather sharply.

“There are such experts in my realm,” answered Jake. “They could help you avoid many of the problems that come with these technologies, perhaps all of them, because you would be able to jump over intermediate steps directly to clean sustainable solutions.”

“Hmm. So are you suggesting kidnapping?”

“I, no! I didn’t mean...”

Jake fell silent.

“Mistress?” asked the King, looking at Mochizuki.

“Quite possible, although it would be complicated. It’s unclear how we might locate such a person, and if they would assist us after being brought here, willing or not. Assuming we could convince them that we exist in the first place, however, it should be possible to enter into a contract for specific services, without any need for unpleasantries.”

“It is possible,” said Shingan Oshō.

“I may be able to help in that regard,” said Chóng. “The mine is closed for now, but we are still in communication with Jake’s world. His former employers in fact.”

“Haven’t they abandoned Penglai?”

“They have continued to deal with me in spite of Reed’s destruction, but the mining operation is closed for now. They seem to be having difficulty abandoning the potential profits that Penglai—and no doubt the Dreamlands—offer, and so we continue our discussions. But we cannot afford the risk of a hasty decision!”

“Agreed,” said Mochizuki. “Having seen their weapons in action, even the possibility of a war, difficult as it would be across the realms, fills me with dread.”

“But a portal from that realm, or from any of the infinite realms, could be discovered or created at any time, spilling these technologies and weapons into the Dreamlands,” added Britomartis, scratching her little marmoset’s chest. “What then of our caution?”

“But a social upheaval of the scope Commander Jake describes would, for the short term at least, destroy the social systems supporting great dozens of our people!” burst out the Matriarch. “Not only the Ibizim, but people of all the races of Dreamlands!”

“Assuming we went ahead with this plan, hiring experts from your realm,” said ibn Sina, “how many artificers might we need? And what sort of timescales are we speaking of?”

“I really can’t say. It took centuries in my realm, of course, but the majority of the progress has occurred in the last hundred years. New technologies were built on older ones, and did not have to be built from scratch every time; here, most of what we would need would have to be constructed from the most basic raw materials.

“Raw materials must be processed a variety of ways before they can be utilized to drive these technologies, and as new technologies become possible they may, in turn, revolutionize the techniques used to mine or process those raw materials, while serving in turn as a stepping stone to yet more technologies.

“It is a familiar process to you all, I think. Milling wheat with a stone, then using cattle to drive the millstone around a pillar, then replacing the cow with a waterwheel, which can in turn be used to lift water to irrigate fields to produce more wheat. The Dreamlands have already been developing technologies in the same way, along much the same path as my realm took.”

“But we have magic,” mused Chuang.

“And I do not understand how magic works. How it can work,” complained Jake. “I can’t deny that it is effective, but I cannot predict how it might affect any of these programs. Your breeding program for the horses, for example... I think I understand what you are doing, Master Chuang, but I don’t understand how you do it, or how well it works, or even how you know what to do in the first place!”

Chuang laughed.

“I cannot go into details, but suffice to say that Factor Chóng and I have some experience in this pursuit already, albeit with a different animal entirely. It appears that much of our practical knowledge applies to horses as well.”

“Perhaps we can return to this discussion of magic at a later time,” said the King, “and—”

There was a clatter and thud outside, and immediately shouts from guards. Britomartis leapt to her feet, marmoset chattering in excitement on her shoulder, and raced toward the sound.

“Halt!” came a shout from outside the pavilion as somebody burst from the surrounding bushes, racing away with a guard close after.

“He’s been stabbed!” came a shout.

“Physician ibn Sina! Quickly!” called Britomartis, then “Summon everyone. You four, guard the King. The rest of you, with me!”

As a group everyone surged outside.

Collapsed on the stone stairs was TT, tunic stained crimson on one side.

The physician, ibn Sina, pulled open his tunic to examine the wound, then turned and called “Master Chuang!”

Jake ran up to him, supporting his head.

“What the hell, TT?”

“Brand... the guard... I got a piece of him, tho...”

Chuang leaned over TT, running his hands over the wound, murmured “Right through his abdomen, deep... intestines, probably other organs. He will die, Physician, unless... My King! Master Carter! Only you can help him now!”

King Kuranes and Randolph Carter looked at each other, nodded, and sat down next to TT, Kuranes cross-legged, Carter just sitting on the stairs, legs outstretched. Chuang joined them, kneeling. They closed their eyes and nothing happened... except that the blood began to clot, the wound to close, and TT’s breathing steady.

Jake couldn’t guess how much time passed, but suddenly the King opened his eyes.

“I can do no more.”

Carter slumped down, panting. Chuang, impenetrable as ever, merely continued to kneel, silent.

The wound was healing, not healed but clearly well along. TT was still unconscious, but his pulse was strong, and he was breathing easily.

“How did you...?”

“It’s magic, Commander Jake, just magic,” answered the King. “And it took the three of us to heal him even this much.”

“He will probably make a full recovery,” said Carter, “but his mind and body are still in shock. He will need care for a few weeks at least.”

Britomartis returned.

“My King,” she said. “We have had a spy in our midst.”

“Where is he?”

“It killed the two guards at the wharf, and fled in Mistress Mochizuki’s airship.”

“It?”

“And the blood spilled was black, my King.”

“Black!” spit Mochizuki. “A Flayed One!”

“Yes, Mistress. The Stain of Nyogtha. It must have listened to most of the meeting, I’m afraid. And it would have heard more except for Master TiTi, who dragged himself this far to alert us.”

“We cannot catch that airship, I’m afraid,” said the King. “It is far faster.”

“Thuba Mleen?” asked the Matriarch.

“Almost certainly,” nodded Mochizuki. “He knows we fight against him. But how did he know about this meeting? And to think that he has created a Flayed One...”

“Have you found Brand’s body?”

“The guards are searching now, but I suspect it killed Brand before you even left Celephaïs,” said Britomartis. “and there’s probably not much left of Brand anyway... the Flayed Ones eat their victims, or at least most of them.

“In any case... I have already blood-checked the immediate guards, and they are in turn checking the rest. Once that’s done—assuming we discover no more shapeshifters—I’ll begin investigating what this ‘Brand’ has been doing lately.”

“Thank you, Commander,” said Kuranes. “I hesitate to bring it up, but what about us? Surely we should blood-check as well?”

Britomartis gave a half-bow.

“I hesitated to mention it myself, my King. Yes, I would greatly appreciate it. I have a prick here,” she said, holding out a glinting needle on her palm.

The King held out his hand, and she neatly pricked his thumb, letting a drop of crimson blood ooze out. “Thank you.”

The King turned to the rest of the group.

“You will all blood-check now,” he commanded. “Commander, guard us all.”

She nodded, and waved her guards in to surround the whole party.

Jake noticed that there were three Ibizim standing around the Matriarch now, too: two were obviously fighters, and one older man who was probably a councilor.

One by each, she drew a drop of blood from everyone in the party, then one from TT as well.

The King gave a sigh of relief and sat down on one of the rocks flanking the stairs.

“Mistress Mochizuki,” he said, “I would ask that you care for Master TiTi, and work with him on his idea. It strikes me that your methods would share much in common, even though he is from the military and you are not.”

“My King,” she nodded. “May I accompany you back to Celephaïs?”

“Of course, once Commander Britomartis finishes checking the airships. I think our meeting is done, for now. ”

“What’s a Flayed One?” asked Jake.

Matriarch Geriel answered him: “They can change their appearance to look like anyone, although the process takes hours. They can’t change their size, of course, but since they can change their appearance they make wonderful spies.”

“Are they human? I mean, when they’re not changed?”

“They were human, once, but no more,” said Chuang. “They are called Flayed Ones because they are literally flayed—skinned—and undergo a transformation process lasting at least a full year, during which time they are in constant agony. To my knowledge there have been none in the Dreamlands for dozens of grand dozens of years.”

A grand dozen was twelve squared, and twelve times that was just over seventeen hundred years... so, thousands of years, at any rate.

Somebody spit.

Jake turned to see TT awake, his torso raised up on an elbow as he spit blood.

“Be still, buddy,” he called. “Lemme get you some water.”

He dashed back into the pavilion, grabbed a jug of water and a bowl, and carried them to where TT lay groaning.

He slipped one arm under the wounded man’s back, supporting him so he could drink from the bowl more easily.

He drank, coughed, spit, drank again. Weakly waved his hand at Jake, who let him down again.

“He stuck you pretty bad, TT.”

“Yeah, I know. Figured I was a goner... how come I’m here?”

“The King and magic. They did something to get you over the hump... look, the wound’s already closed.”

TT just reached down and felt his abdomen where minutes ago an ugly slash had been gushing with blood. It was still sopping wet, of course, but he gingerly probed the area with his fingers.

“It doesn’t hurt! It’s... it’s just a dull ache now! What the hell...?”

“Just be cool, TT. You’re gonna be taking it easy for a while.”

“Did you get that bastard? Brand?”

“Nope, he got away in an airship. Turns out it wasn’t Brand, though... somebody took his place and spying on the meeting. If you hadn’t alerted us...”

TT smiled and closed his eyes, letting his body relax.

“I try not to let people who stab me get away with it,” he said, mumbling as he fell asleep.

“He’s sleeping now,” said Jake, final standing to face the others. “Thank you for saving his life.”

“Of course, Commander Jake,” smiled the King. “We take care of our own.”

There were still a few guards nearby, but Britomartis and Mochizuki were gone.

“They are checking the other airships, and setting up a system to check everyone with access to the King,” explained Chuang. “We cannot check everyone in Serannian, of course, but we can control who gets too close.”

“What would happen to the city if the King were to die?”

Chuang pursed his lips.

“We don’t actually know... King Kuranes birthed Celephaïs, you know, and Thuba Mleen was here before. Once Celephaïs was birthed, of course, countless people have been born and lived there for dozens upon dozens of generations, and they obviously all believe it exists. Would it survive his death? We just don’t know...”

“That’s crazy!”

“Well, yes, it would be crazy in Wakeworld, no doubt, but here King Kuranes arrived quite recently—about a grand dozen years ago—in one sense, but created Celephaïs and other things that have been here for millennia. Defining reality is quite complicated here, especially when Dreamers are involved.

“And that is exactly why Master TiTi is still alive.”

“But if everything is so fluid...” Jake’s words petered out.

“...why can’t we just make Thuba Mleen disappear?” asked Chuang.

“Yes. And so much more.”

Chuang sighed.

“Unfortunately, we don’t know that, either. Some things are easy, some things take enormous concentration and energy, some things appear to be impossible. Maybe we are simply not strong enough. Thuba Mleen appears to be a permanent part of the Dreamlands, but we can fight him effectively within the constraints of our realm. And he, for his part, appears constrained as well as far as what forces he can apply.”

“My King, we should leave now,” said Britomartis, returning to the pavilion. “The steward will blood-check the rest of the palace staff here, and arrange for tighter security.”

“Are the airships secured?”

“They’ve been thoroughly checked, yes. While neither Mistress Mochizuki nor I expects an attack, two guardships will accompany us back to the city.”

“Thank you.”

The King turned to the other members of the Council, who were still talking quietly among themselves.

“Factor Chóng? You will return to Lhosk, I gather? With Shingan Oshō?”

“Yes, I will make sure he gets back to Mt. Thurai safely. Physician ibn Sina will travel with me as well.”

“Randolph, you’re with me, of course... Matriarch Geriel? Will you accompany me to Celephaïs?”

“I must return to Noor with all due haste, if you have an airship I may use. I must tell the Ibizim of the Flayed One.”

“I will have an airship take you there immediately, Matriarch.” The King turned to Britomartis. “Commander, assign a guard airship to take the Matriarch home.”

He turned to Jake.

“And what about you, Commander Jake? Master TiTi will accompany Mistress Mochizuki, and after he is healed will stay with her for a time to share ideas. You are welcome to join him, or come with me to Celephaïs.”

“I would like to return to my own home, King Kuranes. I could travel with the Matriarch, if she is amenable.”

“Of course. Master Chuang? Will you go to see your horses, too?”

“No, my lord. Another few weeks yet. Shingan Oshō and I have some things to discuss, so I shall accompany him and Factor Chóng, and join you in Celephaïs later.”

“So be it,” he commanded, and turned to Britomartis. “Commander?”

“This way, my King,” she responded, pointing toward the airship wharf.

The group split up into various parties, and Jake watched them carry TT off on a stretcher. He was quite unhappy to leave his friend, but he had to admit they’d done a good job of taking care of him so far. He trusted Factor Chóng, and clearly the Factor trusted all these people...

He was left with the Matriarch and her retinue, and a Sergeant Brauna of the King’s Guard, an average-looking kind of guy who didn’t look like he deserved to be a sergeant.

Sergeant Brauna guided them to the wharf where an older airship waited.

A military craft, apparently, the flat hull base was painted blue, and the upper sections with random camouflage patterns in various colors. He noticed it had small scorpions—bolt throwers—mounted on the gunwales on both sides.

The rest of the six—two women and three men—were readying the airship for departure.

They boarded, slipped the hawsers, and soared into the sky.

Chapter 4

TT was quite unhappy.

He’d really looked forward to seeing Celephaïs again. The last time he’d been here, less than a year ago with the three surviving members of Probe Six, they’d still been mentally in shock from this new reality, and at every turn they ran into sights and sounds that reminded them they were not in Kansas anymore.

Seeing huge dinosaurs pulling wagonloads was quite a shock, even if they were mostly sedate herbivores, but someone walking with a trained velociraptor at their side was terrifying. His hand twitched constantly for his pistol—he still had it, but without ammunition it was pretty useless.

Nolan Geiszler, the biologist, was in seventh heaven, of course, and the other two scientists were having the time of their lives, too, with incredible discoveries lurking at every turn in the road.

It was a pity some of the other Probe Six people hadn’t lived to see it.

Nolan, Mack, and Johnny were taking notes and making sketches like crazy, although they had to learn how to use pen and ink to do it. The King gave them whatever they wanted, and guards to stop them from doing anything too silly.

When they flew home from Serannian the King had him rushed off to his castle to recover, and he was only able to meet Nolan and Mack briefly. Johnny was somewhere over on the Western continent, unfortunately.

By the time he began to feel like a human being again, his wound almost healed except for horrendous scars front and back, they were off into the wilds again, and he was a guest of the King.

Chuang pronounced him sufficiently recovered, and Mochizuki turned up to drag him off to the next place, still without letting him wander the city and see the sights.

So now he was riding another horse through the woods with a bunch of ninjas.

He looked around once again.

There were five of them in all: Mochizuki, the lady who ran it all, three almost silent fighters who seemed to be her protective detail, and himself.

They were all wearing relatively tight-fitting clothes with forest-and-rock colored patterns. Probably not as good as what he was used in the Army, but considering nobody here had a decent firearm, probably pretty effective.

The horses down at Jake’s fort all jingled when they walked, as metal rings on the bridles or stirrups moved, but these horses were dead silent except for hoofbeats. And he noticed that Zhen-Yue—the woman on point—selected trails least likely to produce much noise. Or many travelers... he hadn’t seen a soul since they entered the forest north of Celephaïs.

Mochizuki usually rode next to him, or behind on narrow trails, and TT had to restrain himself from constantly checking to see if the two men bring up the rear were still there, because they never made a noise.

Mochizuki had cautioned him to stay as quiet as possible, which was easy for him, but he had no idea how to control his horse. Fortunately, it seemed to be well-trained and didn’t cause any problems.

His ass and thighs were quite painful by the late afternoon, and he was delighted when Zhen-Yue held up her hand to halt, and sat still on the trail. A young man wearing camouflage stepped out of the forest and spoke to her quietly, then vanished back into the shrubbery again.

“All clear, Mistress.”

Mochizuki nodded, and snapped her reins to get her horse moving.

“There is no need to be quiet anymore, Master TiTi. This area is quite safe.”

“Your base, I gather?”

“A small village named Farlaway. It is still some distance from here, but access routes are closely guarded.”

The trail remained narrow, but it became much easier to ride along, with fewer tree roots and slopes to navigate.

“You have a whole village?”

“It is easier that way,” she explained. “We don’t have to hide anything, except from the air, and everyone gets used to acting like a villager.”

“How many people is ‘everyone’?”

“Under a grand dozen, usually.”

Twelve squared, he thought. One hundred and forty-four.

“And they’re all... ninja?”

She laughed.

“Master Richard said the same thing. I’d never even heard the term until years after I’d begun Farlaway. No, very few of us are ninja.”

She turned to face him, riding parallel.

“What do you know of us, Master TiTi? The King says you are to be trusted, but I don’t know what you’ve been told.”

“Very little, I’m afraid. From what I gather you spy for the King, and sometimes carry out sensitive missions for him.”

“Sensitive missions,...” she repeated. “Yes, I like that. Sensitive missions! Ha!”

She seemed genuinely amused by the phrase.

“Farlaway is where we train assassins, Master TiTi. Kingfishers always watch and collect information, but there are times when we must spy, or steal, or sabotage. The people here are trained as assassins.”

“So you have other training camps for other needs, then,” said TT, and glanced at Mochizuki.

She just smiled.

He could almost hear her answer in his head: I can neither confirm nor deny...

A short time later the trail widened, and the forest suddenly opened up into a clearing. On the far side rose a sudden cliff, a small waterfall plunging over the lip to fall fifty or sixty meters to a pool below. It fed a stream that ran past a small waterwheel, then off through a clump of ramshackle buildings and into the forest. He could see pigs and chickens wandering around, and a few horses grazing.

It looked like a tiny, poor, weak farming village in the middle of nowhere, farmers eking out a tough life in the wilderness, totally defenseless. No ramparts, no moat, not even a palisade, except for the simple fences to keep the animals from wandering. There was a larger building in the middle, maybe the church, he figured.

Fields were pretty small, looked like corn and some other grain, wheat maybe.

An old man, wearing nothing but a loincloth and a sweaty rag tied around his forehead, leaned on his hoe to watch them approach.

“Mistress,” he nodded in greeting as Mochizuki rode in.

“Weaponmaster,” she greeted him in return. “This is Master TiTi. The King stands for him.”

“Welcome, Master,” he said, nodding in TT’s direction.

“He is from Wakeworld, weaponmaster, and is here to teach us their ways.”

The weaponmaster cocked his head, taking in TT’s clothing and weapons... and did not look impressed.

“I’m hoping to learn how to use a sword properly, too,” said TT, hoping to get ahead of the situation. “Where I come from firearms are used, and I never held a sword until recently. I do appreciate a good knife, though.”

He tapped his Ka-Bar; the weaponmaster looked at the sheathed weapon curiously.

“He is wounded,” broke in Mochizuki. “He will live with Roach for now.”

“That promises to be interesting,” the weaponmaster said, turning back to his hoeing. “Roach is on the cliff right now if you need him.”

“No, rest for now,” she said, and her horse began walking again. She called to one of her rear guards to fetch Roach.

They stopped in front of a small, well-weathered clapboard house. One side was made of logs, with mud packed into the holes, and it looked like it had some sort of rock chimney built into one wall.

Zhen-Yue helped him dismount, and offered to help him walk, but he declined, preferring a little pain just to stretch his legs a bit.

There was no front door, but rather an opening leading into a mudroom—real dirt floor and everything!—with three sliding doors facing it. Mochizuki opened the door on the right, revealing a wooden floor with a sleeping mat and a few personal items.

“This is Roach’s house. You’ll be staying with him for now.”

“Only one mat...”

“We will bring you necessities shortly, and Roach is coming now. He is an orphan who has only recently come here. A unique individual.”

“In the Dreamlands it seems that everyone is unique.”

“Yes, quite. As are you, Master TiTi.”

She stepped back into the sunlight.

“I have things to attend to. Later our healer will check on you, probably with medicine. For now, rest and recover. Feel free to wander the village, if you like, but keep in mind that the swine are almost wild and quite ill-tempered. And do try to keep Roach from stabbing you.”

“Uh... yeah, I’ll do that...”

Zhen-Yue showed him where the water and the honeypot were, and then left with Mochizuki.

He was alone with the birdsong and noises from distant hogs and chickens until Roach arrived.

TT was sitting, back against a wall, watching the trees sway in the breeze through the open window, when suddenly the door slid open.

A young boy, maybe twelve or so—looked like a junior high school student—stood there, staring at him.

Straw-colored hair, freckles... TT expected to see a stalk of grass sticking out his mouth: he was the archetypal farm kid.

“Hi, I’m, uh, TT of Preston Oklahoma.”

“Roach,” said the kid, and continued to just stand and stare.

“Mochizuki—uh, Mistress Mochizuki said I’m staying here for a while. I’ll keep out of your way...”

The boy stepped into the room and, without a word, began putting wood into the fireplace in the adjoining room. He took some moss tinder from a bowl nearby, and flint and steel from his wallet, but before he started getting the fire going picked up an iron pot and handed it to TT.

It was heavy, with three little bumps on the bottom for legs and a wire handle to hang it by.

“Water,” said Roach, and then bent over to get the fire going.

TT looked around. No running water here, certainly... was there a well somewhere? The stream, maybe?

He stepped outside and ran his eyes through the village, looking for a well. Nope.

Ah! Over there! Somebody else with a similar pot fetching water from the stream!

Well, the stream it is, he thought, and strolled over to fetch a pot full.

By the time he got back the fire was crackling.

He held out the pot to Roach, who took it without a word of thanks.

Roach reached outside the window and poured about half the water onto the ground, then popped open a wooden barrel and reached inside. When he pulled his hand back out, he held a small wood box full of rice. He poured it into the pot once, then again and again. Four times.

He dropped a cover on the pot, set it to hang over the fire, and headed for the door again.

“Hey! Where you off to? Talk to me!”

Roach just glanced at him, slipped his sandals back on, and left.

“Well, fuck me. What the hell...”

TT was furious.

My new roommate, and a total of two words so far. Kid can’t even be bothered to talk to me!

He stepped to the doorway to see where the kid went...

The little shack over there, apparently to pick up some fish, maybe half a dozen little ones all stuck together on a stick running through their gills.

He didn’t say anything to the old woman in the shack, either, at least not that TT could tell.

Roach walked back, his eyes flickering all around. They caught TT’s for a split second, then flashed on, constantly roaming.

TT stepped back out of the mudroom to let Roach enter. He stepped up through the left door directly into the ‘kitchen,’ not a word to TT, and began running bamboo skewers through each fish, one at a time, then set them down on the low wood table.

In a few minutes they were joined by a few lidded bowls of something. One of them had what looked like a piece of spinach or something hanging out of it, speckled with... sesame seeds, maybe?

He turned around to see Roach sitting on the floor, tying a cloth around his eyes.

Since he hadn’t had much luck with conversation so far, he decided to just sit down on the opposite side of the table and watch.

Holy shit!

He couldn’t believe his eyes... blindfolded, Roach was spinning his dagger into the air with one hand, and snatching it out of the air with the other. Except for his arms, his body was as still as a statue, face turned toward the mudroom.

The dagger flashed faster and faster, the kid never missing, ten, twenty times... until suddenly, instead of spinning the dagger one more time, he threw it across the room, high.

It slammed home with a hard crack, and TT saw that it was damn close to the center of a little wood target hanging there. Couldn’t be more than a centimeter off, if that.

“Son of a bitch, Roach! That’s fucking amazing!”

Roach removed his blindfold and looked at the dagger, still vibrating in the target.

He held up his left hand, and examined his index finger. There was a hairline of red along the tip, the thinnest cut just beginning to ooze.

“Blood.”

“Hey, it’s just a little cut, kid... that’s damned impressive, what you just did! I’d cut my own fingers off if I tried it!”

Roach walked over the pulled his dagger out of the target, slipping it back into its sheath.

“May I see that?” asked TT, holding out his hand.

Silent as always, Roach pulled his dagger out, flipped it casually in one hand, and held it out to TT hilt-first.

It was long and thin, with only a very low guard. He hefted it—beautiful balance. A throwing knife, he thought. Or an assassin’s weapon.

He carefully handed it back, and pulled out his Ka-Bar.

Straight blade, but thicker steel than Roach’s, with guard and blood groove. No-slip leather haft, steel pommel that could crack skulls... the kid’s dagger might be designed for stealth, but his was designed for the bloody melee.

Roach sheathed his weapon and examined TT’s, appreciating its weight and sharpness.

He flipped it once in his hand, hefting it, then casually threw it at the same target.

The Ka-Bar isn’t balanced for throwing, and this kid just touched it for the first time, and son of a bitch if he didn’t kiss it right into the sweet spot!

Roach pulled it out of the target and handed it back to TT.

“Big,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s a big knife. Supposed to be,” agreed TT.

Footsteps sounded in the mudroom and the door slid open.

A village Godsworn stood there, shaved head and rosary beads and everything.

“Lao of Panakeia,” he announced. “I am the healer.”

TT glanced at Roach, who seemed totally disinterested, and was in fact checking to see how the rice was coming along.

“The Mistress asked me to take a look at your wound, Master TiTi,” said the Godsworn. “If I may?”

“Of course,” said TT, sitting down and pulling up his tunic.

Roach was watching, he noticed.

The wound was unchanged after the long ride. It was fully closed, puckered, and ugly as hell.

He couldn’t see the one on his back but figured it looked pretty much the same... a sword running through your guts probably left the same sort of scars on both ends.

The Godsworn prodded here and there, spoke a few words to himself under his breath, and then sat back again, cross-legged.

“No pain, it seems... you didn’t flinch.”

“No, just a sort of... I dunno, stretching... maybe? Hurts a bit every once in a while, but only flashes.”

“I think you’re safe now. You were healthy to start with, and they healed most of the wound for you.”

“I wish I knew how to do that,” TT mused.

“As do I,” nodded the Godsworn. “But for now, all I can do is suggest you avoid lifting heavy things for another week or so, and take this twice a day.”

He held out a small leather pouch.

TT pulled it open and smelled something spicy and moldy. It didn’t smell very appetizing.

“Dissolve in water?”

“If you like. Or just take a pinch of the powder. You won’t notice any effects, but it will stimulate recovery.”

“Just by laying hands on me, you can tell how healthy I am?”

“You doubt it?”

“Let’s just say my experience has been different,” said TT.

“Would it help if I said that you have had one tooth pulled and replaced with metal and ceramic, and had two tumors removed from your intestines? In addition to breaking your left arm in your childhood,” asked the Godsworn. “Or I could mention your appendix, which is fascinating because there is no scar.”

TT blinked... when he was unconscious someone could have seen his dental implant, but unless they had access to his military records there was no way anyone could know the rest.

“Tumors? Um, we call those polyps... Yeah, I guess that helps quite a bit, Healer Lao... so you got all that just by touching me?”

“And more, I’m afraid, but nothing either of us needs to worry about. What happened to your appendix, anyway?”

“I don’t know all the details, but they used a very thin metal knife to remove it through a hole in my navel.”

“Your navel!” The Godsworn’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Through your navel! Amazing! And is this common in your realm?”

“No, I don’t believe so. I worked for The Project, a medical research facility developing new techniques, and was no doubt a test subject. I needed emergency surgery, and that was the quickest option.”

“And the polyps? Also through your navel?”

“No, that was through my asshole. Just took a few minutes, snip-snip, and I was all done.

The Godsworn shook his head in disbelief. “Well, I would like to talk to you more later, hopefully. Perhaps we might converse now and again while you recuperate?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m not a doctor, but happy to help.”

“Thank you, Master TiTi. I shall return tomorrow, as my work permits.”

He stood and glanced at Roach, then back to TT.

“Any problems here?”

TT glanced at Roach, who seemed oblivious of the question.

“No, nothing in particular. He’s not a talkative fellow, though.”

“Do not underestimate Master Roach... he is not talkative, but I think you’ll find him unusually perceptive and intelligent. The Mistress suggests you would make a magnificent pair.”

“Pair of what?”

“Operatives, I believe Commander Jake called them,” smiled Lao, then bowed and left.

* * *

Things were developing nicely.

It was so easy to penetrate their defenses.

Now I just wait until the time is ripe for the next stage of the plan.

I’ve already picked up some valuable information, and once Phase Two begins I’ll be able to get far more.

When Phase Two begins, I’ll be able to do much, much more than merely listen, too.

So sleepy...

Chapter 5

The Guard airship was quite cramped.

In addition to the three King’s Guards, there were five others: Jake, Matriarch Geriel, Councilor Nekhii, and her two guards, for a total of eight.

The airship was designed to hold a six, and only for relatively short flights at that.

They stocked up on food and water before they left Serannian, but the airship was simply not large enough for everyone. The cabin was only large enough for four people, and by unspoken agreement the Guards and Jake stayed topside and left the cabin to the Matriarch and the other Ibizim. The weather was fortunately good, and although they had to tack quite a bit to travel southeast, they made good progress.

They stopped briefly in Pungar Vees while the Guards purchased some supplies, but the Ibizim and Jake stayed hidden aboard. There was no point in advertising who was on board, or where they were heading.

Only one Guard entered the city to buy food, and when she returned the other two made very sure to confirm the color of her blood.

“I saw nobody following me, and the only person who took any interest in me at all was the merchant, who was far more interested in my gold,” she said, holding out her hand for the prick. The drop of blood that oozed out was healthy crimson.

She sucked her finger as she stood.

“It was good to walk a bit, though!”

Their course would take them next to Jake’s monastery, then cut south of the Lake of Sarnath and on to the hills of Noor.

“You are welcome to rest at my fort,” invited Jake after they were safely aloft again. “And of course replenish food and water.”

“We’d have to bloodcheck everyone.”

“Of course,” agreed Jake. “That is the first thing on my agenda. I don’t expect any surprises, but I’m going to make very sure of that.”

The Matriarch nodded.

“Matriarch Altansetseg of the Copper Beetle says you are a man to be trusted, Commander Jake. If Aercaptain de Palma agrees, perhaps we can rest there a day... I would like to see your fort for myself, if I may.”

“Of course, it would be my pleasure.”

Jake and the Matriarch were standing on the tiny deck, watching the forests surrounding the River Ai slip past as they overflew. The airship was almost totally silent, with only the creaking of the masts and rigging and an occasional gust of wind. What special forces could do with this airship and a couple wingsuits!

“Matriarch, may I ask why you do not give a Home after your name?”

“Because I am not of a Home, Commander Jake, but rather of all the Homes. The Copper Beetle is but one family of the Ibizim.”

“So, a sort of queen, then?”

“Elected, but yes, the ruler of the Ibizim.”

“And your commands are law?”

“They are law, but there are also the lawless. A Matriarch who goes against the wishes of her people may soon find herself deposed.”

“By a new elected Matriarch, I gather. And the old one retires.”

“Hardly. A Matriarch may retire, if she wishes, at any time, but the penalty for causing a revolt is usually death.”

“The Matriarch—the effective ruler of the Ibizim—is thought to have caused the revolt!?”

“Of course! If the people are served properly they have no need to revolt, and if they are served poorly it is the servant who is at fault, not the people.”

Jake mulled that one over as he watched the birds playing in the sails.

“That sounds ideal... and remarkably unrealistic.”

“It doesn’t always work out as well as it’s supposed to,” admitted the Matriarch, “but we’ve managed to keep things under control so far. Although it can take a few years to fix some problems.”

“Hmph. I bet,” said Jake. “In my realm, fixing that sort of problem can take a few years and grand dozens of grand dozens of lives.”

She looked as if she doubted his math.

He checked it quickly again in his head. Yeah, a grand dozen was about seventeen hundred, and seventeen hundred squared would be, mmm, about two point nine million. Two of those would be about as many Jews as were murdered in World War II... so yeah, the numbers checked.

“Yes, that many. It happened about two dozen years before I was born. And might happen again.”

“We’re hoping—the Council is hoping—to prevent that from happening. That was the whole point of the meeting.”

“I thought it was just to discuss how to handle Thuba Mleen, at first.”

“He is certainly a major problem, and must be dealt with or a terribly destructive war could well occur here in the Dreamlands. It would not be limited to swords and arrows, one fears.”

“Cannon, you mean?”

She laughed.

“Oh, goodness no. Cannon are deadly, but they only kill a dozen people at a time. Thuba Mleen threatens to bring back Gods better left forgotten.”

“There aren’t any gods where I came from,” mused Jake.

“Of course not! They’re all here, in some Dreamland realm or other.”

Just then Aercaptain de Palma called back from the prow.

“Who’s for fresh fish for dinner?”

Jake glanced over the railing.

The River Ai was just below, and the airship was slowly descending.

They spent a few hours drifting above the river, dropping baited lines until they had enough for dinner.

Roast fish on an airship was an excellent way to spend an evening, Jake thought.

The airship flew on through the night, and shortly after dawn Jake’s fort came into view.

They lacked radios, of course, so Jake instructed Aercaptain de Palma to set down on the grassy slope below the fort wall.

Nadeen and Captain Long were there to meet him.

“Welcome back, Jake!” called Nadeen, wading through the grass to give him a kiss.

“Good to be back, Nadeen.”

Captain Long, only a few steps behind, offered a wrist-clasp. “Commander.”

“Captain Long.”

Jake waved at the airship.

“Since we have to go back up anyway, hop on. Be a lot quicker that way.”

Captain Long nodded, waved to his troopers to ride back up into the fort with his and Nadeen’s horses, and climbed aboard.

It was an even tighter fit that before, but it was only for the few minutes it took the airship to rise to the fort’s cliff wall, and moor there.

In short order the gangplank was in place, and they all trooped ashore.

“Welcome to The Monastery,” said Jake.

“Why is it called that?” asked the Matriarch.

“Nobody came up with anything better, and since we’ve been referring to it as a monastery since we first saw it... why not?”

“A rather inappropriate name for a military fort, isn’t it?”

Jake shrugged.

“I’ve never placed much faith in names. What things and people do is more important.”

“I see. In many cases, yes, they are. In others...”

She let the sentence dissipate into silence.

Magic, he realized. She was talking about magic.

“Well, anyway, now that we’re here, let me show you around,” he said, inviting them in.

They were standing on the top of the cliff wall, and airship moored in empty space next to it.

“Under us is a stable and several storerooms, as well as the toilets. It’s also where Mintran makes his saltpeter, and that end of the stables stinks.

“That building there is his laboratory, and just behind it the new bath. To the right of the bath is my residence, and farther away, closer to the front wall, is the armory and smithery.

“The kitchen, mess, library and a few other rooms are in the main building, there. There’s a courtyard in the middle.”

“I see you have a church and bell tower, too,” she said.

“Yes. We’ve fixed up most of the buildings, and the bell rings the hours now. We’re not really using the church for anything at all, yet.”

Jake led the way to the end of the cliff wall, past the scorpion, and down the stairs there.

“Please, come in. You are all welcome to rest here as long as you wish.”

The Matriarch turned to Aercaptain de Palma.

“Aercaptain? Are you in a hurry?”

“My men and I are at your command, Matriarch. I’m sure we can put Noor off for a day or two.”

“Thank you. I would like to see the horses, since we’re here, and perhaps enjoy a real meal.”

Councilor Nekhii, the wizened old man who apparently only spoke Ibizim, mumbled something to the Matriarch, and she turned to Jake.

“First, the Faceless Ones.”

Jake nodded. “My quarters are over there; let’s start there.”

The building, standing some distance from the church and connected structures, was probably once the private residence of the abbot, or whoever was in charge of the monastery in its heyday. It was more than sufficient for Jake and Nadeen, with large open room for work or guests, small kitchen, small bath and toilet, and bedroom. Jake often used it to meet with Sergeant Long or guests when conversations needed to be kept quiet.

The Matriarch, Councilor Nekhii, Nadeen, and Captain Long took cushions around the table with Jake. Nadeen stirred up the embers, and set a kettle of fresh water on for tea.

They sat in silence, listening to the water as it hissed and began to bubble.

She poured hot water into the cups and let them warm while measuring the tea leaves. She filled the pot with boiling water, swirled appropriately, and poured the cups, cycling through them several times to ensure nobody got unduly weak or bitter tea.

It was bright green in color.

“Baharna green tea,” she said, handing the first cup to the Matriarch.

“I’d like to see how we can more effectively work with the Matriarch. For the short term, our goal remains defeating—or at least controlling—Thuba Mleen.”

“And the long term?” asked Nadeen.

“I can’t go into that yet, I’m afraid,” apologized Jake. “That’s why the King called me to meet with him.

“Our meeting was not finished. A spy killed and replaced one of the King’s Guards, and listened to much of the meeting before being discovered. He escaped, but in the process he almost killed TT.”

“Is he alright?”

“He’s in Celephaïs now, I believe, under the care of Master Chuang, who said not to worry. He was stabbed in the back, through-and-though!”

“Master TiTi!? He’s always so alert!”

“The spy was a Flayed One... wearing the face of a trusted guard.”

“...A Flayed One!” breathed Nadeen. “I thought they were myth!”

“Unfortunately, not, it seems... TT was hurt pretty bad, but managed to get a strike in anyway. I saw that black blood. No way that was from a human being.”

“We must bloodcheck you,” said the Matriarch. “It is unlikely there are more of them, but we have to be sure.”

“What does ‘bloodcheck’ mean?” asked Captain Long.

“It’s very simple,” explained Jake. “Just prick your finger and see what color your blood is.”

He pulled a small needle from where it had been stuck inconspicuously into his vest, and stuck it into his own finger, letting a drop of crimson blood well up.

“Like that.”

He took his pistol out of its pouch and held it in his hand, not pointed at anyone but very obvious. They all knew what it was, and most of them had seen it fired. He handed the needle to Captain Long, who was sitting next to him.

Without any hesitation, the Captain stuck it into his own finger, and handed it to Nadeen. It passed around the table, and the Matriarch and Councilor Nekhii joined them in demonstrating the color of the blood.

“Captain Ridhi! Would you come in for a minute?” called Jake out the window, expecting that she’d be lurking near the kitchen, far enough that she couldn’t hear their conversation but close enough to come when called.

She showed up promptly, and when Jake asked for a drop of blood held out her finger with a questioning look but no complaint.

It was red.

“Thank you, Captain Ridhi. We will need to bloodcheck everyone on your staff, and everyone else in the fort,” said Jake, “starting with our own teams. Nadeen, would you go get Beghara? Captain Long, have Danny and Seri drop what they’re doing and come at once.

“Captain Ridhi, once we check the troopers, we’ll do your staff next. Are they all inside the fort right now?”

“Yes, Commander. Should I call them for a meeting?”

“Thank you, yes, if you could get them together we can get this all done very quickly, one way or another.”

Ridhi Chabra left, followed by Nadeen and Long, and Jake turned to the Matriarch.

“Once we bloodcheck Beghara, Danny, and Seri, we can do everyone else here pretty easily, I think. We should be able to finish it all today. But what about the village?”

“How many villagers come here?”

“Now that the fort’s repair work is done, we only get deliveries of supplies we buy there, mostly food. A number of villagers work with the horses when they’re down in the pastures, but they rarely come into the fort.”

“Can you arrange to bloodcheck everyone who enters?”

“They won’t like it... Can we just tell them about the Flayed Ones?”

Nakhii said something to the Matriarch, and they conversed in Ibizim for a moment.

She turned back to Jake.

“Councilor Nekhii says that would probably scare them pretty badly, and maybe even stop them from coming here at all.”

“So we’re stuck?”

“Well, the Flayed Ones will not be interested in the village except as a means to get inside the fort. And there are surely not more than one or two of them, anyway. I don’t think the villagers have much to worry about.

“There are a few things you need to know, however. First of all, it takes five or six hours for a Flayed One to make the change. It’s not instantaneous,” continued the Matriarch. “After two or three days the blood begins to show through, and their eyes and the insides of their mouths turn black.”

“Hmm, that’ll help a little, but it still means they can look normal for a couple days.”

A few minutes later, Nadeen and Captain Long returned, bringing Beghara, Danryce, and Serilarinna with them.

Jake simply told them to hold out their fingers, and pricked them, one at a time, without explanation or warning.

It took only a few seconds, and then he explained about TT and the Faceless Ones.

“I want you to work down through everyone in the fort, starting with troopers and other people with weapons.”

“Any questions?”

“What do you want me to do?” asked Nadeen.

“You and I are going to visit the alchemist, the smith, and the kitchen, and bloodcheck everyone,” said Jake. “Captain Long, please take care of the stables as well. Anything else?”

There wasn’t, and they departed for their various missions.

It only took only a few hours to bloodcheck everyone in the fort. They’d check the remaining few as they returned later that day from their chores: tending the horses, cutting firewood, hunting, and similar tasks.

They gathered together again later at Jake’s quarters, where the Matriarch was waiting.

“Nekhii asks what is in the library,” said the Matriarch.

“Well, nothing yet. A few maps, that’s all. The whole monastery was a wreck when we got here. All the roofs and wooden walls are new; only the stonework was left. The villagers who helped rebuild it all said it had once been a library, but it’s just an empty room right now.”

“May he see the rest of your fort?”

“Of course. Captain, would you guide Councilor Nekhii to the library, and anywhere else he’d like to go? And I’ll show you the horses, Matriarch.”

By this time the Horsemaster had joined them.

“Turan of Xura,” she said, introducing herself.

“Geriel of the Ibizim of the Desert,” replied the Matriarch.

“Horsemaster, the Matriarch would like to see the horses, if we may.”

“Of course, Commander. There are only a few mares here right now; the rest are down in the pastures. The stable is this way,” she said, leading Jake and the Matriarch to the stables.

The door was a simple affair consisting of three poles roped together into a swinging gate. She unhitched the rope securing it shut and ushered them in.

The stable was large with windows on two sides and several streams running the length. One set of windows looked out into the fort, the other consisted of arrow slits looking down from the clifftop.

“I’m afraid it’s rather smelly,” apologized Turan. “Now that Mintran is making saltpeter the stables are not as pleasant as they used to be.”

“The walls and ventilation are still not good enough?”

“No, Commander Jake. They help, but not enough.” She sighed. “When the wind is right it’s wonderful, but when it’s wrong...”

The Matriarch ignored them both and walked up to the first occupied stall, held out her hand.

A whinny answered, and a horse’s head popped over the gate.

White with brown speckles, huge brown eyes, a whitish-grey mane flopping over her head.

“That’s Muddy,” said Turan. “Three years old, and three months pregnant.”

The Matriarch was stroking Muddy’s neck, whispering something to her.

“She’s been a bit skittish lately, and seems to prefer flowers to grass. Healthy, though, and so is her baby.”

“Good girl,” said the Matriarch, giving her one last pat to say goodbye. “Perhaps a nice cup of tea now.”

“Right this way, Matriarch,” invited Jake, leading her past the alchemist’s laboratory and toward the main structure. She barely glanced at the alchemist’s building in passing, and Mintran was out of sight, probably inside somewhere.

Since Mintran came here from Factor Chóng, she’d probably met him already anyway, he figured.

Ridhi Chabra was at the door to welcome them in. She was wearing a sari wrapped diagonally around her body, bright orange with a brown geometric pattern dyed into the border. In the sari, with long, black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, she certainly didn’t look anything like the leather-strapped scout she once was.

Had she put on a little weight, too?

“Welcome, Matriarch, come in, come in.”

She even sounded like a proper matron now, bowing and introducing herself: “Ridhi Chabra of Shiroora Shan.”

“Geriel of the Ibizim of the Desert.”

Her two guards introduced themselves and faded into the background, as they always did.

“You are the Matriarch of the Ibizim!”

Ridhi was astonished, and bowed once again.

“I am the Matriarch of the Ibizim of the Desert. And you are Ridhi Chabra, wounded in the sandstorm attack by Thuba Mleen. It is good that you are well.”

“Thank you, Matriarch. I will never work as a trooper again, unfortunately... my leg.”

Ridhi turned to the doorway and shouted “Berry! Our guests are waiting! Isn’t that tea ready yet?”

“Right away, ma’am!” came a muffled response from the kitchen, and shortly two of Ridhi’s kitchen staff bustled out with trays full of tea and fresh-baked sesame cakes.

The tea was Ridhi’s own favorite, a black, spicy blend from the mountains overlooking Shiroora Shan. It was called Eagle Claw, due to the shape of the leaves, which were long and spiky, curled like a raptor’s talons.

“I see you enjoy flowers as well, Commander,” said the Matriarch, looking out at the inner courtyard. It was full of flowering plants, some for use as herbs or medicines, but others simply because they were beautiful to look at.

“Jake and I both grew up in the desert, Matriarch,” answered Nadeen. “I’ve always loved greenery and flowers, and it’s wonderful to have them now.”

“I have little familiarity with your forests, I’m afraid,” she said. “The jungles of the Sunless Roads are rather different.”

“And far more deadly, I think! I have little desire to visit them again,” agreed Jake.

“Your flowers are indeed beautiful, Commander, but you have never seen the Crystal Caves in the darkness, the multi-colored lights glowing in a multitude of colors, and the Faery rose launching its seeds into the air in explosions of scarlet fire. A different beauty, and perhaps terrifying for those of the sunlight, but beauty nonetheless.

“You would be welcome to visit us once again,” she invited.

“Perhaps I—”

“Commander!”

It was Captain Long, standing just outside the window.

“It’s the church. The Councilor’s found a hidden book!” said Long. “He says you should come at once, too, Matriarch.”

They all stood.

“You can talk to him?”

“I know a little Ibizim, he knows a little of the common tongue,” explained Long as they left their hot tea steaming on the table and followed him back to the church building. “We managed.”

The church was a huge, cavernous hall, the ceiling rising eight or nine meters above them. There was no glass left in the frames, of course... another thing he planned on fixing. In roughly the middle of the floor was that enormous block of stone set into the floor. The Councilor knelt on the stone floor at the wider, ceremonial end of the church.

Next to him was one of the stones that made up the floor, pulled back to reveal a shallow storage space underneath, and a stack of dully shining metal sheets. They were dark gray, with spiky marks inscribed on them, running in tightly spaced columns that hurt the eye.

Jake couldn’t tell is the metal was gray to start with or just corroded with time, but the inscribed marks stood out clearly.

“What is it?”

The Councilor said something to the Matriarch, whose eyes opened wide. They exchanged a few sentences, and she drew closer to examine the sheets herself, but made no attempt to touch them.

Jake noticed that the Councilor was also handling them carefully, using a cloth to prevent touching them with his bare hands.

The Matriarch, still staring at the metal sheets, spoke slowly.

“That sigil! The sign of Nyogtha!” she gasped. “These must be the Rites of the Red Abyss... I have never seen them before...”

“What is it? And what language is that?”

“Spells to summon Nyogtha, the Thing That Should Not Be. It is said to be death to touch... It is written in Aklo, and is probably older than the Dreamlands.”

“That’s writing?”

“I recognize the glyphs, and do not wish to try to read them.”

She shook her head as if to wake herself.

“Do you have a dragolet for Ryūzōji Temple?”

“Ryūzōji? No...”

“Then you must notify the King of this at once. I fear there is no place in the Dreamlands where this can be kept safely, but Shingan Oshō will know what to do with them.”

“Can’t we melt them down or something?”

“This is golden orichalc, in spite of the blackened film. We no longer have the knowledge of how to work it, or melt it. We could not even bend one of those sheets, thin as they are.”

She held her hand out to the Councilor and said something in Ibizim.

He took pen and paper from his bag and handed them over, and she quickly wrote a brief letter in some cursive language, and folded the paper up.

“Fly this to Celephaïs at once, Commander,” she commanded, handing it over.

“Captain, would you see to it?”

Captain Long nodded, and stalked out of the room with the message. The dragolets were being kept in the stables for now, and Jake remembered that he still hadn’t gotten their coop built. He had to get that done, too.

“For now, please return them to their hiding place,” said the Matriarch, and Councilor Nekhii carefully wrapped them up the cloth—Jake realized that it was a curtain from one of the other rooms—and placed them into the cavity.

The cover was quite heavy, and Jake helped him pick it up and fit it back in place. It snapped into position with a dull scrape and thump.

“How does it open?” asked Jake.

The Councilor pointed to an innocuous indentation in the floor and mimed pressing it with a finger.

“Thank you. Matriarch, until then I’ll have guards here around the clock. It’s been undiscovered until now and I don’t expect any problems, but now that we know it exists, others may, too...”

“None of us will talk, but merely exposing it to the light of day may attract undue notice,” agreed the Matriarch. “A guard would be an excellent idea.”

“Ridhi, bring a table and shelves in here, and set them up on top of that stone. Find something to stock it with. Nadeen, work with Captain Long to figure out how to guard this place without being too obvious what we’re guarding.”

Nadeen nodded.

“We aren’t really using this space for anything yet,” explained Jake. “Once we get new windows, maybe, but for now it’s just too exposed to the weather.”

The Matriarch was looking at the block in the floor. It measured about a meter on a side, and had four lifting hooks set into it.

“Have you lifted this yet?”

“We lifted it a little bit when we first got here, just to see what was there. The block is about half a meter thick and very, very heavy. Some sort of tunnel underneath. I figured it was part of your tunnel network.”

“The desert is far from here, and on the other side of the Mohagger Mountains... I’m quite sure this is something else entirely. Did you explore it?”

“No need... that block’s not going anywhere.”

“Strange that the stream or the wells haven’t filled it with water...” she mused. “And worrisome, I think. I would suggest adding another block or two on top, just to be sure.”

“What would move them?”

“I do not wish to know, but that book suggests what this monastery was used for, once. And that evil things may yet lie in wait below.”

“Maybe we should direct the stream in there, and seal it up?” suggested Nadeen.

“No! It is unlikely to help, and would almost certainly summon... them...”

“Them?”

“The dwellers below, possibly even Nyogtha itself.”

She looked around the church slowly.

“I wondered who might have built this church here, so far from cities and towns... I suspect it was built and abandoned long before any villages were built nearby.”

“We still don’t know whether it was destroyed by an enemy, or simply abandoned to gradually fall into decay. There was very little of the original wood left, and while there was no major damage to the walls that might indicate an attack or siege, too many years have passed... it’s just impossible to tell.”

“I will have the records searched, Ibizim records and others, but this could date back to Sarnath, or even earlier,” she mused. “I see no immediate danger, and the fact that those sheets are still here suggests they have been forgotten entirely... but stay on guard nevertheless.”

The Matriarch and Councilor Nekhii walked through the rest of the building slowly, inspecting everything carefully, but noticed no other hidden compartments or dangers.

“Perhaps it has been so long that everything has been forgotten,” suggested Nadeen.

“Possible,” agreed the Matriarch, “but Nyogtha is eternal, and his minions only slightly less so... it seems to have been forgotten, but how long it may remain that way...”

“This Nyogtha is behind the Faceless Ones, too, isn’t he?”

“It. Nyogtha is an it, I think,” corrected the Matriarch.

“We have some things to discuss,” said Jake. “Let us return to my quarters.”

It was a far more serious gathering this time, as everyone now knew about the Faceless Ones.

Jake looked around the table to make sure everyone was there. He had some announcements to make.

“I’m making some changes in the company,” he said, “and there will be more when TT returns, I suspect. We have to prepare for attacks by Thuba Mleen, and start taking the battle to him, one way or another.

“There will be four twelves: Captain Long, you keep Seri and Lau with you. If you want to make her sergeant that’s your decision. Sergeant Beghara, you are now a captain, and keep Nnamdi in your twelve. You and Captain Long will be our primary forces, and for the time being will be handling any missions we are hired for.

“You both have full authority to fill out your twelves with new hires if needed. We don’t have enough troopers here now to fill out all the slots.”

“Commander, if I may?”

It was the Matriarch.

“I think it would be good for an Ibizim to join each of your twelves. They would serve as any other fighter, but make it much easier for you to navigate the desert, and interact with us.”

“An excellent idea, thank you. Captain Long? Captain Beghara? Any problems?”

“Fine with me,” said Beghara.

“Me, too,” agreed Long, “as long as they can follow orders, and fight.”

“Yargui of the Copper Beetle has already asked to join you, Commander Jake,” said the Matriarch. “I’ll arrange for... how many others?”

“There will be four twelves,” said Jake.

“Four, then. I will arrange for them to join you as soon as I return to my Home.”

“Thank you.”

Jake turned back to the group.

“Trooper Yargui saved our lives—me, Nadeen, and Beghara—after the fight in the sandstorm. She’ll be an asset, for sure.

“Danny, I want you to take the third twelve. You are going to be the special tactics group. I’ll be working with you for now, and as soon as TT gets back I would like him to be your sergeant, but that will be your decision. Pick your own people, but wait until we have a chance to go over a few things.

“And finally, Nadeen. I want you to captain the fourth twelve, in charge of fort defense. Ridhi is in charge of keeping the fort running, and I’ll expect you two to work together as needed.

“Ridhi, I’m giving you the rank of Captain, too, to make it clear that you can give people orders, but you won’t have any troopers under you.”

“That’s fine; I have more than twelve people following my orders already, even without any rank. Might help when I need to order some of Captain Long’s rowdies about, though.”

“One thing I would like you to look into as soon as possible, Ridhi: paper. I need to keep track of a lot of information, and for that I need paper. We can’t keep buying imported paper from Eudoxia and Shiroora Shan. It’s great stuff, but it’s too damned expensive and supply is irregular. I need it made here, for us.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea how to make paper!”

“Neither do I,” admitted Jake, “but it’s necessary. Somebody knows how to do it. Find out, and then we’ll figure out how to do it better. We have some troopers from Shiroora Shan, right? See if they know how to make it, or where it comes from.

“Matriarch, may I ask you to comment on Thuba Mleen’s activities?”

“As you all know, Thuba Mleen—we are unsure if that is actually a person, a group of people, or perhaps a lineage—has established himself as the Emperor of the Eastern Desert over the last five hundred years or so. Geographically, the Eastern Desert occupies roughly half of the eastern continent, but of course most of the people and cities are located in the other half. Strangely enough, his palace is in the mountains of Utnar Vehi, on the edge of the desert.

“His empire has been steadily expanding for a very long time, centuries in fact. And it has become clear that the desert is also expanding. While the Council has no proof that the two are connected, we are convinced that he is behind the desertification, and have determined to stop it. We believe that the only way to halt or even reverse the desertification is to topple Thuba Mleen, and various plans have been under way for some time.

“The Ibizim have struggled under his yoke for too long, and are preparing for a war of liberation. Thuba Mleen knows this, of course, but his armies are stretched too thinly over too wide an area, and he cannot muster the force needed to quell us, even if he could find us. The mountains and tunnels belong to us, and it would cost him dearly to attempt to attack our Homes.

“We fear that he will turn to more powerful allies, perhaps even Gods, to defeat the Ibizim, and eventually the Council.

“There is no doubt that his fighters are masters of the desert, but the desert is very large, and we can bleed his Empire with a thousand pinpricks.

“Outside of the desert, he buys kings and lords, nurtures dissension, and strives to foment needless strife and war between others, all to prevent us from allying with each other against him. Unfortunately, it often works, and we of the Council spend half our time putting out fires in our own lands instead of fighting him.

“This Company is one of our efforts to halt his expansion, and because Commander Jake—and Master TiTi—are from Wakeworld, we have high hopes for you.”

“Where is Master TiTi now?” asked Captain Long.

“He is with Mistress Mochizuki,” said Jake. “The spy lady.”

The Matriarch laughed.

“I think she will be quite amused to her herself referred to that way, Commander!”

“Who would tell her?”

“You said it yourself... she’s the spy lady. She has ears everywhere.”

“And hands, too, as I discovered a few days ago...” said Jake, turning the ring on his finger. “Be that as it may, when TT gets back we’re going to work with your twelve, Danny, and teach you a whole new way of fighting.”

“I’m pretty good at the old way of fighting,” said Danny. “Do we need a new one?”

“The old way hasn’t been working out too well against Thuba Mleen, and I think my way has a better chance. No more big fights with dozens or hundreds of people battling it out, just quiet strikes.”

Danny nodded, silent, but still looked unconvinced.

“Captain Ridhi,” said Jake suddenly, changing the subject, “what’s for lunch?”

She jumped up and left for the kitchen.

The meeting over, murmurs of conversation broke out here and there, and Jake reached for his tea. He was drinking a lot of tea these days. It seemed to make his stomach feel better.

Playing bossman was not at all as much fun as he’d thought it would be.

Chapter 6

After a few days TT had met pretty much everybody in the village.

From the outside it looked much like any other ratty little settlement buried off in the woods: about a dozen old, ramshackle houses, a “town hall” that was just four walls and a roof over packed dirt, a small waterwheel, and scattered fields of corn, wheat, barley, and vegetables.

The inhabitants all wore what could charitably be referred as “well-used” clothing, which in many cases were not much different than rags. Chickens and pigs wandered the village freely, defending themselves viciously when a farmer tried to catch one for dinner.

A miasma of animal excrement and human poverty hung over the village like a dark cloud.

An observer who stayed for a little longer, however, would notice that there was an unusual number of young, healthy men and women working the fields or the forests, and that even the wrinkled elders showed no sign of malnutrition.

A very good observer would notice that some of those young men and women also watched every movement in the surrounded forest for dozens of kilometers, whistling birdcalls to alert others to approaching intruders.

And the observer would have to be very good indeed to escape alive from that forest.

They were all in excellent shape, of course... He watched them practice scaling the cliff, and coming down again, and noticed that while they were very good at free climbing, it took them a few minutes to descend even with rope and gloves, while he could rappel it in thirty seconds.

He watched them sprint a hundred meters very quickly, barely out of breath, and noticed that he’d never seen them on a five-kilometer run, or with a twenty-five kilogram backpack.

He watched them training with various weapons, and noticed that they rarely used heavier swords or axes, preferring daggers and distanced weapons like bows and arrows.

They were trained to act alone, and if they were ever expected to act as a group they’d need to learn how to do it.

Two things they wouldn’t need to learn were stealth and agility... they could teach him! They could run over dry leaves and barely make a sound, leap straight up for at least a meter and a half, jump pretty amazing distances (silently, of course!) and more. They didn’t seem to have the same incredible strength in their arms, although they were strong.

He’d watched a number of their practice bouts, too, and it looked like they could do with a lot more training in unarmed combat. That he could handle in his sleep.

When he began to feel less pain, he started jogging, and his regular morning calisthenics.

Roach watched him quizzically.

“Instead of just standing there and watching me sweat, how ’bout you get down here and try it yourself?” said TT.

“I have plenty of muscles! I’m young!”

“Yup, you’re young, alright,” agreed TT. “So get down here and prove how strong you are, kid.”

Roach took it as a challenge from a sick man, and dropped to the ground next to him.

“Back straight, on your toes, arms straight... that’s right. Now keep your back straight, and drop down slowly until your chin touches the ground. Keep your legs straight! Your knee is touching the ground! Good! With me, now... One, two, three, four...”

TT started counting now that Roach understood the exercise. They got up to thirty-two when Roach collapsed, his left arm trembling.

TT kept going, partially because it felt good to exercise again, and partly to prove his point.

“...thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty...”

He stopped, breathing heavily. He figured he could probably do another couple dozen without trouble, and a lot more if he pushed it, even with his gut hurting, but he’d made his point.

“That’s the first exercise, kid. You still with me?”

Roach nodded, fire in his eyes.

“Let’s walk over to that tree over there,” invited TT. “Next is the pull-up.”

He reached up to the branch, grabbed it with both hands, and pulled himself up, chinning, and down. “One... two... three... four... fi... Damn!”

He dropped down, rubbing his abdomen.

“Hurts like a sonnovabitch. You try it, kid. At least five times.”

Roach smiled, jumped lightly up to grasp the branch, and chinned himself ten times without even slowing down.

“That one’s easy, old man.”

“Heck, you’re just a kid, don’t have all the muscle I’ve got,” laughed TT. “Normally I’d do some crunches next, but I think I’ll skip it until my gut feels better. Let’s see how you do on a five-klick run with a ruck on your back.”

Roach leapt into the air, lightly landing atop the branch.

“What’s a klick?”

“Impressive, kid! A klick is a kilometer.”

“And what’s a ruck?”

“A backpack, kid. Go get two really strong backpacks.”

Roach thought for a moment, then trotted off toward the mill. They probably had strong bags there for storing wheat or flour, he figured.

He was back in a few minutes with two woven baskets.

“No strong packs, but how about these?”

“Oh, yeah, these’ll do just fine,” said TT, inspecting one. “Now, load it up with about, oh, let’s say ten kilos to start.”

“Ten kilos of rocks?”

“Yup, nice big rocks. Put ’em in carefully so they don’t roll around.”

TT helped Roach get his pack settled neatly on his shoulders, and stuffed folded rags under the shoulder straps.

“You ready?”

“This is heavy,” complained Roach.

“It’s half what I usually run with,” said TT. “Good place to start.”

He slapped his hands together.

“How long is your morning run?”

“About ten kilometers.”

“You got a course about half that? Or less?”

“Yes, there are other paths.”

“OK, lead the way, kid. You don’t have to sprint, just set a steady pace and trot. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Can you keep up?”

TT smiled.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out. After you, kid.”

As they jogged through the village toward the forest, TT noticed that the village Reeve—the mayor—put down his hoe to follow.

It didn’t take long before Roach was panting.

TT kept a close eye on him; he didn’t want the kid hurt.

“Keep your back straight, Roach! Don’t think about the pack, just concentrate on putting one foot down in front of the other. One, two, one, two... Good!”

They managed about three klicks, he figured, before Roach was wasted.

He kept on trying to jog, and he kept on almost losing his balance as his legs began wobbling.

TT tapped his shoulder.

“Maybe let’s take a rest here, kid,” he advised, pointing to a convenient spot on the side of the path. He wasn’t out of breath. A few months ago he’d run a five-klick course with a twenty-five kilo pack; this was—literally—child’s play.

Roach collapsed onto the mossy tree root, and struggled to free himself from the pack.

TT helped him get it off, and squatted down next to him.

“After you catch your breath we can walk back,” he said.

“We only... came about one... maybe three kilometers...” gasped Roach.

“Yup. You’ll do better tomorrow.”

“I’ll finish it today!”

“No you won’t, kid. Don’t push it. Your body needs to build up slow.”

“I don’t give up!”

“Hey, nobody asked you to. You push any harder and you’ll break something. Just trust me on this. Stick with it, you’ll get there soon enough.”

“And then what?”

“Oh, this isn’t all, don’t worry,” smiled TT. “You still have the crunch, and the ammo lift, and the maneuver under fire and a few other things to learn.

“I’d be real happy if you could reach me how to jump up like you do, though,” he continued.

“You’re too heavy, old man.”

“Yeah, so who’s panting right now?”

Roach’s mouth slammed shut, trying to hide his heavy breathing, but after a few seconds he gave it up and opened up again, a grin on his face.

“You might as well come out and join us, Somphone. I know you’ve been pacing us,” said TT quietly.

The brushes a few meters up the path opened quietly and the village Reeve stepped out.

“You heard me?”

“Nope, didn’t hear a thing,” admitted TT. “But I saw you follow us when we left the village, and figured I had nothing to lose by saying hi.”

“Your regimen is quite interesting,” said Somphone, an Asian man with graying hair who looked to be in his mid-fifties.

“The Marine Corps—my old unit—enforces some pretty tough requirements on soldiers, and I thought I’d introduce Roach here to a few of them.”

“When your wound is healed, would you teach a full twelve?”

“Sure, be happy to,” agreed TT. “You know, there are a couple things I’ve noticed around here that I might be able to help you with...”

Somphone hefted Roach’s basket. “You run with twice this? For five kilometers?”

“Yep. And on long hikes we might march for six or eight hours with a twenty-five kilo pack.”

“We had expected to be teaching you, but it appears we have things to learn from each other,” mused Somphone. “I think perhaps we should meet with Captain Rutger.”

“Who’s Captain Rutger?”

“He’s from the King’s Guard, and serves as a sort of conduit between us. I think he would be interested in your fitness regimen, too.”

“You don’t have an army?”

“There are very few armies in the Dreamlands, Master TiTi, because there are very few nations.”

“Kuranes?”

“The King does not have an army. He is actually King of Celephaïs, which is merely a large city. His real power comes from his skill at convincing other kings and rulers to agree with him in various matters.”

“And Thuba Mleen?”

“Thuba Mleen has an army, or rather several armies. Some of them are highly regimented, others seem to be armed rabble, but they all have sworn fealty to the Emperor of the Eastern Desert.”

“And so you avoid open battle when possible.”

“The numbers are against us.”

“Quantity has a quality all its own,” quoted TT.

“Indeed. You study tactics, then?”

“A famous, very brutal general in my realm, Josef Stalin, said that. Sure, I’ve studied tactics, but tactics can only be a guide, never a rulebook.”

“You have experience in an army?”

“I was in the 2nd Reconnaissance Battalion, 2nd Marine Division.”

“A battalion? How many men is that?”

“About two dozen. The whole division was about twenty thous... uh, let me see... twelve cubed is about seventeen hundred, so the division would be about, um, about a dozen grand dozens”

Somphone’s eyes grew wider.

“And that’s the second division, so there are others...”

“I was in the Marines. The United States also has the Army, the Navy, and the Air Force... I don’t know total, but I’d figure at least a dozen times that. Probably more.”

“And you’ve fought wars between armies of that size?”

“Yes. We won two of them, the World Wars. And the world is still not at peace.”

“No, it never is, no matter how many die,” sighed Somphone. “We would never have need of an army of that size... I cannot comprehend how you could.”

“We did,” said TT. “In any case, though, I was in recon, which specializes in reconnaissance and surveillance. We are all trained in CQB—close quarters battle—tactics, and we all have various specializations. The unit’s badge reads ‘Swift Silent Deadly,’ which pretty much sums up most of our missions.”

“If we had a badge, it might have the same words... What was your specialization?”

“I was a sniper, and jumped out of airpla... airships.”

“You can fly?”

“Of course not. Just float to the ground safely with a ’chute. A parachute, sorta like a kite.” TT thought for a minute. “Have to look into those, too... something to talk to Jake about...”

Somphone turned to Roach.

“Are you ready to go on?”

Roach, who had been listening to their conversation intently, nodded.

“Well, then, you still have a few kilometers to run,” said Somphone.

Roach stood, and Somphone helped him put the basket on.

The three of them began jogging down the trail.

They stopped for brief rests several more times before they got back to the village, but even with the breaks Roach was ready to collapse with exhaustion.

“I must dispatch a dragolet, but will join you at the bath later,” said Somphone, excusing himself.

The two of them walked to the bath—actually a hot spring some distance in the woods, which ran down to empty into the stream running through the village.

There were already a few other villagers there, soaking away the day’s aches.

Lao was there, washing a long cut in a woman’s hand.

“We must wash out the najasat,” he said, pouring hot spring water over the wound after unwrapping the bandage.”

“What is najasat, Healer?” asked TT.

“It’s a term Physician ibn Sina uses: impure substances. He believes that infection is not caused by miasma, but by tiny seeds. Washing the wound can cleanse it of these seeds.”

“Germs, you mean.”

“Well, yes, I suppose you could call them germs. Seed, germ, same thing.”

“You’ve never heard of germ theory...”

“Of what?”

“I see I have a lot more work to do here than I thought,” used TT. “Healer Lao, you and I need to have a long talk. And I need to talk to Nolan Geiszler real soon.”

“Master Geiszler is one of your fellows?”

“A biologist, but also a physician. There is so much he can teach you.”

“He knows how to kill these ‘germs’ you speak of?”

“And far more,” assured TT. “For now, though, I strongly suggest washing wounds like water that has been boiled. Unboiled water may contain germs—uh, seeds—and infect the wound. Boiled water is sterile, and will not introduce new germs.”

Lao nodded slowly.

“That would explain several things we’ve noticed over the years, if true...”

“Oh, it’s true. Nolan will tell you. In fact, if I had a decent microscope I could show you!”

“I have a microscope.”

“I’ve seen the microscopes here; they are not much better than magnifiers,” snorted TT. “Believe me, they can be made much, much better.”

“Better magnifying lens, you mean? Well, the King has glassblowers and artisans, of course... or is it some type of magic?”

“No, no, not magic. Just glass lenses, but they magnify far more than a hand-held magnifier.”

Lao finished drying the woman’s hand, spread a salve on it, and bandaged it once more.

“Healer Lao, why aren’t there any eyeglasses in the Dreamlands? You have magnifying lenses, surely eyeglasses are a simple step.”

“Superstition,” he said. “Just superstition.

“The slaves of the moon-toads, who live on the dark side of the moon, usually wear goggles to protect their eyes from the noxious vapors of the Moonsea... and those goggles closely resemble eyeglasses. Too closely for most people to accept, I’m afraid, although magnifying glasses are common, and monocles can be seen now and again.”

Soaking in the hot water, TT thought there was no point fighting superstition, and brought up another question he had wondered about.

“Healer, what do people do with dead bodies here?”

“Whatever they like, really... some religions specify how they are to be buried or cremated or left to the eagles or whatever, but usually a Godsworn of Nath-Horthath calls the sacred fire,” he said, stepping into the water to join the others.

“Some sort of funeral pyre, you mean?”

“No, Nath-Horthath consumes the flesh, leaving only the soulstone.”

“Soulstone?”

“The soul, the spirit of the dead. It is captured in a small gem. The Godsworn shatter the gem to release the soul, or it would remain trapped there forever.”

Jake digested that for a moment. He didn’t understand what a soulstone might be, but he approved of pyres as a way of getting rid of bodies.

“And have you dissected a cadaver?”

“Yes, as a student years ago.”

“At some medical university?”

“Oh, goodness no. There is no such thing,” smiled Lao. “When I was an apprentice.”

“Hmm. So nobody gets upset if you dissect dead people?”

“Well, I imagine their relatives might, but not most people...”

“What about most people?” asked Somphone, walking into the clearing.

TT explained what they’d been talking about.

“Reeve Somphone, Healer Lao, we need to talk. And I think I’ll need a dragolet, too.

The three of them talked until late that night, and another dragolet left for Celephaïs with dawn.

TT continued to push himself, the pain in his abdomen slowly subsiding.

He began writing down what he remembered of the Marine physical fitness regimen, and thinking about how to replicate it here.

Two days after the run with Roach, a youngish Captain Rutger of Celephaïs arrived on horseback. He reminded TT of an embedded German reporter who’d been on a mission with him back in ’Nam. Probably in his early thirties, blue eyes, hair chopped short, a little gold eagle hanging from one earlobe, very little chitchat and even less humor.

TT had lunch at the Reeve’s hut that day, with Captain Rutger, Healer Lao, and of course the Reeve himself. He explained the physical fitness program, and fielded questions as well as he could. The biggest problem was that the military here in the Dreamlands had women in combat roles, too, and while there were exceptions, in general man were bigger and stronger than women.

His fitness programs were designed for men, and women might have a tough time passing some of the upper-body strength tests.

On the other hand, a lot of the tests were originally designed to answer the needs of 20th-century mechanized combat: lifting heavy ammo boxes or shells, crawling under barbed wire, digging foxholes... They didn’t have modern weaponry here, so no need to consider rifles, or machine guns, or tanks. Barbed wire might be useful, though.

In melee combat a taller combatant would enjoy a slight advantage over a shorter one, due to longer reach, but the Dreamlands had been fighting for centuries, and if the women had held their own thus far, apparently there was not that much real difference in combat ability between the sexes. When he asked, Somphone said that most fighting forces had twenty to thirty percent women, but that it could vary widely. Upper body strength seemed to matter here, too, then: on average men were stronger than women. The implication was that female fighters could be expected to be stronger than the average woman, better fighters than the average of either sex... or both.

They drew up a preliminary fitness plan, and then moved on to discuss small-unit tactics. With scattered exceptions, most combat in the Dreamlands was either loosely controlled melee, or siege, and the idea of a small, highly trained, tightly integrated unit on a specific tactical mission was historically rare. There were a few reasonably large armies that had developed the use of tactical formations, such as the Eudoxia’s calvary, but most governments were cities, not large nations.

Much of TT’s expertise and experience was built on modern firepower and less applicable to the Dreamlands, but as a student of history and a survivor of Vietcong creativity, he could still contribute considerably.

Captain Rutger turned out to be far more experienced than TT had suspected from his age, fighting in both individual battles and mass actions for fifteen or twenty years. He was reticent to discuss it in detail, but as they discussed tactics and missions it became obvious that he’d seen plenty of action.

TT described some of the missions he’d been on in Vietnam and Korea, and while helis and boats were the norm for insertion and extraction, and M-16s and explosives played big parts, there was still a lot left. Rutger was especially interested in advance planning, practice run-throughs, communications, task assignment and redundancy, and combining mission control with flexibility.

It turned out that while there was an established unarmed combat program, it was not as comprehensive as what TT had mastered. They decided to hold some practice bouts soon to see just how different the two approaches were, and how much they could learn.

It turned out that the King’s Guard was rarely involved in anything larger than one-on-one combat, because their primary responsibility was protecting the King. The city Watch, a far more relaxed organization, was actually in charge of defending the city of Celephaïs, although the King’s Guard was higher up the ladder and could—and sometimes did—insist on improvements. TT noticed that Rutger avoided answering a few questions directly, but didn’t press the issue.

Somphone, meanwhile, had never been in a large combat, and rarely in combat at all. He’d been picked by Mochizuki at an early age and trained as primarily a spy, collecting information to feed back to the Council. His face, however had finally become known to too many people, and now he was out of the field and in charge of training at Farlaway.

He placed far more importance on stealth, gymnastic ability, eyesight, and hearing, than on sheer physical strength like Rutger, but TT was impressed at how the two men recognized their different priorities and worked together to address both.

This clearly was not a one-size-fits-all situation, and TT didn’t really fit in, either. Even so, they identified a lot of points of interest, and TT was found working with the two of them enormously exciting.

He also wanted to cover a lot of the emergency first aid he was trained in. Whether a limb was blown off by an explosion or cut off by a sword, you put on the torniquet the same way, and these people had some weird beliefs when it came to disease. He figured he could clear some of them up, and that would pay off later when there were fewer deaths from injury or sickness.

It was the first time he’d felt that he was actually doing something worthwhile since he came to the Dreamlands.

>Chapter 7

“I want to check out the high forest, up by Goat Crag,” said Captain Beghara. “None of the patrols have been through there in about a week, and it’s time for another look-though.”

“Sure, Captain,” nodded Sergeant Pouyan. “We’re all ready to go.”

Beghara looked over her twelve. The Commander had made her a captain, nominally an equal to Captain Long, her former superior, and now she had her own people to worry about. Mostly new faces, although she and Nnamdi had been together for years under Captain Feng.

They’d been on the rotation for a couple weeks now, handling fort defense, near patrols, or one-night longer-range patrols, along with the other three twelves. Nadeen, in charge of fort defense, spent more time there, but she took her twelve out on patrols, too... everyone needed to learn the local terrain, and walking through it two or three times a week was one way to do it.

She wondered how Pouyan would work out. He was from Pungar Vees, about thirty of so, and seemed to know how to handle things. Still, she’d made it clear that assignments were temporary for another few weeks, and had shuffled a few people around to make sure everyone understood.

They’d never really know what someone was made of until they’d been in battle.

She’d thought of making Nnamdi her sergeant, in charge of the other six, but had finally decided to let Pouyan handle it. Pouyan already had experience leading a six, and she knew from their time together under Captain Feng that Nnamdi was not a terribly imaginative guy.

Besides, Nnamdi was good support for her.

The other troopers in her six were Goraksh, newly hired from Shiroora Shan; Nurbolat, one of the four Ibizim who had just joined the Commander’s force; Yoruba, a young woman archer from Zar; and Girardus, an eager and perhaps overconfident man from Daikos.

Sergeant Pouyan’s six was entirely people new to her, and Pouyan would be as likely to hammer them into a good team as she would.

She worked with Pouyan to be sure they were on the same page, but let him pretty much handle the details.

They set out from the postern, heading across the fields and into the forest.

The weather was nice today, warm but with a stiff breeze that would keep them cool. As they climbed up the slopes it might even get chilly.

Once they were across the fields—kept clear of obstacles for defensive purposes, too—the forest began. It was a mixture of cedars and various broadleafs, and pretty densely packed in places. There were trails running through it, of course, and she had the sergeant take his six down a different trail. They’d meet up at a small waterfall a few kilometers away.

They fanned out when they could, but the trees pushed in on the trail here and there, forcing them into single file at times. She took point herself for now, with Nurbolat, the Ibizim, on the tail. He was very young, but Yargui said he was far more experienced than his age might suggest—he was only twenty.

Beghara had her eye on him as possible sergeant material. She still wasn’t sure how Pouyan would work out, and she was considering putting Nurbolat in as sergeant of the second six. It would probably upset Pouyan, but having the strongest possible six was the overriding goal.

They were carrying overnight packs, although they expected to be back at the fort by nightfall. If something happened, they had enough food with them for three meals each. Water wouldn’t be a problem here; plenty of little mountain streams.

They all carried their own drinking water, of course.

Beghara noticed that Nurbolat added vinegar to his water every day, or a little “off” wine. It was an old tradition, and while she didn’t follow it herself, it suggested Nurbolat had been around.

She had assigned everyone to pairs a few weeks ago, and let them rearrange to suit themselves as time passed. She herself paired with Nnamdi by unspoken agreement—they’d been together a long time.

Pairing up meant watching each other’s back.

They walked silently, listening to the sounds of the forest... the birds nearby all fell silent as they passed, of course, but the important part was to listen to the birds farther away. If they suddenly quieted or burst up into an explosion of squawking and feathers something was wrong.

It might be a hungry lynx, or it might be someone else wandering the forest... in which case they wanted to know who and why.

After an hour or so they reached the base of the waterfall. The stream splashed down the rock face from a couple dozen meters higher on the mountain, forming a deep, dark green pool before rushing off downhill.

As they were just setting their packs down for a rest and getting a drink, Sergeant Pouyan showed up with his own six.

“You made good time, Sergeant,” said Beghara. “Usually that trail takes a good ten or fifteen minutes longer.”

“I decided we needed a little exercise to stay warm,” he responded. “Upped the pace a bit.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Nope. Didn’t see anything unusual.”

“Relax, have a drink.”

“Captain.”

He nodded and waved to his six to take a break.

Nobody looked winded or tired, Beghara noticed. Good.

She pulled out her telescope and scanned over the fields stretching out below, and then turned to the flanks of the facing mountains.

Nurbolat pointed to one of the peaks.

“Movement over there, looks like at least six, eight people.”

Beghara hurriedly turned the telescope to where she was pointing, hunted a bit, and... found them.

“That’s Seri. Sergeant Serilarinna of Captain Long’s twelve,” she said. “They must be on the way back now.”

Captain Long had left on a long patrol the day before yesterday, deeper into the mountains.

“You’ve good eyesight to spot them,” said Beghara. “See anything else?”

“Actually, yes...” said Nurbolat. “I’ve seen something flash twice now, on a different mountain, and was trying to get a better look.”

“Where?”

“There’s a chance somebody is watching us through a telescope, and if I point them out it might spook them. Suppose you and I walk off into the bushes, those over there... Good cover, and I have to take a piss anyway.”

Beghara grunted, and started walking over toward the bushes, leaving her sword and pack where they were. Pretty obviously she was planning on returning.

Nurbolat waited a bit, then walked off toward some bushes in a different direction.

Once hidden in the underbrush, he quickly trotted to where Beghara waited.

“Over there,” he said, pointing. “See that whitish slash on the mountain? Follow up it, and then just a bit to the right, where those rocks are...”

She followed his finger, slowly scanning with the telescope. The sun was behind them; she had no worry of being spotted at this distance and in the shade.

Yes, something was moving.

It was hard to make out clearly.

She handed the telescope to Nurbolat.

“Here, you try. With your eyes you should be able to count their freckles.”

He held it to his eye, standing motionless as her watched.

“Two... no, three. Two men, one woman. Can’t see if they’re armed or not, but one of the men has a shield strapped to his back.”

“Any mark on the shield?”

“Blank.”

Anyone might decide to climb a mountain and enjoy the view, thought Beghara, but it would be rather silly to strap a heavy shield to your back while doing it.

“Somebody’s scouting the fort,” she said.

“Looks that way, Captain.”

“We’ve never been up there... certainly can’t scale the mountain right under their noses!”

“They must have gotten there somehow. There must be an easier access from the back, somewhere we can’t see.”

“OK, rejoin the twelve. You’re a man; makes sense you’d be done quicker. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Nurbolat nodded, and trotted back to where he entered the brush, then stepped back into the clearing.

After a minute Beghara returned, too, and explained what they’d seen.

“Everybody act normal, and do not look up the mountain,” she said as she put her ruck back on. “Act as if we’ve finished our rest, and are setting off on the next part of the patrol.

“I’m going first because I’m changing the route a little, so we can get back into the forest.”

Everybody began getting ready to move out, acting mostly normal. Any furtive glances toward the mountain would be very unlikely to be visible from above.

They got under way in good order, walking into the trees as if to circle around the mountain.

Once they were safely hidden, Beghara halted.

“Girardus, Biming, you two are the mountain men, right? Think you can climb that?”

She pointed back at the mountain they’d just walked away from.

They studied the mountain through the leaves.

“I think I could, but not with enemies above me,” said Girardus.

“They’d just knock us off,” agreed Biming, one of Pouyan’s troopers.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” said Beghara. “If they have plenty of rope they might be able to get down from there, but that’s a pretty long drop... I can’t believe there are that many routes to reach that spot.”

“You know,...” said Nurbolat slowly, “up past Goat Crag, about halfway to that kestrel nest we saw, there was a pretty good cleft running up the side of the mountain... I didn’t pay it much attention at the time because it didn’t go anywhere, but I wonder...”

“Hmm, yeah, I think I remember that,” said Pouyan. “But just that one, as I recall... it stood out because it was a single black shadow in the rock.”

“Yes! That must be it,” agreed Beghara. “I remember it myself!

“OK, Sergeant Pouyan, you, Yoruba, and two more troopers stay hidden for now, but keep an eye on them. The rest of us will swing around and try to get to them from behind. Yoruba’s our best archer, and can pick them off while they’re climbing down, if it comes to that.

“The objective is to capture, not kill. I want to know who they work for and what information they’ve passed already.

“Rashn, you’re the fastest one here, I think.”

He nodded. Only nineteen, the young man had proven his speed numerous times.

“I want you to link up with Sergeant Serilarinna, and Captain Long if he’s with them. Fill them in on everything, and suggest they swing around to cover. I do not want these spies to escape, and there might be more of them hiding somewhere. Go!”

Rashn nodded and trotted deeper into the forest, heading to intercept Sergeant Serilarinna as her six descended from the pass a little farther to the east.

“Yoruba, Dhaval, Karlu, with me,” said Sergeant Pouyan.

“The rest of you, let’s go,” commanded Beghara, and started off toward the trial leading up and around the back of the mountain.

The rest of the twelve followed.

They could only stay in the shelter of the trees for about a kilometer, and then had to start climbing more directly toward the mountain, and out into the open.

If they were lucky the observers would have given up on them and returned to watching the fort, or possibly Seri’s six, and miss them completely. If they were unlucky, the post would be deserted by the time they got there... or they’d walk into a trap.

“Keep out of sight as much as you can,” she warned. “Not much we can do when there aren’t any rocks to hide behind, but keep it in mind. Let’s get across this open space and around to Goat Crag and that cleft as quick as we can.”

They broke into a ragged run, scrabbling and leaping across the broken rock field, and cleared the open area in about five minutes. Now they were hidden behind the mountain itself, invisible from above—or so they hoped.

They continued trotting up the trail toward Goat Crag, a towering upthrust of rock that was both impossible to overlook and easy to remember. They’d seen a mountain goat on it their first time through, and the name had stuck.

Beghara kept the speed up, now that they were on mostly clean, open rock and didn’t have to worry about being spotted.

They reached the bottom of the cleft in about fifteen minutes.

“Sit down, drink, catch your breath,” advised Beghara.

She studied the cleft, which ran up quite a distance. Fairly wide at the bottom, it narrowed into a chimney about a dozen meters up, relatively easy to climb.

“Anyone see any sign that this is where they climbed?”

Biming pointed to a spike sticking out of the rock wall, about a dozen meters up.

“Right there. Not much reason to put a piton there unless you want to climb it,” he said.

“Good eyes, thanks. OK, but just to be sure, Biming, I want you and Girardus to scout ’round the mountain and make sure there aren’t any other routes up.

Biming and Girardus, both young men from mountainous regions, continued on around the mountain... she figured it would take them at least another hour to complete the circuit, and as long to get back to her with the results.

Beghara figured there couldn’t be much room up there, which meant they probably couldn’t carry up many supplies. Somebody would be along with fresh supplies soon, and a new group of observers, she thought.

“The rest of you, look around and find a good place to wait. The watchers might come down, and new ones might come at any time. I want to be out of sight but ready to take them on whenever they show up.”

There was some debris nearby, boulders and loose rock piled up over the centuries, with a few scraggly trees growing here and there. The trail continued farther into the mountains, no doubt leading over one of the several passes to eventually reach the Eastern Desert—Thuba Mleen’s domain.

They moved a few rocks around to improve the natural camouflage, and set up camp. No fire, of course, but it was summer. The biggest problem was that they only had enough food for one meal, but they could put that off for a day or so, until Sergeant Serilarinna showed up.

“Krik, you and Nurbolat scout the trail a little. Look around for a better place to set up an ambush, and a better place to see if somebody’s coming from that direction.”

They set off, Nurbolat taking point and young Krik—a Teloth swordswoman in her mid-twenties—content to let her take charge. Nurbolat was four or five years younger than she, but made decisions and took action promptly. Once again, Beghara felt he’d seen a lot of action.

A few hours later she had more information... Nurbolat and Krik had failed to find a good ambush site, but did find a usable lookout spot that would give them ten minutes or so of warning. Beghara assigned Nurbolat and Nnamdi to take the first watch there. Goraksh would relieve Nurbolat that night, and Girardus relieve Nnamdi the next morning.

Girardus and Biming had completed their survey of the mountain, and agreed this chimney was the only way up. The piton suggested they were right, but they could be getting there by airship, too... Beghara thought that was unlikely, because of the chance an airship would be spotted from the fort, but it was possible.

Sergeant Serilarinna showed up in the evening. Her six had been walking a lot faster than Rashn was expected, and he missed them at first, then had to race to catch up when he noticed. They were all a little unhappy at having to retrace their steps back into the mountain, especially when they had been looking forward to a night back at the fort, but once they heard about the spies on the mountain they stopped griping and turned toward the waterfall.

Beghara, including Sergeant Seilarinna’s six, now had fourteen fighters at hand, and Sergeant Pouyan and three more troopers keeping watch at the base of the waterfall.

Fourteen should be enough, she figured, and once she brought Seri up to speed on the situation, she agreed.

Seri’s troopers didn’t have much food left, either, but they decided to sit tight until tomorrow morning, at least, and see what happened. Beghara sent Kassandros and Mahud, both from Seri’s twelve, back to the fort to fill them in on what was happening, and arrange for some food to be brought up here tomorrow morning, taking care not to be seen.

The hiding place at the base of the chimney wasn’t very large, so Beghara and Nurbolat stayed there, while Sei and the others moved farther back down the trail, into the woods nearer the waterfall, where there was room to lie down and sleep.

Neither Beghara nor Seri expected anyone to be using that chimney in the dark—it would be suicide—but things might happen the next morning.

It was a chilly night without a fire.

Beghara and Seri were up with the sun, and even Dhaval, famous for sleeping late, was moving within minutes. Few of them had slept very well in the night’s cold, but things were warming up quickly now that the sun was rising.

Captain Long and his six, led by Kassandros and Mahud, arrived less than an hour later. Packing food, bedrolls, and a few other things, they were also armed and ready for a fight... and now their force numbered a full two dozen, although Sergeant Pouyan and his troopers were still watching the waterfall. Captain Beghara agreed to let him take full command for the time being.

They decided to send Sergeant Serilarinna and her six a little farther into the mountains. They hadn’t been able to find a good spot for an ambush, but there were a number of places to hide... and once anyone had passed their position, they could block their retreat easily enough, catching them in a vice between themselves and the remaining, larger force.

Then, snoozing in the morning warmth with full bellies, they waited.

Shortly before noon Goraksh came running with word: half a dozen fighters on horses approaching. Word had already been passed to Sergeant Serilarinna and her six; they would be ready.

Captain Long got everyone ready and checked to be sure they were all out of sight... they were holding a cramped, painful position behind insufficient cover, but they only needed to hold it for a few minutes, and once the approaching group got close enough they could spring their trap.

Biming was very good with a bow, and Captain Long had two skilled archers in his own six: Lau Hu, and Nafiz of Zulan-Thek. The three of them were positioned a ways back, and higher, so they would be protected from melee and still able to shoot freely.

Six horses ambled into view, the one in front being led by a man walking alongside. They were all dressed in rough clothing, without insignia, but well-armed. Clearly not a hunting party.

The leader suddenly halted, crouched, and looked around, sensing something.

“Now!”

They burst from concealment, weapons drawn, startling men and horses alike.

The last rider, a woman, spun her horse and kicked it to flee back in the direction they’d come from, but hauled on the reins and stopped suddenly, horse rearing, when Seri and two of her troopers blocked her retreat.

The men on horseback drew their weapons, drawing their mounts closer together for defense.

“We have archers, too,” said Long, gesturing in their direction. “Surrender, and you will live this day.”

“Who are you to attack me?” cried the leader, a grizzled man holding two swords at the ready.

“Long of Ophir.”

“You have quite a reputation around the Hills of Noor, Captain,” said the man. “I be Kareem of Perinthia.”

“And you are sworn to Thuba Mleen?”

“We are.”

“Do you yield?”

“I have your word?”

“You do.”

Kareem slowly lowered his swords, looking around at the surrounding force, and the archers, standing at ready. He could fight, and no doubt kill some of the enemy, but the outcome was clear: they would die nonetheless.

He dropped his swords and stepped forward toward Captain Long.

“On your word, I surrender myself and my force.”

The remaining five slowly followed suit, dismounting, dropping their weapons, and standing silently while Long’s troopers approached. Each called out his or her name and city. Goraksh looked up when one of the men named himself, and walked over to him.

“M’taka of Gak, you said... are you the same M’taka of Gak who attacked Zulan-Thek some eight years ago?”

The man cocked his head.

“Probably, what of it?”

“You murderer! You killed my family!” shouted Goraksh, sword tip trembling with suppressed fury.

“Goraksh, stop! Step back, now!” commanded Beghara, but it was too late.

Goraksh thrust, and the man, unarmed, stumbled backwards to evade, but Goraksh was too close: his sword plunged deep into the man’s side. He screamed, clutched his side, toppled, and pandemonium erupted.

“Goraksh!”

Kareem leapt for his swords, and the clash of blades broke out.

Kareem and Captain Long traded blows for a few seconds until one of the women who had come with Kareem suddenly screamed in pain, and fell with an arrow through her chest.

Another arrow narrowly missed Kareem himself as he ducked out of the way.

“Hold!” shouted Captain Long. “Back off!”

After a few seconds the two groups separated, leaving two of Kareem’s troopers on the ground along with Khentimentiu of Khem, one of Captain Long’s men.

Beghara grabbed Goraksh by the tunic, pulling him away from the others and slamming him back against a boulder. She clamped her other hand around his throat, pinning him.

“Captain Long gave his word!”

“I never gave mine! They’re all monsters, every one of them,” spit Goraksh.

“They may be, but you never do that after we’ve given our word. Never! Any problem with that, Goraksh?”

“They killed my brother, my ma!”

“We’re warriors; we kill people too. Now shut up,” snapped Beghara. “Captain Long, I suggest we leave judgment to the Commander. How say you?”

Long still had his sword half-raised, facing enemy Kareem with a few meters between them.

“Kareem of Perinthia, my bond has been broken, but not by me. I promise you justice. Do you yield?”

Kareem slowly lowered his swords.

“We yield.”

He dropped them on the ground.

“May I see to my wounded?”

“Of course.” Long turned to the others. “Weapons down! They have yielded, and are our prisoners.”

The two groups slowly increased the distance between them, and weapons were dropped to the ground or sheathed, depending on which side the fighter was on.

Captain Long knelt over Khentimentiu. He’d taken a chop to the neck, and was dead from the blow and massive blood loss.

Of Kareem’s casualties, M’taka was alive but clearly dying, and the woman—Beth of Arizim, she had said—had an arrow just under her armpit. It had missed her lung, apparently, but it would have to be taken out very carefully.

Long sent a party to cut wood from the trees down close to the waterfall, agreeing with Kareem to carry the dead and wounded back to the fort on travois. Their final disposition would depend on the Commander, he explained.

Suddenly, he recalled the observation post...

“Biming, get up there and tell them Kareem and their relief has been captured, and ask them to surrender. If they don’t surrender within five minutes, I will leave a guard force here and kill them as they come down.

“No negotiation; those are the terms.”

Biming wormed his way up the chimney without too much difficulty, not bothering with a rope. About two dozen meters up he transferred to a ledge running toward the front face of the mountain, and cautiously edged along it, and around the curve of the mountain.

They could hear him shouting, words echoing and garbled to incoherency, but couldn’t hear any response.

After a few minutes he shuffled back into view, and behind him came three more figures.

Under the watching eyes of the archers, all four descended the chimney, and now Captain Long had more captives to care for.

Goraksh was also a captive, hands bound and eyes glaring with hate at the others. Beghara kept him on a short rope, literally.

A short while later, wounded and bodies lying on horse-drawn travois rough-cut from saplings, the party started down the trial back to the fort.

They reached the fort in the early afternoon, to be greet by Jake and Nadeen, with most of the fort’s occupants looking on.

The wounded were taken to the church and administered to as well as they could. M’taka, the man Goraksh had attacked, died on the way, but Beth was alive and would probably survive, now that the arrow was out. As long as the wound didn’t get infected she would probably pull through.

Jake gave instructions to keep her under guard, but to do everything possible to heal the wound.

Also under guard was Goraksh. The problem was not that he’d killed one of Thuba Mleen’s fighters—that was what they were hired to do, after all—but that he’d killed one after Captain Long had given his word that they would “live this day.”

M’ taka hadn’t, and while Long hadn’t broken his word himself, it had been broken, and he had been in charge.

Jake was a lot more sensitive to how enemy combatants were treated, with strong convictions based on his time in the Australian armed forces. Here in the Dreamlands things were a lot less complicated, but simultaneously someone’s bond—their word—was almost supremely important.

Jake met with his captains immediately.

First off, they decided to make regular observations of that aerie, to ensure that no new spies set up shop there. It would be easier if they had an airship, but now that knew where to look it shouldn’t be too hard to prevent any recurrence. They’d have to improve patrols throughout that area, though.

The next question was how to handle the prisoners, and Goraksh.

He had his own ideas, of course, but they were more familiar with how things were done here, and he was thinking of the reputation of his whole command.

The captains thought it more important to deal with Goraksh first, and agreed immediately that he should be punished. Danny and Nadeen recommended that he be whipped and kicked out; Long and Beghara wanted him executed.

The argument raged, primarily fueled by Captain Long’s anger and refusal to bend.

Jake sat in silence.

True, the death penalty was on the books in the Australian army, too, but it was only applied in exceptional circumstances. Then again, killing a prisoner was just about as horrific as you could get, short of murdering innocent civilians.

“Suppose we ask Kareem to decide,” suggested Jake. “And if he chooses execution, so be it... Goraksh’s blood will not be on our hands.”

They looked at him in shock.

“Goraksh is one of ours! To let an enemy kill one of our own troopers...!” gasped Captain Long, shocked at the suggestion. “I will execute him myself, and Kareem shall stand witness,” he said. “I will remain your captain or not at your command, but I will have his head.”

Danny nodded.

“I’m sorry, Commander, but I must agree with Captain Long. It is his bond that has been broken.”

Nadeen remained silent, Jake noticed. She probably agreed, but stayed silent for his benefit, he thought.

Jake sighed. He wasn’t in Kansas anymore, he reminded himself for the millionth time.

“So be it. Captain Long, you may proceed. And the other prisoners?”

“Question them, and if they give bond, release them,” said Nadeen, glad to be moving onto a different subject.

“You are willing to kill one of your own, but not the enemy!?”

“Commander, if they give bond and later take up swords against us, their own fellows would kill them,” explained Danny. “No army wants a bond-breaker in it...”

“And they would do the same for us? One of those bastards almost killed TT, remember... so you’re saying if they promise not to hurt me, I should believe them?”

They looked at each other in surprise.

“Well, yes, of course!” said Captain Long. “To break one’s bond...!”

Jake rubbed his stomach again, took another sip of tea. Didn’t help.

“My apologies; I’m yet unused to your ways. So be it.”

He stood, straightened his shoulders.

“Gather everyone in the front practice area: troops, staff, prisoners, everyone.”

“What about the villagers?” asked Nadeen.

“They are irrelevant,” he said flatly. “Captain Danryce, you are to guard the prisoners. All the prisoners.”

The front practice area, located between the postern and the church building, was where they practiced arms regularly. It was hard dirt, stamped flat by countless sandals and boots.

Jake stood at ease, arms crossed behind his back, watching as they came.

The troops naturally fell into ranks by sixes, behind their sergeants or captains, even Ridhi’s staff. Danny’s own six stood on guard behind the prisoners—they were all there, except for Beth, who watched through the hollow church window.

Once they were assembled, Jake stepped forward, and looked over the assembly silently.

Nobody spoke.

“One of our fellows, Trooper Goraksh, stands accused today,” he said quietly. “Captain Danryce, bring the accused forward.”

Danny signed to Yargui to accompany him, and they brought Goraksh up in front of Jake. His hands were loosely tied together with a piece of rope: certainly not enough to stop him from escaping, if he wanted to, but enough to make it clear just what his position here was.

Jake motioned to bring him around to the side a little, so the assembly could see both his face and Goraksh’s face clearly.

“Captain Beghara, did you give Trooper Goraksh a clear order to halt his attack on the prisoners after they had surrendered?”

“I did, Commander,” said Beghara in a loud, clear voice.

“Trooper Goraksh, did you hear the prisoners surrender?”

Goraksh mumbled something inaudible.

“Speak clearly, Trooper Goraksh!”

“Yes, I did.”

“And did you hear Captain Beghara order you to stop your attack on the disarmed prisoner?”

“Yes, I did. But he was a murderer! He murdered my brother and—”

“Silence! Trooper Goraksh, you say your piece in a moment.”

Goraksh slammed his mouth shut and squared his shoulders to stare straight at Jake.

“At that time, did you realize that Captain Long was in command?”

Silence.

“Answer the question, Trooper Goraksh.”

“Yes. Captain Beghara yielded command to him.”

“So at the time of your attack, Captain Long was your superior officer, correct?”

“Yeah, I guess so...”

“Yes or no, Trooper.”

“Yes!”

“And did Captain Long give his bond that the prisoners would be unharmed if they surrendered?”

“Yeah...”

“And yet you killed one of them, M’taka.”

“Damn right I killed that fucker! Commander.” He said the last word with a sneer.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense, Trooper Goraksh?”

“Yeah, I have plenty to say. That bastard killed my family, and torched half of Zulan-Thek. He deserved to die! And so do all the rest of Thuba Mleen’s scum!”

He spit toward the other prisoners, who were watching expressionlessly.

“Anything else?”

“What’s the point? Yeah, I ignored an order and killed the son of a bitch. Get on with it.”

“Trooper Goraksh, on the charge of ignoring the command of your superior officer to halt your assault, I find you guilty. The sentence is to be flogged three times.

“On the charge of breaking Captain Long’s bond, I find you guilty. The sentence is death.”

Even the breeze stopped at that. Nobody moved a muscle, took a breath.

A second later, Captain Long stood, walking toward Goraksh while pulling his sword from its sheath.

“No, Captain Long. You are the injured party here, but I am in command. This trooper broke his word to me, and as Commander it is my responsibility to rectify the error, not yours.”

He removed his pistol from his belt, and without seeming to take aim, fired one shot directly between Goraksh’s eyes.

Danny and Yargui jumped back in shock as Goraksh was thrown backward to tumble to the dirt. The assembled troopers and others jumped as well—most of them had seen noisy, clumsy muskets, but had never seen a modern pistol fired... or a man executed by one.

Jake slowly lowered his pistol, turned to the prisoners.

“Kareem of Perinthia, does this settle the debt?”

Kareem tore his eyes from Goraksh’s body to look at Jake, and suddenly the sounds of the world returned: wind, breathing, shuffling, mutters, and gasps.

“I... Yes, Commander. The debt is settled.”

Jake nodded, and looked back toward the assembly.

“Dismissed!”

He turned and walked slowly back to the church building, and past the entrance, continuing on to his quarters.

Everybody stayed in formation until he was out of sight.

Chapter 8

“Would you like to keep one?” asked Chóng, watching the scientist excitedly scribbling notes while observing the hatching raptors. “If you raise it, it will bond to you just like a dog. Of course, you’ll have to train it like a dog, too, or you’ll be in for some interesting times once it grows up.”

Nolan Geiszler stopped writing for a moment and looked up. He pushed his eyeglasses back up his nose so he could see Chóng clearly.

“I can have one?”

“Sure, if you’ll promise to take proper care of it. Once you take it, you’re responsible for it all the way.”

“Oh, wow! I’d love that!” Nolan looked back at the hatching eggs. “Oh, there’s another egg-tooth. Looks like most of them are going to hatch today.”

“Might be, it’s nice and sunny today. If you want one, grab it now and feed it some of this,” agreed Chóng, holding out a platter of raw meat. “Take a piece of meat and chew it, then give it to him. You want to get him used to your smell, and receiving food from you.”

Nolan picked up one of the baby raptors with his hand, wincing as tiny fangs clamped onto his finger. He stroked its head to relax it, but made no effort to pull his finger out of its mouth.

“I suggest you feed it the meat,” urged Chóng. “Blood is the traditional way to bond a raptor, but it has its risks.”

Nolan picked up a gobbet of meat and waved it in front of the raptor’s nose. It followed the swinging meat for a moment, then apparently made up its mind and released his finger, darting its neck forward to grab the meat and swallow it instantly.

Nolan reached for more meat, hoping to keep it from trying another finger.

It ate the whole plate in record time, and slumped down in his hand, belly bulging.

Chóng’s people had picked up the rest of the hatchlings and were busy feeding them. There were still a few unhatched eggs left, one with a tear in it from the raptor’s egg-tooth, but no emergence.

Chóng waved to one of the raptor trainers, and she picked up the remaining eggs, carrying them off to the pigpen.

“You’re not going to kill them!?”

“Of course we are. They’d never survive in the wild, and there’s no point in trying to raise them here. They’re runts, or dead already.”

Nolan fell silent.

Nature was a deadly mistress, and he understood how important “survival of the fittest” was, but... it felt wrong.

He sighed.

The Dreamlands were a wonderful place to be a biologist, but he wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

The hatchling in his hand burped gently.

“So blood’s the traditional way?”

“If you travel to the mountains of Zan, or Zobna, you’ll still see wyver-masters missing fingers. A chief I knew there years ago had only a thumb and one finger on each hand.”

“Wyver-master? What’s that?”

“Wyverns. Two-legged winged dragons.”

“Are they dinosaurs?”

“Not deinos, wyverns. Like dragolets, but big enough to ride. Haven’t seen any in a long, long time, though.”

Wyverns. Flying dragons!

“How long does it take to get to Zobna?”

“Oh, you could get there in a week or two, but I doubt you’d survive long once you did,” laughed Chóng. “They do not take to outsiders.”

“Can I get close enough to see one, at least?”

Chóng thought for a bit.

“I doubt it, but let me see. The northlands can be difficult.”

“Thank you, Factor, that’d be great! I’ve loved flying dragons since I was a kid... Wow! So they really exist...!”

“If you’re going to raise that hatchling you’ll need a basket,” said Chóng. He waved one of the raptor trainers over and told him to bring one. “Keep it with you all the time, and for goodness’ sake make sure you have lots of meat or fish with you—dried or smoked meat is fine, too.”

“Thank you, Factor. I’ll take good care of him. Or her. Kinda hard to tell with little lizards.”

“The basket is only good for a short while, you know. They grow very quickly.”

The trainer came back with a picnic-sized basket, made of woven reed and with a reed lid that could be locked in place. “Master Hue, Master Nolan is going to raise this one himself. Work with him and make sure he gets it trained properly.”

“Yes, Factor,” bowed Hue, a short, thin fellow in a loincloth and bare feet.

“Stay with him as necessary until the raptor is properly trained. Go tell the stablemaster, and see Captain Gonville for some money.”

Hue bowed again, and ran off to tell his boss.

Chóng didn’t mess around, realized Nolan once again. He was a dictator, of sorts, but took care of his people. And his business. A good man to work for, he figured.

One of the servants from the main house came running down the path to the stables, and whispered something in Chóng’s ear.

“Excuse me, Master Nolan. Business calls,” he said, and walked back with the messenger.

Nolan was torn between watching the little raptor in his hand and organizing his notes of the hatching. In the end he decided to just sit back, enjoy the sunshine, and watch the big deinos wander around the pasture. He still couldn’t get over their feathers.

That afternoon he talked with Hue about how to train and care for his raptor. It wasn’t much different than raising a puppy, it turned out, except that raptors were carnivores, and didn’t shed.

He had the leatherworker make him a leash and collar. Hue found the concept hilarious, and after he stopped laughing told him he’d need to get new, longer ones every month or so until the raptor—now named Minilla—reached its full size, which would be about year.

Minilla was only about thirty or forty centimeters long now, but it would outgrow the basket quickly, warned Hue. Its fangs and claws were also well developed, and in the wild it would start hunting insects, frogs, and other small wildlife immediately after birth.

Hue could tell when a raptor was eating too little or too much (although it was difficult to actually feed them too much), and when one was sick. He knew all the remedies for various sicknesses, but had only vague ideas as to what might cause most of them.

Nolan’s expertise in biology meant he knew almost all of these problems, and how to treat them, but without modern pharmaceuticals... he needed to talk to ibn Sina about medicines, he realized. He knew quinine came from some tree bark, but what tree? It might be easier to make penicillin from bread mold, but that, too, was really out of his field of expertise.

And of course he had no idea how the raptor’s body might react to any drug.

He hefted his basket, accepted a large package of dried pork from Hue, and walked back up the path to the main house, looking for ibn Sina.

He was in his library, poring over an enormous tome. It looked to be a medical text, judging from the illustration of the human body, but unfortunately was written in what he assumed was Arabic. Another man stood at his side, discussing the content.

“Physician, I’d like to discuss something with you, if you’ve got some free time.”

“Of course, Master Nolan. Come in!”

Nolan stepped in and introduced himself to the other.

“Perwira of Oxuhahn,” the man replied.

“Physician Perwira has been with me for many years, first as an apprentice and now as a fellow physician and scholar of medicine. We were just discussing an old text.”

“If you can spare the time, Physician Perwira, I’d like to ask both of you about something...”

“Of course,” said ibn Sina. “Come in, sit!”

After the usual pleasantries and a pot of fresh tea, Nolan broached the subject.

“You have been physicians for many years. Your library of medical and pharmaceutical knowledge is huge, and you’ve got oodles of practical experience. My own background is quite a bit different from yours, you know, but I really think if we worked together we could make some big, big changes in medicine in the Dreamlands.”

“In my time, European medical knowledge was, shall we say, underdeveloped,” smiled ibn Sina.

“Yes. Primitive, even barbaric, compared to the Islamic centers of science and art,” agreed Nolan. “But that was centuries before my time, sir. Where I come from, medicine has developed far, far beyond all that.”

“The Dreamlands, however, are relatively unchanged... you have mentioned before that you wished you had some instrument or some medicine.”

“Yeah, a lot of the technologies and medicines I use just aren’t available in the Dreamlands, and I admit I don’t have the vaguest idea how to make most of them. But I do understand things like germ theory, how the human body works, the functioning of its various organs, the causes of various diseases, and a heck of a lot more that you’re lacking.”

“You propose to ‘educate’ me, then?”

“Oh, God no,” denied Nolan, waving his hand. “I want to work with you to figure out what works here and what doesn’t, put our expertise and knowledge together to make it more effective.”

“You are most diplomatic, Master Nolan,” smiled ibn Sina. “I have devoted my life to better understanding the human body, and how to alleviate its ills, and I would be most gratified to work with you. What do you propose?”

“I... I hadn’t thought that far,” admitted Nolan. “I guess work with you, let you know my professional opinions on each case, and see if we can incorporate them into your treatment.”

“Is this your profession?”

“I’m primarily a biologist, but along with doctorates in biology and biochemistry—and a few others—I’m also certified as a physician.”

“I see. How’s your Arabic?” asked ibn Sina, waving his hand to encompass the hundreds of books lining the shelves.

“Can’t read a word,” said Nolan. “How’s your Latin?”

“Latin? Yes, I can understand Latin, although I’ve never spoken it. You speak Latin?”

“No, of course not! I mean, c’mon, Latin’s a dead language. Nobody speaks it. But for historical reasons a lot of medical jargon is based on Latin. If you know some Latin it will help a lot.

“And I’ll have to start learning Arabic, I guess...”

“Perhaps we can write a new medical text together,” mused ibn Sina. “On a more immediate level, though, how do you get rid of warts, Physician Nolan? Factor Chóng has a most distressing wart on his foot that I have been trying to eliminate for some time now...”

Nolan, astonished to hear himself addressed as physician instead of master, thought for a moment.

“Before I can get to warts, maybe we need to talk about germ theory...”

Some time later, Captain Gonville came calling.

“Physician, Master Nolan, the Factor would like to see you both,” he said. “Could you come with me, please?”

“OK if I bring Minilla with me?”

Gonville glanced at the basket and its snoring occupant.

“Try to make sure it doesn’t get out.”

Chóng was sitting on the spacious patio overlooking the forest, and the stables.

As was often the case, he had a teacup in his hand.

He waved Nolan over with the other hand, pointing to an empty cushion.

“Master Nolan, tell me: have you ever considered teaching others your knowledge as a physician?”

Nolan blinked.

“Why, yeah... in fact, I was just talking to Physician ibn Sina here about working together!”

“Excellent,” smiled Chóng. “Because I have just now received a request from King Kuranes that you return to Celephaïs to do just that! It seems that Master TiTi and Commander Jake both, independently, recommended your services.

“Physician ibn Sina, he would also like you to join Master Nolan, or send a knowledgeable physician, to join him.”

“The King wants me to teach?”

“To help run the Madrasah of Medicine.”

“What’s a Madrasah?”

“The university, for the study of medicine.”

“You want me to run a university!?”

“The King wants you to work with Physician ibn Sina and a Healer to run the Madrasah, develop a comprehensive science of medicine that encompasses all of your disciplines, and spread your knowledge, to improve the lives of all of the Dreamlands. The thought had occurred to me as well.

“You know so much more about the human body and health than we do, and you could contribute so much to us all.”

He turned to ibn Sina.

“You on the other hand, Physician ibn Sina, need to find a way to work more closely with the Healers, as you have mentioned to me in the past.”

ibn Sina nodded in agreement, thinking.

“I... I’ve never even...”

“The King and I will provide you our full support, Physician Nolan.”

“I... Physician?”

“Yes, Physician. You leave in the morning; the King is sending an airship for you. And of course you must take Hue and your little hatchling with you.”

He nodded to Gonville, who ushered the stunned Nolan out of the room.

He wandered back to his quarters—a small bungalow near the main house—absent-mindedly dropping pieces of meat into Minilla’s basket in response to hungry scratchings.

Back to Celephaïs. By airship... he’d never even seen an airship in the Dreamlands, but had heard them mentioned once in a while. Apparently they were pretty scarce.

And to run a medical university!! Or whatever he called it... a Madrasah. Me, a University Dean!

He didn’t mind returning to Celephaïs. It would be good to see Johnny and Mack again, maybe TT if he was around. And the city was a great place to wander around in, especially the markets. He really wished he still had his cameras to capture some of these incredible animals on film! Live dinosaurs! And the scales vs. feathers controversy settled for good. He’d be fucking famous!

He looked around his bungalow... he didn’t really have anything to pack.

He looked at his collection of beetles, snakes, frogs, and other specimens he’d captured and was observing... have to let them all go, back into the wild. He still hadn’t finished his drawings, or even finding out what most of them were called. He really wanted to keep that green-and-gold banded viper... it had vestigial legs, and he knew there was nothing even close to it back on Earth. In Wakeworld.

He sighed.

There was so much to learn here.

Chóng hadn’t asked him opinion, though. Just, “You leave in the morning,” as if it was a given that he would jump when commanded.

Well, I guess I will... Chóng and the King have given me pretty much everything I’ve asked for, and God knows their knowledge of the human body and medicine is, well, medieval! Real physicians would help so many people here, and that’s really what I went to medical school and swore that oath for, isn’t it?

Maybe I should talk to Mack about pharmaceuticals... he’s the botanist, after all, and we aren’t going to be synthesizing any fancy drugs for a looong time.

He picked up a few of the cages, made of woven bamboo splits, and carried them outside.

He released them carefully into the underbrush, sadly watching the various creatures scurry back to safety without backward glance.

The next day, after breakfast with a handful of stable hands, and saying goodbye to the horses, deinos, and raptors he’d come to know, Gonville came to fetch him.

It turned out that ibn Sina had decided to send Perwira, a wiry man who looked to be in his forties or so.

Gonville led them back through the portal to Lhosk, with Hue tagging behind.

His ears popped, as they always did, and Nolan swallowed the discomfort away.

He didn’t really understand what portals were, but he treated magic just like he treated most technologies: if it worked, great. He wasn’t much into technology, only what it could do to help him better understand life.

Lhosk was the usual bustling marketplace, the crimson awnings overhead glowing brilliantly in the sunshine.

It was hot and humid in the market, crowded with people buying, people selling, people shouting everywhere, dressed in everything from a loincloth to yellow-and-orange sari to the black burka, with only the eyes showing through the narrow slit.

He was drenched in the aromas—and stenches—of the marketplace: exotic spices from Xura and Oriab, the fragrant incenses of Cydathria, fresh fruit of every description, deino musk, sweat from people and animals, urine and excrement, and every so often a wayward breeze from the wharf, cutting through it all with the overpowering scents of sea and salt.

Gonville led them away from the seafront, the marketplace falling behind as they entered a quieter residential district full of walled enclosures and mortared, mostly single-story homes. They stopped at the front gate of one home, and the see-through in the wood gate popped open at Gonville’s knock.

The eyes on the other side checked to see if it was really Gonville, then the bolt slammed back and the gate opened.

Three guards waited inside.

“The airship is just approaching, Captain Gonville.”

Gonville grunted and ushered us inside.

They walked up the exterior stairs to the roof, which was surrounded by a waist-high wall. In the center was a fair-sized platform, maybe two meters square, with steps up one side.

“Over there,” said Gonville, pointing back toward the marketplace.

Nolan turned to see an indistinct blob floating in the sky, black against the brightness of the morning.

It gradually grew larger, and he could make out the sails and hull. The prow was pointed, like any ship of the sea, but instead of rounding down to a sharp keel, it flared out to a flat base, like a shoe.

As the airship approached, Nolan could make out several trapdoors set into the flat bottom.

It drifted to a halt over the roof, and a woman tossed a hawser to one of the men standing nearby, who snubbed it to a bollard on the platform. As soon as the airship settled down, the woman leapt to the platform carrying a gangplank made of boards chained together—a suspended gangplank.

“Physicians, Master Hue... up you go!” said Gonville, pointing at the gangplank and tossing their baggage—mostly Hue’s—to a crewmember standing at the airship’s rail.

Physician Perwira boarded first. Nolan gingerly followed, feeling the gangplank sway and bounce under him, then Hue, and the crewwoman.

They unhooked the gangplank from the platform and handed it to her to stow, and then freed the hawser from the bollard, and they were off, lifting away from the crimson awnings of Lhosk into the sky.

Chapter 9

“Commander, we just received a dragolet from Celephaïs,” said Turan, holding out the message cylinder.

“Thank you, Horsemaster.”

It was sealed with the King’s chop, but written by Chuang. They’d asked (commanded?) Nolan to set up a school of medicine in Celephaïs, and he’d accepted. He’d already returned from Lhosk and was working out the details with Chuang and others.

Well, good!

He and TT had been especially worried about the state of medicine here, and now that the King was getting involved, there should be some changes coming.

Since Chuang was busy, though, he wouldn’t be coming out this time.

Jake suspected it wasn’t necessary anymore... it was late summer, and the earliest broodmares were well along. Chuang had “downgraded” two from the special group to the regular herd, but there were still over a dozen pregnant mares, and several of them should foal soon.

The first births of the program.

He’d been thinking about how intelligent horses could be used.

Traditionally, the cavalry used horses as mere transport animals, and generally felt little compunction about riding them into battle, or killing them. Sure, individual riders often felt terrible about their steeds, and there were countless stories of them saving each other, but the military overall considered them consumables.

Once they became intelligent, though, everything changed... they were no longer something to be spent and discarded, like everything else the military consumed, but needed to be trained, protected, and utilized effectively. And part of effective utilization meant not getting them killed.

Would an intelligent horse be more effective in a cavalry charge, for example? He’d been thinking of them as sheepdogs, and from experience he knew how well sheepdogs could be trained. If a horse had the same capacity… Presumably it could better avoid enemy weapons if it understood what they were, and better defend itself, but how would that change the dynamics of a cavalry charge? Would they throw their riders to defend themselves? If they were intelligent maybe they’d be smart enough to just run away from battle entirely...

The message from Chaung added that the King was considering his request, and would make a decision shortly. Chuang personally thought it was an excellent idea, and had said so to the King.

To better understand how to interact with intelligent animals, Jake had asked if they’d be willing to let Cornelia come out here for a while. The horses could get used to raptors, and his troops could get used to smart animals.

The villagers owned a number of lumbering deinos for farm work, but there were few tame raptors in the region, and not that many in the wild, either. They were not that uncommon in the big cities, but the cities were a long way from the monastery.

He really had to stop calling it the “monastery,” he chuckled to himself. He’d been thinking about what to call it, and what to call his company.

He took another sip of his tea—cold by now, but he hardly noticed—and looked at the rosters for the four twelves. They were complete now, and he’d met most of the troopers.

Danny’s twelve was the crucial one, because hopefully Danny would be the one to prove the effectiveness of their new tactical discipline.

TT was expected back in another month or so, and would be dropped in as sergeant. Yargui, the Ibizim who had saved them from Thuba Mleen’s surprise attack months ago, was in that twelve.

She’d brought three other Ibizim with her, one for each of the other three twelves. Matriarch Geriel agreed that the Ibizim and Jake’s troops needed to work together, and get to know each other better, and had arranged it. When the time came, they would make it easier to work with Ibizim forces, too.

At his request, Nnamdi had arranged to bring six experienced archers from Zar, his home. They brought their own recurved bows with them, beautifully crafted works of art made of multiple layers of bone and wood. Even better, they were all used to hunting—and fighting—with raptors.

He assigned three to Danny’s twelve, and split the others up between the other three twelves. Nnamdi himself was not an archer, so one of them joined Nnamdi in Beghara’s twelve.

Ridhi Chabra’s cousin had come at Ridhi’s request, and was signed up as Danny’s lead scout. Ridhi swore she was every bit as good as Ridhi herself, and so far she seemed to be.

Once word got around they’d had a lot of visitors dropping by in search of employment. Most lacked the skills and experience Jake wanted, but there were some pleasant surprises: a group of mercenaries from Zulan-Thek hoping for vengeance against Thuba Mleen; a few hard fighters from Thorabon (one of whom Nadeen tapped as her sergeant, in charge of her second six); a few relatively new people from Daikos, including one missing his little finger—Nadeen informed him that meant he’d probably trained a wyvern, and a variety of others from throughout the Dreamlands.

Borislaw, the lancer from Ganzorig, First Lord of Eudoxia, had also arrived. He’d ended up in Beghara’s twelve, of course, since he was primarily a cavalryman. Jake wanted his expertise on mounted combat, training warhorses, and a few other things.

One new hire, a fairly young man from Despina named Bokalam, had been discovered rifling through Jake’s quarters. He swore he was just a common thief, and was put to death. Captain Long suspected he was actually a spy from Thuba Mleen, and whether he had been or not, Jake figured Thuba Mleen had a spy here now, or several.

He’d been working with all five captains—his four captains in charge of combat groups, plus “Captain” Ridhi Chabra, who was in charge of keeping the monastery running. They met at least once a week, sometimes more, discussing developments, training progress, and developing a common method for signed communication. They wanted to be sure everyone could communicate silently with each other.

Jake realized that if there was a spy all the details would leak soon enough, but the point wasn’t secrecy—it was silence.

Einar, the smith, had finally come up with a sturdy, low-friction design for a compass. As he’d predicted, the pivot was made of silver orichalc, an incredibly tough material that he said would keep its point for decades.

The compass case was brass, with the orichalc needle sticking up in the center, surrounded by a standard 360-degree compass card. The case had a tough glass cover, and was protected by a leather case with latchable flip-top over the glass.

Einar refused to say how he’d made the orichalc pivots, but Jake had a hard enough time just getting the writing on the compass card accurate and clear enough. Fortunately, Ridhi’s efforts in paper-making were already bearing fruit, and it was not that difficult to rig up a printing press. Once the metal sheet was cut properly—by Einar, of course—it was a simple matter to run off a hundred copies, which were still clear enough to use even when printed on Ridhi’s rough paper. Movable type was next, but that would require a bit more preparation.

She was making the paper with some local root instead of trees. Jake had no idea how to make paper out of tree pulp anyway, but apparently the Godsworn of Nath-Horthath throughout the Dreamlands wrote their prayers and records on paper made from these roots, and she somehow got the details.

She and Mintran thought they had an idea of how to speed up production, and make the paper smoother, which would be great.

He’d played with his dad’s fountain pen a long, long time ago, but had always used ball-points since, and learning to use a quill and ink was a major challenge. It was even worse on rough, absorbent paper! Chuang was quite happy using a brush, but after trying both Jake felt he had a better chance with the quill.

One wall of the library was now full of maps, mostly maps of the eastern continent. Some they had purchased, some they had been gifted by the King or Matriarch Geriel, and two they had outright stolen. The problem was that they were all hand-drawn, naturally, and some of the mapmakers didn’t actually bother to check the terrain before scribbling something down.

He hoped to start fixing that today, thanks to a little support from the King.

“Good to see you again, Aercaptain de Palma.”

The aercaptain had just arrived, his airship moored to the cliff wall.

“Nice to be out of the city again, Commander,” said de Palma. “Commander Britomartis was quite vague about exactly what you need us to do, though...”

“Good. No point is letting everyone know what you’re up to. Tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Jake poured another cup for his visitor. The pot, at least, was still hot.

He pulled out a map of the monastery and surrounding area.

“This map is supposed to be one of the best, according to the mapmaker in Rinar. As you can see, however, the terrain between Rinar and the Mohagger Mountains is entirely blank, except for the River Mnar. I flew over much of the land recently, some of it with you, and we both know the terrain is anything but flat.”

“And you want us to make a better one.”

“Yes. Actually, I want you to take my mapmaker up and let her make better ones. With the advantage of an aerial view and a good compass, she will be able to make maps that are far, far more accurate and useful than these works of art.”

And they were indeed works of art, embellished with beautiful calligraphy, monsters, jeweled portraits and whatnot. Unfortunately, they were not very accurate outside the immediate environs of the cities.

“You’ve hired someone from the Cartographers’ Guild?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Jake. He quickly held up his hand to forestall the other’s objection. “Yes, I know the Guild is supposed to handle mapmaking. Unfortunately, since my maps are going to be very different than their maps, it will be far easier to train someone to do them properly in the first place, instead of trying to convince them to learn how to do it a different way.”

“They won’t like it, you know.”

“Oh, I know. They’ll hate it, and they might even try to do something about it, but I think when I show them a few completed maps, and offer to show them how to do the same, they’ll be happy to forget about it all.”

“You’re the boss,” said de Palma, raising one eyebrow in doubt. “So what area do you want us to map?”

“If you have a reliable compass, how closely can you control your own course? Assuming there are no strong winds, of course.”

“I’d love a reliable compass! We usually navigate by compass, known features like rivers or mountains, and aiming for mountains on the horizon. The stars at night, of course. Even now we usually stay with two or three dozen kilometers of our course, I think. Barring unusual gusts.”

“I don’t know if that’s enough or not,” mused Jake. “It depends how high you get, and how much detail is visible from what height. That’s a good start, though, because the compass alone should enable you to halve that, if not better.”

“How good a compass?”

Jake picked up a cloth bag and handed it to de Palma, who opened it gingerly.

Inside was a large compass in a brass case, complete with compass card. It was mounted in a steel gimbal.

“It’s waterproof, and the gimbal means it will remain level—and accurate—even when the deck tilts, once you mount it.”

The aercaptain turned it in his hand, admiring how smoothly it returned to level, and the ease with which the needle spun to point north.

“This is wonderful! Can you make more of these for the King?”

“We’re making them now. They’ll be ready for you when you return to Celephaïs, or if Master Chuang gets here sooner with him.”

“When do I meet the mapmaker?”

“Right now,” said Jake, and raised his voice: “Captain! Would you bring her in now?”

Ridhi Chabra stepped into the library, followed by a short, blonde woman in a bright blue tunic.

“Valda Sigridsdóttir of Perdóndaris,” she said, bowing her head slightly.

“De Palma of Celephaïs,” replied the aercaptain, seated.

“Join us, mistress,” invited Jake. “Mistress Valda was recommended to me by Juan Hernández, Factor Chóng’s man in Rinar.”

“What the Commander doesn’t mention is that Factor Hernández sent me here to get me out of the city and out of his hair,” added Valda. “I was in the Guild, and we had a, um, disagreement over how to make maps.

“I’m not in the Guild anymore.”

“I’ve seen the sort of maps she makes,” said Jake,” and they are very close to what I need.”

He pushed a sheet of paper across the tabletop to de Palma.

“As you can see, in addition to the usual monsters and curlicues, she’s also very clearly shown roadways, paths, mountain passes, very small groups of buildings such as an individual farm, rivers, marshland... all sorts of information.”

De Palma glanced at the map, then picked it up for a more detailed look.

“This is the area just northeast of Rinar,” he said. “I recognize this double-S shaped path to the mountain pass.”

Jake nodded.

“Yes, and the fact that you can tell that it’s a map of that region means it’s reasonably accurate. And useful.”

De Palma set the map down again, took a sip of tea.

“It depends on the weather and how fast Mistress Valda can draw, but we’ll probably have to overfly each region at least two or three times, I think.”

“Very fast,” said Valda. “I sketch first, and make the final map later. Still, it would be good if I could make a final flight after the map is done, to check it. If necessary I can revise it.”

“How large an area to you want to map, Commander?”

“It may take quite a while, Aercaptain. Once the King sees the maps, I suspect he’ll want to assign additional airships to the task.”

“How long is ‘quite a while,’ Commander?”

“Years. I want to map the entire Dreamlands.”

De Palma almost spit out his tea, snapping up straight on his stool.

“The entire Dreamlands!?”

“Yes. The whole thing. Every city, every river, every town and village and pass over the mountains. Every lonely farm in the middle of fucking nowhere!”

Ridhi finally broke the silence.

“May I see that map, Commander?”

“Of course,” said Jake, sliding it over so she could see it.

“Very pretty! The different greens of the forest are beautiful! But what are these little marks down here?”

“There’s a legend in the corner,” said Valda.

Ridhi found the legend, and stared at it. It was upside down, and Jake noticed that she made no effort to turn her head, or rotate the map to make it more legible.

“You can’t read, can you,” he observed.

“No, commander, not these letters.”

“Oh... I hadn’t thought of that...”

He thought for a moment.

“Captain Ridhi, how many of your staff can read?”

“I don’t really know, Commander. Few of them have any need to... I can read my own language, of course, but I never had any need to learn to read and write common.”

Jake realized he didn’t even know how many letters were in the common alphabet... he’d automatically assumed they used the English one, but maybe not...

“Thank you, Captain.” He printed a short message on a sheet of paper and handed it to her. “Would you show this to everyone you can find today, and just ask them to read it to you? One at a time. It says ‘The winter is very cold.’ I don’t care who can read it and who can’t, but please give me the totals for how many people could and couldn’t.”

“Now, Commander?”

“Yes, please. And don’t forget to ask the other captains as well.”

She nodded and slipped out.

“Well, that’s a problem I never expected... Your maps won’t be very useful if nobody can read them!”

“Almost everybody in Rinar knows how to read and write common,” said Varda. “Even the merchants.”

“Pretty much the same for everyone in Celephaïs, too,” agreed de Palma, “but I suspect once you get outside the city it gets pretty uncommon. And in places with their own languages, like Shiroora Shan or Cydathria, or the Ibizim.”

“We can make things a lot easier by deciding on a single way to depict various map elements,” Jake suggested. “Once everyone memorizes the symbology, they won’t need letters as much.”

They spent the next few hours working out a list of symbols, largely based on the military mapping symbols Jake had learned in the Australian armed forces.

In the process, they discovered that there was no single common alphabet. They only made sense, Jake realized, because there was no central government deciding things.

About the time they hashed all that out, Ridhi returned with Nadeen.

“I asked about fifty people. About a third of them—fifteen—couldn’t read it at all,” she announced. “And another twelve managed to read it only with considerable difficulty.”

“Well, then,” said Jake. “I guess I have to set up a school, then.”

“I wonder if we couldn’t get the temple to handle that for us,” mused Nadeen. “All of the texts of the Temple of Nath-Horthath are in the common tongue, well, except for their sacred writings in T’pictyl. Everything we use is in common.

“They have always taught reading and writing so more people can worship correctly, and I know the King has a good working relationship with them...”

“Do you know what letters they use?”

“Of course, I learned them all as a kid,” she said, and wrote them out.

It was basically the same as his English alphabet but with no C, Q, or X. In addition, it had a thorn (Þ) for the TH sound. Upper case letters only, for twenty-four characters:

ABDEFGHIJKLMNOPRSTUVWYZÞ

They’d need numbers and a few punctuation marks, too, but numbers were already pretty widely known and would probably not be an issue.

So now they had their list of map symbols, and their “official” alphabet.

Next, contact the Temple of Nath-Horthath and see if they couldn’t find a way to get them to do it instead.

His monastery was getting bigger by the day: in addition to the new shed for Ridhi’s paper-making, now he needed to find a place for a temple! Hopefully they’d want to build a new one outside the walls—he really didn’t feel like having a bunch of chanting Godsworn using these buildings again.

He asked Ridhi to set up temporary quarters for Aercaptain de Palma and his crew, and the meeting broke up. They’d gotten some things done, and had added even more items to his to-do list.

He thanked everyone, and relaxed a bit, twisting his neck back and forth to get the cricks out. It had been a long meeting.

“Oh, Captain Ridhi... Before you go, there is one more thing I need to discuss with you,” he said as the meeting broke up. He explained what he needed, and handed her a rough drawing.

“Should be pretty simple, Commander,” she said, and left.

Nadeen walked around the table and placed her hands on his shoulders, digging in to massage out the pain.

Jake closed his eyes in bliss.

That evening, after most of the troops were back—Danny had taken his twelve out into the mountains for training—he called the four battle captains together to go over the map-making and literacy projects.

Surprisingly, it turned out that Danny could read and write fluently, and in several languages at that. Beghara was OK in common, but not really fluent. And Captain Long, who he’d expected to be an old hand at both map-reading and reading, turned out to be almost completely illiterate in everything except Ibizim.

At least he knew numbers in the common tongue, though, which was a start.

“How’d the training go today, Danny?”

“They’re getting better,” said Danryce. “We’re beginning to work as a unit now, finally. The archers aren’t real happy about having to learn how to climb up and down mountains, but it turns out that Yargui is very good at showing them how to do it.

“Also turns out that Beorhtwig, one of the new guys from Daikos, gets along with Yargui’s sand lizard real well. He wanted to be a wyver-master, you know, up in Daikos. Beorhtwig, I mean. That’s why he’s missing that little finger.

“I don’t get it,” said Jake, frowning. “What does his finger have to do with it?”

“You bind wyverns with your blood,” explained Long. “It used to be that way with the sand lizards, too, but the tradition is almost dead in the Western Desert.”

“Blood... you mean, his finger!?”

“That’s the old way to do it. One finger, one wyvern,” said Danny. “It used to be you’d see wyver-masters walking around with only two or three fingers left. Not so much anymore.

“Anyway, he failed, or gave up, or something—he doesn’t like to talk about it much—but he’s really gotten friendly with Yargui’s sand lizard.”

The sand lizards were about the size of Great Danes, and the Ibizim trained them to be pretty much like attack dogs. The wild ones were generally encountered in small prides consisting of one mature male with multiple females and young, and if they were hungry—which was most of the time—it rarely ended well for their prey.

“Is that likely to be a problem?”

“It’s certainly better than having the lizard start biting him! No, I don’t think it’s likely to be a problem unless Beorhtwig and Yargui get into a fight, which isn’t going to happen while I’m captain.”

“Good,” nodded Jake. “How big are these dragons you’re talking about?”

“Wyverns. Two or three people can ride on one of the big ones. Flying.”

“They fly? That big?”

“I haven’t heard of any big ones in the last few years, but I know there are some big enough to carry single riders,” said Nadeen.

“They breathe fire, too?”

“Fire?” queried Danny. “Never heard of a wyvern breathing fire. It’d burn them right up, wouldn’t it?”

“Never mind. So is it possible that these wyvern might attack us some day?”

“Nah, unlikely. They need the cold climate up north. They’d be dead of heatstroke in a day or two down here,” explained Sergeant Long. “Unless you’re planning on missions up in Lomar or Zobna.”

“Good. No, no plans. But it’s nice to know I don’t have to try to figure out how to defend this place against wyvern, too... airships are bad enough.”

He turned to Nadeen.

“Speaking of airships, how are those new bolt throwers coming along?”

“The scorpions? Right on schedule,” she said. “The ones along the cliff wall are already in place, and we’ve been working back along the walls toward the gates. Should be all done in another week or so.”

He nodded.

Scorpions could fire a whole sheaf of bolts or a single massive bolt at a time, and were the best choice for air defense. They couldn’t defend against airships dropping things from high above the monastery, of course, but Chuang said the Thuba Mleen couldn’t have more than one or two airships, both stolen.

Chuang had also said they expected to steal them back shortly, but that had been some time ago and he hadn’t heard of any successes yet.

“Anything else?”

Captain Long cleared his throat.

“It’s not really a problem, but it might be... I’ve got three troopers from Zulan-Thek, one from Thace, and of course the Ibizim. And all of them hate Thuba Mleen with a vengeance. A literal vengeance, as it happens—they’ve all lost family because of him.

“They’re all right on the ball when it comes to following orders, but we’re only in training now, and I wonder if they can stay on mission when we run into some of Thuba Mleen’s people somewhere. If we’re scouting and one of them decides to go settle a score it could get messy real fast.”

“Danny? Beghara?”

Both of the said it was unlikely to be a problem: Danny only had one trooper from Zulan-Thek, and Beghara none.

They decided to just keep an eye on the situation for now.

At last the meeting ended and he and Nadeen could settle down to eat the evening meal.

Jake really wanted an ale, but his stomach hurt again, and he decided to stick with tea tonight.

That evening he wrote a message to King Kuranes explaining the need to teach reading and writing at the monastery, suggesting the Godsworn of Nath-Horthath as one option, and sent it off by dragolet. The dragolets could memorize and later recite short messages, but most of the time he really needed to send a longer, written message... and unless his troops could read them, too, long-distance comms would be impossible.

There must be some other way to communicate with the King... how did the King and Chóng and Mochizuki manage to talk to each other so quickly, he wondered. Kuranes and Chóng got a lot of things settled awfully fast for people who lived on different continents and needed to fly messages to each other.

Something else for his ever-growing to-do list, he drowsily thought to himself, making a mental note to take care of it later.

When Nadeen looked in on him later he was asleep, his head on the table.

The next day, Jake summoned Aercaptain de Palma, Mistress Valda, and Yargui, the Ibizim fighter in Captain Danryce’s twelve.

“Mistress, I want you to work on making detailed maps of the fort and vicinity for now, on the ground. Aercaptain de Palma will rejoin you in about a week.”

“The fort, Commander? You mean the monastery?”

“It hasn’t been a monastery for many years, Mistress. I think it’s time to call it what it is.”

“Fort it is, then. Has it a name now, too?”

“Yes, it is Fort Campbell.”

“I’ll get started on it today, Commander,” she said, and left.

“Aercaptain, Trooper Yargui, you and I are off to speak with the Alchemist.”

They nodded and followed in Jake’s footsteps, wondering what was going on.

“Alchemist! Alchemist Mintran!”

“Back here,” came muffled reply.

Jake stepped inside Mitran’s laboratory, searching for the alchemist.

“Just setting up the oven,” said Mintran, standing up. He’d been squatting on the floor, closing the door to the large oven built into the wall of the building. “Oh, Commander! Sorry, I didn’t recognize your voice.”

Jake waved the apology away.

“Alchemist Mintran, I’m afraid that will have to wait. Aercaptain de Palma is taking you and Trooper Yargui to the Hills of Noor. You leave today on a very important mission.”

The three exchanged glances.

They hadn’t heard a word about this.

Jake explained in detail.

Later, after the airship had departed, Jake and Nadeen walked to the tall flagpole he had had erected a week ago. Located near the tower, it was clearly visible from both gates and most of the walled enclosure.

Ridhi had completed his request yesterday, but the trial and execution had derailed his plans.

He ran the standard up the flagpole.

A golden scorpion reared on a brilliant crimson background.

A tiny creature, almost insignificantly small, but with a sting that could topple someone hundreds of times its size. A fitting standard for what was now the Scorpius Company.

* * *

The darkness is actually pretty relaxing. At least it was warm!

Wish I could get a message out... that information on the movements of Matriarch Geriel would have been priceless if it had only been in time. And imagine what I could have done if we had been in Phase Two then!

It would have been the perfect opportunity to inflict a massive loss on those Ibizim.

Ah, well, my time will come soon enough.

Time to go back to sleep...

Chapter 10

“Master Chuang, the Godsworn is here,” said the guard.

“Which one?” asked Chuang, setting down his magnifier and looking up at the doorway. “Oh, Healer Cressida, come in!”

Cressida, standing tall and straight in spite of her age—she looked to be at least in her seventies or so—strode in, using her serpent-entwined staff as more of an announcement than a support. She was dressed in the simple sky-blue robe of her calling, hood thrown back to reveal her graying hair and brown eyes.

The two women following her were dressed in a similar fashion, but stayed silent behind her.

“Thank you, Master Chuang,” she said. “May I?”

“Oh, please, sit!” he said hurriedly, waving at the cushions. “You two, please sit and relax. I will have some tea brought.”

“Fresh tea, please,” he called to the guard in the doorway. “And notify the King that Godsworn Cressida is here.”

He turned back to his guest.

“Thank you coming, Healer.”

“And thank you for remembering to call me healer instead of godsworn... My position as Godsworn of Panakeia is recent, but healing has always been my calling.”

“I wouldn’t call over a century as head of the temple recent,” countered Chuang, “but I haven’t forgotten our talks together when you were but a youngling.”

She smiled.

“Quite some time ago, isn’t it? To think that one day I would be who I am, having a meeting on the Pinnacle...”

Chuang poured his three visitors cups of fresh, hot tea, and handed the first to Cressida, then stood to carry the tray with the other two cups to her waiting attendants. One stood to accept it from him.

“Thank you, Master Chuang.”

“But of course, Healer.”

After he rejoined Cressida at the low table, he took a sip of his own tea to organize his thoughts.

“I debated visiting you at your temple to discuss this, but decided in the end that it would be better if you could join me here. There are some possibly delicate issues to discuss, and I would like you to meet someone.”

“So delicate you couldn’t discuss them with me at the temple?”

“Possibly so. If I have erred, it was on the side of caution.”

“I have not known you to err so often, Master Chuang.”

“Hmm, yes... I have gotten rather better at hiding them, haven’t I?”

Cressida laughed.

“So what is so delicate?”

“Panakeia is the goddess of healing. Her father received sacred knowledge of healing, remedies, medicinal plants and more from the Scaled Ones, and she has applied that knowledge to aid the sick and the infirm.”

“Yes. And?”

“I believe you have spoken with Physician ibn Sina numerous times, sharing your knowledge with each other, even studying each other’s writings.”

“Many times. My Arabic has gotten quite a bit better, as has his Greek.”

“He has been working with Factor Chóng for a number of years now, as I’m sure you’re aware. But the Factor also recently welcomed a new guest named Master Nolan. Nolan Geiszler. He came here from Wakeworld, and he is a specialist in biology.”

“Yes, I’d heard it mentioned.”

“He is also a physician, an expert in Wakeworld medicine. And healing.”

“I see...”

“For various reasons, the King has directed me to establish a Madrasah of Medicine here in Celephaïs. It will bring together the teachings of Physician ibn Sina, currently mostly in Arabic; Wakeworld knowledge from Master Nolan... excuse me, I really should start calling him Physician Nolan; and your knowledge: the knowledge of Panakeia.”

“Well, that would be quite a mixture indeed,” she said slowly, thinking. “Physician ibn Sina and I have already discovered a great number of issues on which we disagree, although many more on which our teachings are similar.

“And you propose adding a third school of thought.”

“Yes. This is Wakeworld, however, free of all consideration of gods and magic. Physician ibn Sina and I believe that the vast majority of that knowledge will apply here in the Dreamlands as well, since we are all human. Plus, we enjoy a variety of other techniques which do work, such as prayer, spells, and various potions.

“The goal is to nurture physicians—healers—who can go out into the world and help everyone, alleviating so much of the suffering you and I are all too aware of.”

“And you wanted to talk to me here because this has ramifications for the Goddess...”

Chuang nodded.

“The Dreamlands is an amalgam of diverse cultures, religions, beliefs, languages... in addition to all that exists or existed in Wakeworld, the Dreamlands is also home to many of the creations of the imagination, not to mention what created ourselves.

“The King and I believe that a harmonious Dreamlands is possible, and that a Madrasah of Medicine would help us achieve it, but unless we can build the Madrasah with the support of both Panakeia and ibn Sina’s medicine—or at least free of any enmity—it will only breed further discord, and almost certainly cause more death and suffering than if we had never begun.”

“Has Physician ibn Sina already agreed to this proposal?”

“In principle, depending on the details yet to be worked out. He has sent Physician Perwira as his representative, to serve as one of the three directors of the Madrasah, together with someone you appoint, and Physician Nolan.”

“This requires some thought, and certainly more discussion of your plans. I know Physicians ibn Sina and Perwira well, but nothing of this Physician Nolan.”

“He is here in Celephaïs now, Healer, if you would like to meet him,” said Chuang. “Shall I summon him?”

“Why, yes, why not? For better or worse, there is little to be gained by waiting.”

Chuang rang his little bell, and when the guard stuck her head in to see what he needed, told her to bring Physician Nolan in now.

A few minutes later, Nolan Geiszler walked in.

“Physician Nolan, please, join us, if you will,” invited Chuang.

“Good to see you again, sir,” said Nolan, unable to shake the habit.

“This is Godsworn Cressida of the Temple of Panakeia. She is also a healer.”

“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” said Nolan, inclining his head.

“Godsworn, please,” corrected Chuang. “And I am not a sir.”

“Yeah, sorry, they still slip out...”

“Master Chuang tells me you are a physician,” broke in Cressida.

“Yes, I got most of my doctorates at MIT, and my MD at Harvard Medical.”

“I don’t understand most of those words, but you are a physician, correct?”

“Sorry, yes. MD stands for Medical Doctor.”

“And do you worship a god?”

“Worship?”

Nolan laughed.

“No, ma’a... Godsworn, I worship nothing but science and knowledge. My oath is sworn on Apollo and various gods and goddesses, but I believe in none of them.”

“Apollo!? What oath?”

“Yes, the Hippocratic Oath. Everyone has to swear it to become a doctor. Basically we swear to do no harm, and invoke um, let me see... ‘Apollo, Asclepius, Hygieia, Panacea, and all the gods and goddesses’ as I recall.”

“Panacea! You are sworn to Panakeia!”

“Pana... Panakeia is the same as Panacea!?” Nolan gasped. “Here, in the Dreamlands?”

“It seems you have somewhat in common,” Chuang commented dryly.

“Of course!” said Nolan. “Your staff! I should have made the connection when I came in! You’re carrying the twined serpents of Asclepius on your staff!”

“You are familiar with the staff of Asklēpiós as well?”

“Yes, of course... it is the symbol of the medical profession,” laughed Nolan. “Wow, that’s amazing. I’m in fucking Dreamland and medicine is still the same.”

“Ahem. Perhaps a little more circumspection...?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, Master Chuang. Ma’am.”

“You may call me Godsworn, or Healer, or even Mistress Cressida, if you must,” she corrected, “but please stop with that hideous word.”

“Ah, um, yeah, sorry, uh, Godsworn.”

“Hmm. So tell me, Physician Nolan, do you read Greek?”

“Greek? Nope. I mean, I know the Greek alphabet, but I don’t know any words.”

“Our sacred texts are all written in Greek. From your point of view, I imagine ancient Greek.”

“And ibn Sina’s stuff is all in Arabic,” observed Nolan. “Doesn’t that sorta make it hard for you two to talk about it?”

“Yes, but we share other tongues in common. Like this one.”

“Would I need to learn Greek?”

“It would certainly help,” said Cressida, “but I don’t think it would be necessary. Any more than you would have to learn Arabic.”

“That’s a relief... I’ve always had trouble picking up languages. I hope we can run this university in common.”

“Yes,” said Chuang. “We hope to open the doors of the Madrasah to all, which means it will have to be in the common tongue.”

“You seem very young to be in charge of a Madrasah,” mused Cressida. “And perhaps rather impetuous.”

“Yeah, I’ve always been a bit on the wild side,” agreed Nolan. “I jumped a lot of grades when I was a kid, got my first doctorate at seventeen... and I’ve been around a lot, I mean, back in Wakeworld, before I even got here.”

“And you are now, what, perhaps forty?”

“Thirty-eight, in fact. And you? I’d guess maybe seventy, seventy-five...?”

“Oh, Master Chuang, he is delightful!” she laughed, slapping the table. “I’m well over five hundred by my count, although this decrepit specimen of a man here is even older!”

Chuang sniffed. “Hardly decrepit. Merely well aged.”

“Five hundred years! You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“Wow. I mean, I knew ibn Sina and Chóng were from centuries ago in Wakeworld, but I sorta figured they just arrived at a different time, you know? But you mean... Wow. You mean they’ve been here all that time? So Chóng’s like two thousand years old?”

“Yes,” agreed Chuang. “And I am at least three hundred years older than he.”

“Uh, um, I don’t want to offend you or anything, but, um, why aren’t you dead?”

Cressida laughed.

“Things work differently here,” explained Chuang. “Time doesn’t always pass in a stable fashion, as it does in Wakeworld. Sometimes it slows, or halts, or even flows backwards. Reality can change, although very few people can ever notice, because they change with it.

“Babies are born, and grow, and suffer from disease and injury and age, and most will eventually die, but not all. Death is usually permanent, but not always. Gods exist, and interfere in our affairs at times.

“And physicians from Wakeworld wander into these lands, on occasion.”

“And has anybody ever investigated why some people die, and some don’t? Like yourself?”

“Yes, of course. People have always sought immortality. Here in the Dreamlands it appears to be possible, but those of us who are seemingly immortal have done nothing to gain it. My suspicion is that we are not actually immortal at all—and goodness knows we can be killed as easily as any man—but rather that, for some reason, we have been overlooked.

“It just happens...”

“Well, I think that sounds like a research project very much worth pursuing!” said Nolan. “If only I had my lab here with me!”

“Are you sure immortality for all would be a good thing, Physician Nolan? We would eat ourselves to extinction in a few generations,” asked Cressida. “And even if not for all, who would decide who is to become immortal, and who to die?”

“Knowledge has its own worth,” said Nolan. “How it is utilized depends on those who use it, for better or worse, as it always has been.”

“Regardless of the consequences?” pressed Cressida.

“Yes, I believe so,” he replied, nodding.

Chuang shook his head. “I cannot agree. There is too much pain and death in the world, evils that can be minimized or eliminated. If all could be happy and healthy I would cheerfully abandon knowledge. I know far more than I would like about certain things, and wish I had never gained that knowledge.”

“Not me,” replied Nolan cheerfully. “I can’t imagine knowing something and wanted to un-know it!”

“Be that as it may,” said Chuang, “we are here to discuss the possibility of combining your knowledge of medicine with Physician ibn Sina’s study of Islamic medicine and the Goddess’s knowledge of healing, in a new Madrasah of Medicine. Perhaps we can continue this discussion of the value of knowledge at some future time.”

“He has sworn to Panakeia to heal others, and to do no harm,” said Cressida. “I believe that his knowledge will assist us in carrying out the Goddess’s mission to heal others, and alleviate their pain and suffering. And I have no qualms whatsoever as far as Physician in Sina is concerned, although he is clearly wrong in some aspects.”

“Physician Nolan?”

“Hey, sure, I’m happy to work with them on this. If she knows how to make people immortal, I absolutely want to know more about it.”

“Our mission is healing, of one kind or another,” corrected Cressida. “Not making anyone immortal.”

“Yeah, same thing, same thing,” said Nolan, waving away her objections. “OK, I’m in, Master Chuang. What’s next?”

“We need a place to build the Madrasah, but before we can do that we need to know what to build,” said Chuang. “How many students? How many teachers? Do they require dormitories? What else do you need? Should the Madrasah be walled, or open? There are countless points to be discussed before we can approach the King to ask for a grant of land.”

They began to discuss plans in more detail, calling for pens, paper, and more tea.

By dinnertime they had a solid idea of what they wanted. To start with, at least.

The next step was to present their ideas to the King, and that wouldn’t be possible for a few days, said Chuang, without explaining why the King was unavailable.

Chuang invited them to dine with him, and while Nolan was happy to accept, Cressida declined, citing the need to return to the Temple.

They walked from the Palace of the Seventy Delights to the small dining hall used by palace staff and the King’s Guard. It was far less ornate than the main dining hall in the Palace itself, but even so significantly fancier than anything you might find in the city below. Everything here on the Pinnacle was beautiful, often uniquely beautiful, as created from the fertile imagination of the King, and embellished by generations of artists since.

The rosewood tables were set with crystal goblets and tableware of silver, and as they entered a young women showed them to a table overlooking the city.

The sun had already slipped below the horizon, leaving the western sky a dark red dotted with pink, fluffy clouds, and the first lights of Celephaïs below were beginning to shine.

As he admired the view from his cushion, a waiter brought them flagons of chilled ale, and a plate of tiny fried squid.

Nolan tried one, enjoying the salty crunchiness that went so well with the bitter ale.

Chuang nodded to a few of the guards eating there, exchanged greetings with one, and helped Nolan demolish the delicious squidlings.

Shortly a platter of chicken and vegetables came, fried up in some reddish sauce, along with a huge lidded container of rice. They spooned the rice into their smaller rice bowls, and used the serving chopsticks on the platter to heap their plates with the chicken-and-vegetable dish.

Chuang pushed his on top of his rice, setting his empty plate down again and to the side so he could concentrate on his rice bowl, complete with delicious toppings, while Nolan alternated between rice bowl and plate. A second round of ale arrived shortly, and their conversation continued on mundane subjects, punctuated by eating and drinking.

After they finished off the first plate, the waiter brought a second one—some sort of white-fleshed fish, drenched in a spicy, tomato-based sauce.

They finished that plate off pretty quickly, too, but their speed was dropping fast.

“You’re a little low on rice, Master Chuang,” said the waiter a few minutes later. “Shall I bring more?”

“I’m fine, Louis,” he replied. “Physician Nolan? You?”

“I’m good. Maybe too good,” said Nolan, loosening his belt a notch. “Maybe some tea?”

“Of course,” said Louis, and trotted off.

He was back in a minute with a large pot of fresh tea and another plate, this time full of golfball-sized fruit covered in concentric purple ridges.

“Never seen these before,” said Nolan, picking one up. “What is it?”

“It’s lelai fruit, from the Necklace.”

“The Necklace?”

“The waters of the Hippocrene Spring flow through the Cirque of the Moon here in Celephaïs, creating a series of ponds that we call the Necklace. The lelai trees need plenty of water, and grow along the banks of the ponds, and the streams connecting them.”

“How do you eat it?”

“Some people prefer to peel them,” said Chuang, “but I enjoy them just as they are.”

He picked one up and bit off half of it, closing his eyes in ecstasy.

A bit of purple juice dribbled down his chin to be caught by a quick swipe by the back of his hand.

Nolan sniffed one, experimentally bit into it.

A burst of flavor exploded on his tongue, a combination of sweet and spicy and fruity and... he couldn’t describe it. It was delicious, and almost sensual in the sheer bliss it brought.

“Wow! I mean, really, wow!” he burbled. “I’ve never had anything like that! It’s... it’s incredible!”

“Yes, it is good, isn’t it?”

“Is it, um, psychedelic? Or habit-forming?”

“Don’t think so, but a lot of people eat one almost every day,” said Chuang, reaching for another one. “The lelai are very well tended, and produce enormous quantities of fruit, fortunately. I don’t think anyone would get sick without their daily lelai, but a lot of people would certainly be unhappy. Including me.”

“These seeds easy to grow?” asked Nolan, spitting out some a few tiny black specks onto his palm. They were as small and innocuous as strawberry seeds, he thought.

“Quite easy, as long as you have fertile soil and ample sunlight and water. Animals and birds devour the fruit, but the trees are quite hardy,” said Chuang. “However, they do take eight or ten years to produce their first crop.”

“Too bad... I’ll have to see just what’s in them someday...” said Nolan to himself.

“You know,” said Chuang, “if you’re so interested in long life, there’s someone here you should really meet.”

He leaned toward the adjacent table.

“Where’s Sergeant Thag?”

The guards at that table immediately turned to greet Chuang with nods, and then scanned the dining hall in search of someone.

“He ate earlier,” said one of them. “He’s probably outside as usual, with his thagweed.”

“He sure does love that stuff,” observed another.

“They call it thagweed for a reason, you know!”

They all laughed.

“Thank you,” said Chuang. “Physician, if you’re done with dinner, join me for a moment. I think you’ll find Sergeant Thag a most interesting person.”

Nolan rose, quite full of both dinner and curiosity.

They left the dining hall and walked through the garden toward a columned outlook. In the darkness a single blob of orange light flared and dimmed... someone was smoking.

“Sergeant Thag? It’s Chuang... there’s someone here whom I’d like you to meet.”

The blob of orange light jerked suddenly in the darkness, then dropped low to fire a small oil lamp.

“A beautiful night, is it not, Master Chuang?”

His voice was so deep Nolan could almost feel the ground vibrate in sympathy.

“It is indeed, Sergeant.”

They approached, and now Nolan could see the Sergeant clearly.

He was quite a bit shorter than Nolan, but built broad and massive. He was dressed in a leather harness over a simple tunic, and was barefoot. His entire body was almost covered in coarse, orangish hair. His forehead—as much as was visible—sloped back from his face, which was shadowed under his massive, protruding eyebrows.

“Sergeant, Physician Nolan and I were just discussing how long people live in the Dreamlands,” said Chuang conversationally. “I thought he might be interested in your story.”

“You don’t look that old, Sergeant...” said Nolan.

Thag laughed, huge booms of mirth that sent distant birds squawking.

“I don’t know how old I am, Physician,” he replied. “but I lived here before the first stones of Celephaïs were laid.”

“That’s... that’s thousands and thousands of years!”

“At least,” agree Thag. “I didn’t know how to count, or care, until much later, but I’m pretty sure I lived here for at least three great dozens of years.”

“What’s a great dozen?” Nolan asked. “Is that the same as a grand dozen?”

“A great dozen is a grand grand dozen,” said Chuang.

Nolan did some quick calculations in his head. A grand dozen was a dozen dozens, or one hundred and forty-four. One forty-four squared was, um, twenty or twenty-one thousand... Thag was saying he’d lived for over sixty thousand years!!

Nolan looked at Thag’s face again... protruding eyebrows, protruding jaw, short stature...

“My god! You’re a Neanderthal!”

Thag cocked his head.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s... Oh, wow... It’s neither, it’s just a name for your species,” explained Nolan lamely. “In Wakeworld you’ve been extinct—you’ve all been gone—for a long, long time. Long before our recorded history begins.”

“Don’t feel extinct,” said Thag. “Here, you seem a bit excitable. Try some of this.”

He held out his hand-rolled cigarette.

“What is it?”

“Thagweed, as you call it. Good for you.”

“Thagweed.... named for you...”

“Well, yes. I mean, I was the first one to use it, and introduced it to all you little folk when you got here, so it ended up with my name on it. Still good, though!”

Nolan sniffed it.

It wasn’t tobacco, or marijuana. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it smelled foul.

He took an experimental puff.

He gagged.

He smoked cigarettes every so often, but this was unfiltered foulness. It tasted like burning excrement in his mouth.

He handed it back to Thag, and spit again and again to try to clear his mouth.

It didn’t work, but he suddenly noticed that his pulse was awfully loud. He stopped spitting, and listened.

Not just his pulse... he could hear more clearly than he ever had in his life: his pulse, the insects chirping away in the garden, the wind sighing through the arched marble roof above, the creaking of masts and the flapping of the sails in the harbor.

He could hear Thag’s heart beating away, and Chuang’s!

And his vision! He looked down at the city below, and he could see it! Not the blurred images he was used to even with his glasses on, but actually see it clearly, even in the darkness. The buildings, the people, the cat stalking the top of the wall so far below... everything.

He gaped, speechless.

“Your first time, I see,” said Thag, taking another drag himself.

“It amplifies all your senses,” explained Chuang. “It’s mildly habit-forming, but the biggest problem is that it slows your reflexes considerably. And of course, in addition to amplifying your vision and hearing and helping you to think clearly, it also amplifies your sense of taste and smell... and it tastes and smells hideous.”

The taste was as awful as it had been, no, even worse. He had forgotten it in the sudden rush of sensory amplification, but now he was aware of it with a vengeance.

He collapsed to all fours, retching.

Thag poured him a cup of tea and held it out.

“It also wears off very quickly,” he said. “Along with the slower reflexes, and the fact that the smell is so strong, that makes it pretty useless in combat.”

Nolan sat on the ground, holding his head in his hands, breathing heavily.

“...that was quite an experience...”

He slowly got up and held out his cup for another drink of tea.

“I have no doubt I can develop a cultivar that doesn’t taste so bad. Might be able to do something about the slowed reflexes, too.”

He spit again.

“Ugh. That is really foul stuff, Sergeant. How do you stand it?”

“Practice. Lots of practice.”

Chuang led him back to the dining hall for another ale, and later to his quarters.

A few days later they met with the King, explaining their plans in detail. The King had a few questions relating to operating the Madrasah, but he’d already made the decision to go ahead with the school. They were just filling in the details, and figuring out where to build it.

Godsworn Cressida did not join them, but had appointed Healer Naaheed as her representative. An old, white-haired woman, she looked frail and starving.

“There are two possible sites available right now,” said the King. “One is in The Lofts, where a recent fire destroyed a large area of wooden structures of dubious repute, and the other in High City, where a large estate has become recently empty, and the current owner would no doubt be delighted to sell it off—I can’t imagine anyone else wanting to purchase that particular estate. They are of similar size, but both would need to be cleared and new structures built.”

Chuang nodded.

“Of course, the Liang estate... empty, and likely to remain vacant for quite some time.

“Putting the Madrasah in High City, though, would probably keep out everyone but nobility and the wealthy. I would vastly prefer the Cirque of the Jade Bull, even if it is The Lofts... I think we’d be better off with talented students than rich ones.”

“What is The Lofts?” asked Nolan.

“It’s the entertainment district,” explained Kuranes. “All kinds of entertainment, and all kinds of people, including laborers from the farms and markets, ship’s crew, and more. It is always a lively, colorful place, but also quite rowdy and even dangerous, at times.”

He turned to Chuang.

“I agree that we want to attract the best people, regardless of background or connections, but are you sure The Lofts would be a safe place? It could be walled, of course, but locking it up inside a high wall does not strike me as the best solution... perhaps it would be better to site a larger campus somewhere outside the city walls entirely?”

“Why not do both?” suggested Perwira. “Establish the school outside the city proper, with plenty of room to grow, and use the site in The Lofts as a clinic, offering medical assistance to city residents? Dealing with actual patients is the best way to teach young physicians.”

“A wonderful suggestion! Physician Nolan, Healer Naaheed, what do you think?”

“I don’t really know enough to have an opinion,” said Nolan, “but it’s probably better to start with plenty of space in case we expand later.”

Healer Naaheed nodded. “Outside the city—and therefore not tied so explicitly to Celephaïs—is best, I believe.”

“I agree. It sounds like the best approach to me, too,” said Chuang. “It will be a bit more complicated to build the school, because we would have to construct new sewerage and water systems, but I’m sure Chief Artificer Marcus can handle it without undue difficulty. He will handle all the construction, of course.”

“He’s in the process of, um, cleaning the city’s sewerage and water supply network now, and I’m sure he would jump at the chance to do something more creative and less odorous.”

“Excellent! Thank you, my Lord,” said Chuang. “We will meet with the Chief Artificer as soon as convenient, and begin work on choosing a site.”

Chapter 11

He’d really hated his drill sergeant, way back when he was just a Marine recruit. TT smiled internally, careful not to show any sign of it on his face, because now he was a drill sergeant. Sort of.

“Whatta bunch of weaklings!” he shouted. “The Reeve told me you were his best. His best, he said... and you wimps can’t even carry a simple basket without whining!?”

Twelve sweat- and dirt-streaked villagers struggled past him, with large baskets on their backs. Unlike the ten-kilogram weights he and Roach had run with that day, these were full loads: twenty-five kilograms, on a five-kilometer run. Seven men and four women, and he had to admit—privately, of course—that they would have made damn fine Marines. Even after hauling those baskets full of rocks through the forest and then up that cliff, they still had plenty of grit left, even if a few of them were running out of energy.

They’d trotted the course with full baskets for a few days, then run it for a few days with half loads. Today was their first day with full loads, and goddamn if it didn’t look like they’d all make it!

He chivvied them over the rocky path until they reached the little pile of rocks he’d erected, then collapsed. Time for a five-minute rest, but once they got up to speed this rest would be eliminated, too.

He’d never said anything about what they should or shouldn’t bring, and he was gratified to see that every one of them had brought water. In fact—he sniffed again—at least some of them had vinegar-water, it smelled like. Even better.

He walked through them, looking at their feet and legs, and making sure nobody was injured. Nobody had anything worse than a few scratches, but he noticed that the toe-strap on one of Ethelinda’s sandals had broken.

He debated whether he should say anything, or fix it, and decided against it. The Reeve had advised him that the crucial point in their training was not physical strength or deadliness in combat, but the ability to make decisions quickly, find solutions, and get the job done.

Even as he debated telling her, she bent over it herself, examining the torn rope, then tore a long strip of cloth from her tunic and twisted it up to serve as a temporary strap, knotting it tightly.

He figured it might last back to the village, but would keep an eye on her... if it broke again would she stop to fix it and be late, or keep pushing regardless and injure her foot?

Roach, in spite of his youth and small stature, was keeping up with the others. After failing to complete the course that first time, he’d taken it as a personal challenge, determined to overcome his weakness. And he’d made enormous progress since, his body rippling with the toned muscle of an Olympic gymnast.

He’d make a hell of a spy, too, he guessed. The kid’s memory was phenomenal... he could look at something, even something pretty visually complicated, and recall it picture-perfect an hour later. TT had tested him once with a dozen rocks selected for various colors and shapes, like Kipling’s Jewel Game. He’d spread them out on the table, let Roach look at them for thirty seconds, and then hid them and asked Roach to describe them. And he did, in minute detail, pointing out minute differences in shape or color or texture that TT hadn’t even noticed.

He was probably fifteen or sixteen, TT guessed, but looked three or four years younger. Young enough to look like the son of one of the others, in fact... and they were certainly not old. They were probably all in the twenties. One looked like he might be a tad under twenty, and one was beginning to go bald on top and might be older, but “in their twenties” was a reasonable guess.

Once they got back to the village they’d take another five-minute breather, then start on the makeshift obstacle course, then a nice round of push-ups and crunches to relax.

By the time lunch rolled around they’d be good and hungry, he expected.

He probed his abdomen, and was delighted at the lack of pain. He needed to get fully back in shape, too, although he hadn’t lost too much ground.

It almost felt good to be stretching those muscles again after so long, even if it did hurt... getting a sword through the gut was not something he wanted to try again.

“Alright, boys and girls! Nap time’s over, and the Reeve is waiting for his rocks, so let’s get down this cliff and deliver them!”

They all got back on their feet, some faster than others, and he got them moving again.

“From next week this is going to be a race, and tail-end Charlie gets another rock in his basket, so get a move on!”

They got a move on.

Later, after lunch, he picked up twelve pebbles, half white and half black, and dropped them into a small sack.

“Each of you take one pebble. Black team over here, and white team over there.”

They gathered around, and he noticed that while they didn’t form a line they did yield to each other politely.

A few minutes later they were randomly split into two teams.

“Two of those rocks had a chunk of some reddish stone mixed in... who picked those?”

Two students stepped forward, one from each team.

“You are the team leaders for today,” said TT. “The rules are simple. If anybody get seriously injured, the game ends immediately and everyone helps the injured. Any problems with that?”

Everyone nodded or grunted assent.

“You all know my canteen, right? Little bamboo thing with a cork in it? Got a red cover on it so I don’t misplace it, remember? Well, it so happens that when we were up on the cliff today I put it down when we stopped for a quick rest, and I forgot to pick it up again.

“The team that brings it to me, here, gets a free ale tonight.”

They stood waiting for him to continue.

“That’s the only rule!?”

“Yes, that’s the only rule... What are you waiting for? GO!” he shouted, and they jumped into action.

White leader immediately called out three names, and ordered them to attack black team, him leading the charge. The other two—the fastest, TT noticed—he told to go get the water bottle.

Black leader stood in shock for a moment, and then shouted that everyone should run for the cliff, but it was too late... white team was upon them, and the four white team members immediately grabbed onto four black team members, and managed to trip a fifth.

The last black team member was off running, but he was one of the larger men in the group, and not the fastest. White team had the clear advantage.

TT watched the melee... black team had weight on their side, but white team didn’t have to actually defeat them in combat, merely delay them. Eventually, the five black team members began to coordinate their actions, and one at a time managed to pin the white team members down, and tie them up. They were out of the game unless they managed to free themselves somehow.

Black leader assigned one person to keep watch over the captives, and vanished into the forest with the other three members.

TT wanted to tag along to see how things played out, but he couldn’t be in both places at once, and somebody was bringing his water bottle here.

He sat down and had a drink from his other water bottle, which had been hanging on a strap over his shoulder all the time.

The black team guard member was splitting his attention between the captives—who froze when he turned his head their way—and the forest. White team, on the other hand, was obviously working to free themselves... and it looked like one of them had found a sharp rock to cut their rope with.

Sure enough, the guard looked away a few minutes later, and the sharp rock was passed quickly to another bound captive. By the time the guard looked back everyone was still again.

It took a while, but eventually three white team members were free. The fourth was too far away to reach without making a lot of noise, and remained bound.

There was a lot of shouting coming from the forest.

Judging from what he could hear, black leader had spread his people out in a line to find the returning white members, figuring—correctly—that they’d get to the water bottle first. When they spotted one of the white runners two of them immediately raised the alarm and pursued, and the other two dropped back toward TT to better cover the approach.

The second runner burst from the forest, running toward TT, and the two black defenders moved to block her. She had the water bottle in her hands, and in a final Hail Mary threw it over their heads straight at TT.

It would have worked, too, except that the black member guarding the captives made a magnificent leap into the air to intercept it, landing hard but with the water bottle in his hands.

He turned and stood there, smiling triumphantly, as the three white team captives who had freed themselves leapt up and tackled him, stealing the water bottle.

One of them grabbed it and ran to TT, handing it off politely, then turning to walk back to the pile of bodies and help them back up.

The fight was over.

“Thank you for my bottle, Ubaid of Khem. White team wins!”

The rest of the twelve walked over, panting from their exertions. Nobody seemed to be seriously injured, but there were a fair number of scrapes and cuts.

“Good job,” said TT. “Get something to drink and sit down.

“Anyone hurt?”

“Yeah, Thora kicked me right in the family jewels!”

Everyone laughed.

“Is that what that was?” quipped Thora, a blonde Valkyrie from Perdóndaris. “I thought it was just some little peas you had in your pocket.”

“Come share my ale tonight and let’s see if you still think they’re little then!”

“You wish!”

“OK, settle down,” admonished TT. “What you do on your own time is your affair, but this is my time. Tell me what you noticed in the game. C’mon, speak up.”

Everyone fell quiet, but the banter had relaxed them a little, taking off the edginess of the fight.

“Khairi, since your mouth doesn’t seem to have been hurt by that kick in the jewels, why don’t you tell us what you think went wrong? And right?”

The black Pargite—who had been white team, as it happens—took another drink of water, no doubt to give himself time to think.

“The first and biggest problem was that black team took too long to get started.”

“We tied four of you up!” came the counter.

“Not very well, though... and it took five of you to do it!”

“Well, OK, that was a problem, but we did intercept you on your return. After we let you tire yourselves out climbing up and down that cliff!”

The argument went on for some time as others joined in, pointing out problems or offering alternative solutions. TT let them talk it through, avoiding making any suggestions as to what the right call might have been.

There wasn’t any “right” call, of course, because every situation is different, and things never play out the same. In this particular case both teams had made errors, but the important point was that white won. This time.

Suddenly they fell silent, and TT turned around to see what they were looking at.

Reeve Somphone and Mistress Mochizuki were walking towards them from the treeline.

“You are training them to think as teams,” observed Somphone. “We’ve rarely had a need for that in the past...”

“We rarely have to operate in teams,” agreed Mochizuki. “There may be a team in place for a specific operation, but usually the point of the spear is alone. Or several people operating independently of each other.”

“Assassins as spies are very difficult to stop,” said TT, “but also far less likely to be able to affect the course of a battle. A war, perhaps, but rarely a battle.”

“True,” agreed Mochizuki. “We are usually employed on the strategic level, rarely on the tactical one, for the simple reason that whenever possible we avoid combat entirely.”

“A small unit like this, only a twelve or so, could do significant damage to enemy forces, damage far greater than the losses they might take. When part of a larger force they can continue to fight, and fight effectively, even if communication with higher command is lost.”

“The nobility will never accept it,” mused Somphone. “Which is fine with me, since most of the people who would never accept it are our enemies, one way or another...”

Mochizuki said something inaudible to Somphone, then nodded to TT.

“Excellent training, Master TiTi,” she said. “By all means, please continue. However, note that our regular training will also continue, and you will have to coordinate with the Reeve on schedules.”

She walked off toward the village where her horse and mounted escort waited. Somphone stayed to hear the continuing review of the game once it started again, and began to contribute his own observations.

Whether intentionally or not he offered one remarkably silly suggestion, and TT was gratified to see his students jump on it, pointing out its painfully obvious deficiencies.

All in all, a most successful day, TT thought.

A few days later, as they jogged through the forest along the riverbank, TT suddenly stopped.

“That water looks very cold, don’t you think?”

Everybody just looked at him... they’d gotten used to his seemingly innocuous comments by now.

“I feel an urgent need to get to the other side, but really don’t want to get my feet wet,” he continued. “And because I’m old and my eyesight is so poor, I really have to get to the other side and home to Farlaway before sundown.

“I figure the sun will drop below the mountains in another forty-five minutes or so... and it will take me about fifteen minutes to get back to Farlaway from here... so you have about thirty minutes to get me a bridge across this river! MOVE IT!”

It was a bridge consisting of a tree trunk with two parallel vine ropes to keep him from slipping off into the water, but it was a bridge, and it was done with time to spare.

It helped that everyone was packing a sword or axe, of course, but even so it would have been difficult without someone taking charge.

He was almost proud, and everyone got an ale that night.

Every night he talked with Somphone about tactics, adapting his own training (which was based on firearms) to the shorter-range combats of the Dreamlands. Somphone, meanwhile, explained how combat worked here, where firearms were almost unheard of.

They developed a strong training program that would be added to the existing program at Farlaway, training his select group in small-unit operations.

TT began to wonder why Somphone was so interested in working with him on it, until one morning he found out why.

“You are bound for Celephaïs tomorrow, Master TiTi, together with young Roach.”

“I... What? Celephaïs? Why?”

“You agreed with me last night that I had a good understanding of your methods,” explained Somphone, “It’s time for you to return to Commander Jake and help strengthen his force. I hear that you will be installed as a sergeant.”

“A sergeant?” TT laughed. “Well, I was a Gunnery Sergeant before, so I guess it makes sense.”

“You know Captain Danryce?”

“Yeah, sure... met him in the Eastern Desert when Thuba Mleen was after us. Big guy, swings one hell of a big sword, too.”

“You’ll be in his twelve, it seems.”

“Good. Can’t wait to get back out in the field... I mean, training your kids is a lotta fun and all that, but that’s not really what I signed up for.”

“My kids!” laughed Somphone. “I’ll tell them you said that.”

“And Roach goes with me?”

“Yes, Mistress Mochizuki and I agreed that he should stay with you for now. You are bonding far better than we had hoped, and we believe you will help him attain his full potential.”

“He’s got some amazing talents, that for sure. And some real problems, I’m afraid.”

“Such as...?”

“You know he kills animals, right? And presumably people...”

Somphone signed.

“Yes, unfortunately. He doesn’t torture them, and he doesn’t even seem to enjoy the killing... it’s the same as eating lunch, or belching, to him. He’s fascinated by death, and the process of change from life to death.

“Fortunately, far less now that before, though we can’t tell if that’s because he is mellowing, or simply tired from all your training.”

“Killing is just a part of my job, too, but it’s something to be avoided unless necessary.”

“As it is for us, as it is for us,” said Somphone. “I was a very good spy, but not so good an assassin.

“Be that as it may, Roach will also help you improve the monastery’s defenses against other spies and assassins. He sees things differently from a fighter and may have some invaluable suggestions.”

“I’m sure he will,” agreed TT. “His comments in our after-action reviews are always spot-on, although he usually just sits and listens.”

“I believe Captain Rutger will also visit the monastery in the near future,” continued Somphone. “Or possibly someone else from the King’s Guard.”

“The King’s Guard is involved in all this, too?”

TT made a face.

“I’m not a big fan of complicated oversight, even if Rutger is at least a military man.”

“Commander Jake is in charge there, as always.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that story before, but we’ll see.”

The next morning TT and Roach left for Celephaïs, escorted by six of his former students, reaching it in the late afternoon to be greeted at the Boreas Gate in the outer wall by Captain Rutger himself.

He welcomed them and offered his escort lodging for the night, which they gratefully accepted. They’d head back the following day.

Rutger escorted them to one of the barracks used by the King’s Guard, located in the merchant’s quarter, facing the Street of Pillars. It had immediate access to the Cirque of Moon—the huge park encircling the Pinnacle—but was also positioned so the guards could block the gate there at any time, if needed, preventing access to the Pinnacle and the Palace.

He felt right at home when he saw the off-duty guards lounging, dressing their weapons, playing cards, and generally acting like bored soldiers everywhere. His professional eye noted that while there was considerable variation in clothing, they all wore sturdy clothing selected for ease of movement. Leather harnesses were common, everybody had a dagger at their hip, and most of them sported at least one scar somewhere.

Roach hung back quietly, taking it all in.

“You grew up here, right?” asked TT.

“Yes, in the marketplace... I only tried to enter the barracks once, and that was the Watch... they chased me out and it wasn’t worth the risk to try again.”

“Never had a run-in with the King’s Guard, then?”

Roach laughed.

“Commander Britomartis and the King were probably about to cut my head off when Mistress Mochizuki claimed me for one of her own. The constables—the Watch, that is—knew me very well.”

“You’ve met Britomartis?”

“Briefly, yes. She was a bit upset with me when I killed one of the Poietes.”

“What’s a Poietes?”

“Sort of a noble. They give the title to experts in various arts, like poetry or dance or whatever. Poietes is for men, and Poietria for women. I think the guy I stuck was into martial arts or something.”

“And you killed him.”

“Well, he tried to take me and a girl hostage, and gave me an opening. Stuck a knife in his eye.”

TT just sat there, speechless.

“And this was a few years ago, and you’re like, seventeen or so now? So you must have been, um, maybe ten or twelve?”

“Yeah, probably. Don’t know how old I am,” said Roach.

“Yeah, I can see why the Watch might be a bit taken back by that,” agreed TT. “And why Mochizuki thought you had potential.”

Rutger had said the airship would depart very early the next day, and while they were free to see Celephaïs if they wished, they were to be back to the barracks by dawn.

The guards around them were polite, of course, but they were obviously outsiders, and treated as such.

“How ’bout you show me the sights, kid? Eat some city food, live it up a little?”

“I’ve never seen the sights in Celephaïs...”

“What, you grew up here, right?”

“Yes, but... the sights where I grew up are not very interesting, I’m afraid. Begging, stealing, a little robbery. The Watch and I rarely visited the same types of places...”

“Ever wanted to eat in one? Like a real customer?”

Roach grinned, nodded.

“OK, let’s go. You pick the place, and I’ll treat you.”

“I know just the place!”

Roach led the way out into the dusk-lit city, walking along the cleared space on the outside of the Wall of Aglaea toward The Lofts: the entertainment district.

“The Watch doesn’t let people build anything on the outside of the wall more than one story high,” he explained. A lot of people do it anyway, but eventually the Watch comes along and tears it down.”

“Defensive measure,” nodded TT. “Anyone ever attacked the city?”

Roach shrugged.

“Sorry, don’ know. They’re pretty serious about their walls, though.”

They crossed Cornwall Avenue, and suddenly the streets were full of barkers and peddlers, all doing their very best to painlessly separate visitors from their cash.

The air was full of sound: women laughing, singing, the sound of drumming feet, some stringed instrument being plucked, horses, a constant murmur of voice, voices, voices... They were bombarded by a rich stew of smells, from perfume and incense to spice, soy sauce, wine, horse manure, vomit... TT loved it.

Roach led him deeper into the tumult, finally emerging from the maze at a small plaza, in front of a public bath. Facing the bath was a whitewashed, two-story building with a row of red paper lanterns hanging all the way along the wall. A well-weathered sign above the door read “Mi’s Place,” and Roach pointed at the door.

“Granny Mi used to give me leftovers sometimes, but I always wanted to sit in front...”

“Well, then let’s go do that right now,” said TT. He put his hand on Roach’s shoulder and they walked up to the open doorway together.

The big man next to the door—the bouncer, TT guessed—held up his hand to stop them.

“You Roach?”

“No, my name is Rogier,” said Roach, seriously.

“We’re here as guests of Captain Rutger of the King’s Guard,” explained TT. “And we’re paying customers, too.”

He handed the bouncer a gold coin to emphasize the point.

“There used to be a kid who looked a lot like you, named Roach... came around here a lot,” said the bouncer, but let them pass.

It was dim inside, the only light a variety of oil lamps and lanterns suspended here and there amid the gloom. The floor was dotted with small table, most built high for standing but a few groupings surrounded by chairs for larger, more leisurely groups.

In the center of the room, surrounded by larger lanterns fitted with reflectors, was the stage. It was raised about a meter off the floor, connected to the back by a curtained door. Most of the stage protruded onto the floor, so customers could see it more easily.

TT had a good idea just what sort of establishment this was, and he suspected the cooking was probably not what made it so popular.

And it was popular... every chair was taken, many of them occupied by two people in a very friendly position, and the standing tables were packed.

Waiters circulated through the room—along with bouncers, TT noticed—handing out drinks and collecting coins in payment. Cash transactions only. No surprise there, he thought.

He laid claim to one of the remaining tables, a standing table off to the side. The view was partially blocked by a pillar, but they could still see most of the stage.

A waitress glanced in their direction, and he waved her over.

“Two ales. You got any food?”

She put two large mugs of ale on the table from her tray, and held out her hand.

“Sure. Beef, venison, fish, horse, deino, chicken... you name it. What’ll it be?”

He slapped some coins into her palm; they vanished promptly.

“I’ve never had deino,” he said to Roach. “How ’bout you?”

“Beef. I want beef!”

“Beef and deino, please. Big plates,” he said, and handed her another coin. “And bring more ale when you come back, too.”

The waitress danced off into the crowd, selling drinks as she went. Her tray was emptying fast.

TT sipped his ale and watched the crowd.

It was mostly men, as he expected, but there were a few women mixed into the spectators. Of course there were women circulating among the men, seeking customers for a quick trip upstairs, but he ignored them.

Looked like a broad cross-section of the city, too, he thought... maybe more laborers and fishermen than he’d expected, but there were a number of fighters mixed in, a few plump dudes in rich clothes (sitting at one of the tables, of course), some scruffy, rough-dressed men he figured must be hunters or just plain bandits, and others.

Just as their food arrived, heaps of roast meat on platters as he had ordered, a drum started pounding in the back somewhere and the noise of the crowd rose sharply. A few catcalls broke out.

Roach immediately attacked his meat, cramming it in as if someone would snatch it away too soon.

TT tried a bit of deino... it wasn’t bad, he thought. Pretty chewy, but a nice mix of sweet and sour flavors. He thought maybe the meat was a little sour, and the sauce they’d poured over it provided the sweet. And the fire!

Damn! that sauce really snuck up on you! He slugged down the rest of his ale and hurriedly reached for the new one the waitress had brought.

Pity it wasn’t cold. Whatever, it was good stuff.

The girls came out dressed in something filmy that trailed in the air as they moved and hid most of the things the men had come to see. It wasn’t long before the beat picked up and the girls began to dance, with bits and pieces of veils and flimsy scarf-like things floating into the air to be snatched up by eager men.

TT noticed that while Roach continued to shovel in the food, his pace had dropped off a bit, and his eyes spent more time on the stage than the platter. Well, he was probably seventeen or eighteen, he guessed... suddenly very interested in the other sex. And probably a virgin, he realized...

It only took a few minutes for the first coin to hit the stage, and the pace picked up quickly until the whole stage floor was glittering. The girls—he hoped they were getting their cut of that—we mostly naked now, making vain attempts to dance while concealing their assets, and simultaneously advertising them.

Two of them began petting each other in the middle of the stage as the music began to crescendo, and suddenly one of the watching men reached out to grab one of the dancer’s legs. She stumbled, caught herself, and kicked him smack in the face as everyone shouted and two bouncers moved in. The show went on.

They dragged the offender off toward the back, where an old lady stood, watching and waiting.

“That’s Granny Mi!” said Roach, staring.

She snapped her head up and stared back, somehow hearing him in spite of the noise from the stage. She broke into a big grin, which vanished again when the bouncers arrived with their catch. They all slipped through curtain into the back.

“What’ll they do to that guy?”

“Cut off a finger,” said Roach, shrugging. “Granny Mi doesn’t let anyone bother the dancers, and that’s the rules. One touch, one finger... she lets them choose which one, though.”

“But there are plenty of women working the floor. I think I saw one guy, too,” said TT.

“Yeah, but they’re different from the dancers. The dancers are special, and expensive.”

A few minutes later one of the bouncers approached their table.

TT saw him coming and tensed... he wasn’t here to start a fight, and didn’t want one started for him.

The bouncer merely nodded, and turned to Roach.

“Master Roach? The Grandmother wants to see you.”

Roach put his drink down, but before he could move TT placed his hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Mind if I come too?”

“The Grandmother said both of you,” grunted the bouncer, and turned away toward the back.

He let Roach go, and walked with him after the bouncer, which was surprisingly easy in spite of the crowding because everyone did their best to get out of his way as soon as they saw him coming.

They stepped through the curtain into the back.

TT saw the chairs, and the butcher’s knife standing diagonally up in the table. The tabletop was bloody, but there was no obvious finger. No sign of the man they’d dragged back here, either... presumably he went out the back door. Or was thrown, more likely.

Granny Mi—The Grandmother—held her arms wide, welcoming Roach like the prodigal son returned. She hugged him close, whispering something to him as she hugged him tight.

She was dressed in baggy pants, some blue fabric covered in embroidered flowers, and a loose, caftan-like top of white. She was also wearing at least a dozen necklaces of multi-colored stones—maybe gems?—and every finger seemed to have a ring on it.

Her face was wrinkled, and wisps of white hair stuck out from under the red-and-white checked headscarf tired under her chin.

Her eyes were a piercing, pale blue, checking him out in an instant and pretty clearly not missing a thing.

She finally released Roach, holding his hand like a little boy.

“And so you are Master TiTi...”

“You know my name!?”

“Yes, you arrived earlier with my little Roach. I know.”

She looked fondly at Roach again.

“Not so little anymore, is he? Are you to thank for that?”

“He and I are, uh, partners. I’m helping train him.”

“I saw who you came with... I know what he’s being trained for, but you do not seem to be a Kingfisher. Your bearing is more straightforward.”

“I’ve always been in the military, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? So you’re from Wakeworld, then?”

“Yes, but here for good now, it seems.”

“Come, join me,” she invited, pointing down the hallway to another door. “My old bones need to rest a bit.”

She didn’t walk like an old lady with creaky bones... she strode briskly, and waved her fingers at the chunky woman guarding the door. The guard opened the door for her and got out of the way, because The Grandmother didn’t even slow down. She just kept walking at the same speed, confident that the door would be open by the time she got there.

And it was, of course.

She walked through first, without even a glance at the guard, followed by Roach almost on her heels, and a bemused TT behind.

The room was a rainbow of color... rugs of every description cover the floor, small and large, overlapping at random. Cushions were scattered here and there, no two alike and none with less than half a dozen colors. Tapestries covered the walls, at least two or three layers in places, some abstract patterns, others scenes or fanciful beasts. Even the ceiling had fabric hanging, like an awning, hiding the wood above.

She lifted an enormous gray cat from a cushion and sat upon it herself, placing the cat on her lap, gesturing to them with her other hand to sit.

TT sat after carefully checking that there were no more cats occupying that cushion. Roach immediately sat down next to The Grandmother, and an orange-and black cat promptly approached and demanded attention.

He looked about the room again, and noticed that there were at least a dozen cats there, hidden among the fabric and the colors.

Something butted against his leg—sure enough, a cat. A kitten, actually... no, two kittens, one black with white paws and the other grey-striped. He scratched them, and discovered once again that kittens had very sharp claws. His legs were bare, and he was hard pressed to scritch them enough to stop them from tearing his legs to ribbons.

“I see you like cats, Master TiTi,” said The Grandmother. “And they appear to like you.”

“I would like them better if they would stop stabbing me,” he said, picking up the black kitten and setting it down on an adjacent cushion. He tried rocking the cushion with his foot to keep it amused, but it came back to him immediately.

The Grandmother clapped her hands, once, and immediately a young woman dressed in a simple white tunic entered the room from behind one of the tapestries, which appeared to conceal a door, and at The Grandmother’s command collected the kittens, taking them off elsewhere.

“Perhaps some tea, Master TiTi?”

“Thank you, ma’a.... uh, Grandmother.”

She smiled, revealing perfect, white teeth.

Two more women, similarly dressed in white tunics, came in carrying trays of tea and various fruit and sweets.

“Would you like some more beef, little Roach?”

“Yes please, Granny Mi.”

She smiled again, like a grandmother playing with her favorite grandchild, and leaned closer, grasping his earlobe in his fingers.

“You will address me as Grandmother, Roach.”

Roach sat up straight, eyes momentarily wide.

“Yes, Grandmother! Forgive me, Grandmother!”

She let go of his ear, and patted him on the head.

“Good boy.”

TT noticed a little blood on Roach’s ear... her fingernails were long, and pointed, he realized.

“Now, then,” she said, turning to TT, “you say you’re training him?”

“Yes. I have some skills that, um, his current trainers seem to lack,” he replied, not sure how much of a secret Farlaway and Mochizuki might be.

She laughed.

“Oh, dear. No need to play coy here, Master TiTi—I know all about Farlaway and its Mistress!”

“So you know what he’s being trained as, then...”

“Of course! He’ll make a wonderful spy and assassin, I have no doubt,” she said, beaming as if her son had brought home a straight-A report card. “And what skills do you possess? Surely you have little to teach Mistress Mochizuki about spying!”

“I’m a soldier, ma’a... Grandmother. I’m helping them learn how to operate in teams.”

“In teams...”

She thought that one over for a minute.

“They’ve almost always operated alone. I wonder what the Mistress is planning next...”

“Their plans are hidden from me, too, I’m afraid... I’m just the hired help.”

He took a sip of the tea: something hot and spicy. Cinnamon, maybe, and... ginger?

“You seem to be more than a mere burlesque operator, Grandmother,” he ventured.

“I’m sure Roach has told you, Master TiTi. I run The Lofts.”

“The whole entertainment district, you mean?”

“Everything between the two interior walls, from the Tanarian Way to Cornwall Avenue, is mine, one way or another.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re part of the city government...”

“Hardly,” she laughed, “but I do have my say.”

“You raised Roach?”

“The city raised him: the markets, Low City, the sea wharfs, the streets and the sewers. I merely helped him when he needed it, recognizing his unique gifts.”

“Unique gifts indeed.”

A young man came in carrying a tray with roasted meat (beef, of course), vegetables, fruit, and even an astonishing bowl of ice cream!

The Grandmother indicated a table to set it down on, and pushed Roach in that direction.

“Eat, Roach. You’re bigger than you were but not big enough.”

As Roach concentrated on the food, the two of them were almost alone.

“And you, Master TiTi? As Roach’s guest, by all means feel at ease to request anything you might like.”

“Uh, thank you, Grandmother,” he said. “Why Roach? The name I mean.”

“Why not? It’s what people called him, and it’s his. Not as strange as TiTi, I note.”

It was TT’s turn to laugh.

“Yeah, well, my name’s actually Thomas T. Highweigh, former Gunnery Sergeant in the United States Marine Corp. TT is a lot easier to say.”

“And why did you come here?”

“Roach said he’d always wanted to eat here, so we did.”

“Just eat?”

“He didn’t mention what type of establishment it was, Grandmother, and I didn’t ask.”

He thought for a moment, then decided to ask anyway.

“You know, he’s got some issues, the kid. He is incredibly talented, both mentally and physically, but he likes death a little too much, he can’t read or write, and he doesn’t have any friends.”

“I had thought I was the only friend he had, but I see now he has found another. It’s obvious he looks up to you. So?”

“So he’s a man now, even if he will keep growing a bit more. The right woman could give him an awful lot of confidence that might help.”

“My, you are a very forthright man, Gunnery Sergeant Thomas T. Highweigh!” she laughed. “And you would be seeking ‘the right woman’ for yourself, I imagine?”

“Well, I hadn’t planned on it, but that floor show of yours did stir my imagination a little...”

She clapped again, and one of the women came trotting in.

“Escort Master TiTi to Estina’s room. When Roach is finished, escort him to Sigrata. Both Estina and Sigrata are to attend to them until...”

She turned back to TT.

“...until when?”

“We have to be back at the Guard barracks by dawn, but really I don’t...”

“Do not refuse one of my gifts, Master TiTi. Until the Hour of the Retreating Tiger.”

“Yes, Grandmother.”

TT worked it out in his head... that would be the second half of the Hour of the Tiger, which meant, um, from 04:00 to 05:00 hours. Yeah, that’d work.

“Estina?”

“A young lady from Perdóndaris I think you will find amusing. You do like blondes?”

“I... Yeah, love ’em!”

TT gave up and decided to just enjoy it.

He didn’t get as much sleep that night as he had planned, because he did indeed like blondes, and it turned out that Estina was one of the most beautiful women he had ever had the pleasure of. Not to mention talented...

Roach was very quiet as they walked back to the barracks that morning.

TT grinned and swatted him on the back.

“No more ‘kid’ for you, Master Roach,” he said. “You’re a man now.”

Roach stood up a little straighter but didn’t reply.

Captain Rutger and the airship were waiting when they arrived.

Chapter 12

“Airship approaching! Flying the colors of Celephaïs!”

At the lookout’s call Nadeen’s twelve raced to their scorpions, crewing the key stations around the enclosing wall. If it was a serious threat and more were needed, the trained staff from Ridhi’s twelve would join them. They didn’t have enough troops—yet—to crew all the scorpions and still be able to mount a defense of the gates.

Nadeen’s station was at the tower scorpion, and as she got it cocked and loaded she checked to see that everyone else was on the ball.

They were.

She’d run them ragged for the last few weeks until they knew where to go and what to do even in their sleep.

Come to think of it, she’d had them do it in the middle of the night a few times, and they might have been asleep!

The airship, a fairly small one probably with a crew of three, floated up level with the wall, taking it slow and easy so Nadeen and the others could see they posed no threat.

They were flying the pink rose on green, the pennant of Celephaïs, and as they got closer Nadeen could make out TT standing on the rear deck.

“They’re friendly! Stand down!” she called, and descended the tower to go greet them.

The crews unloaded the bolts and released the tension on the cords, gingerly. Even without a bolt loaded, the cords themselves could seriously injure someone if they weren’t careful.

The airship floated up to the bollard on the cliff wall, and one of the crew threw the hawser to one of Nadeen’s men, who pulled the airship in closer and looped it over the bollard. The board-and-chain gangplank was set up, and their visitors came over.

“Master TiTi! Welcome to Fort Campbell!” called Nadeen, climbing up the ladder to the wall walkway. “We didn’t know you were coming back so soon; just got the message yesterday.”

“Hi, Nadeen... uh, Captain Nadeen. Congratulations on your promotion!”

She grinned.

“Took long enough! Danryce’s a captain now, too, you know... you’re his sergeant.”

“Great! Danny and I get along fine,” nodded TT, slinging his ruck up onto one shoulder. “This is Master Roach. He’s, uh, someone I’m training.”

She gave Roach a little nod, “Nadeen of Lhosk, in charge of fort defense.”

“Roach of Celephaïs.”

“You’re with the King?”

“He’s one of Mochizuki’s people,” said TT. “And a lot older than he looks; don’t be fooled.”

They walked to the stairs at the end of the roof and descended to the ground.

The air stank of horse urine: they were right next to Alchemist Mintran’s niter bed, where he produced saltpeter for gunpowder. Most of the odor escaped through the numerous arrow slits in the cliff wall, but there was still enough left to make them hurry past.

“Fort Campbell, huh? Figures... That was his base, you know, back in Wakeworld.”

“Yes, he told me. He’s named his company now, too... see the flag?”

She pointed to the pennant flying near the main gate, a bold gold scorpion on a bright red field.

“Scorpius Company.”

“Nasty little buggers, scorpions... used to have a lot of them back home, and you learn not to mess with ’em pretty fast.”

“There are not too many around here,” said Nadeen, “but Thuba Mleen and his desert troops will understand it just fine.”

Jake was in his residence-cum-office, as usual.

“TT! Good to see you again!” he said, leaping up to shake, then pull TT in for a quick slap on the back.

“Good to be here, Jake. Real good.”

“Danny’s out on patrol with his twelve right now, but is supposed to be back this evening. He’s held your slot open, you know.”

“Yeah, Nadeen told me. Be good to get out in the field again.”

“How’s the gut? I thought you were gone.”

“All better. Thanks to a little black magic up in the clouds there, and a nice long recovery at Mochizuki’s little hideaway.”

“Good,” said Jake. “And who’s this?”

“This is Roach,” said TT. “Jake’s the Commander here.”

“Jake of Penglai.”

“Roach of Celephaïs.”

“He looks a little...”

“Yeah, I know. He looks a little young. He’s not, don’t worry,” assured TT. “And he can beat half the people here, probably.”

“And why’s he here?”

“He and I are a pair, for now... I’m training him up, and he’s teaching me a hell of a lot at the same time. He’d be dynamite on LRRPs.”

“That’s something we’ll have to get into soon, I think,” nodded Jake. “All our patrols stay pretty close for now, because we’re pretty thin on the ground, but once we beef things up a bit I want to start up a few long-range recon patrols.”

“I want to be in them, sir.”

“You will be, TT, because Danny’s twelve is special tactics.”

“Good. Anyone else here I know?”

“As it happens,...” said Jake, “here’s someone you know right now.”

Ridhi walked in with more tea.

“Mistress Ridhi!”

“Sergeant TiTi! Welcome back!” she said, setting the tray down on the table.

“Good to see you back on your feet!”

“Well, back on one and half feet, I think. No more marches for me.”

“Captain Ridhi is in charge of keeping the fort running,” explained Jake, “and doing one hell of job.

“Nadeen’s twelve is tasked with fort defense, working with Nadeen’s twelve as appropriate—her staff is more logistics and maintenance rather than combat, but they’re all on defense when needed.

“Danny and Long are training up for outside work, including merc jobs, but we haven’t been getting very many of those lately... people are getting scared of Thuba Mleen’s activity.

“We lost two people in the last few months, and the slots were filled with some mercs we captured. They’d been working for Thuba Mleen, spying on the fort.”

“You let them in!?”

“They’re pros, and everyone here agrees it’s perfectly reasonable once they give their bond. Which they did. One decided to stay on as fort staff with Ridhi, too. Woman named Beth.

“I was a little hesitant myself, but hey, this is the Dreamlands, right?”

“Not real happy with that...”

“It’s been working out fine. One guy we put into your six, in fact. An older veteran named Kareem. He knows this area very well, and is a pretty canny tactician. I think you’ll like him, once you get to know him.”

“So he was a merc?”

“Yup. Still is, really, but now he works for me.”

“What happened to the rest of them?”

“They said they wouldn’t attack us again and left,” said Jake. “Yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but everyone treated it as normal... and trustworthy.”

“Well, if you’re convinced I’m willing to give it a try, but I’m not gonna turn my back on him just yet, if that’s OK with you.”

“Turn your back on who?” came a voice from the doorway. “Your back’s to me now, you scoundrel!”

“Sergeant Long!”

TT jumped up and went to greet him.

“That’s Captain Long to you, Sergeant TiTi,” scolded Long, smiling. “Good to see you again.”

“Geez, everybody’s a captain but me!”

“If you hadn’t come back pretty soon I was thinking about putting someone else in that empty slot,” said Jake. “We need to get all the troops hot and ready.”

“So just four twelves, then? Danny and these three?” pointing at Nadeen, Ridhi, and Long.

“Six. Captain Beghara has her own twelve, and just last week we got a whole new Ibizim twelve to work with us. Each twelve has an embedded Ibizim, of course, but this new twelve is pretty damn amazing in the desert.”

“I’m not too keen on running around the desert if I can avoid it,” said TT. “Wasn’t much fun the last time I tried it.”

“And we’re expecting a heavy twelve from Celephaïs, with a special surprise.”

“What’s a ‘heavy’ twelve?”

“Eighteen people,” said Long. “One Captain, one or two sergeants.”

“It’s not standard,” added Nadeen, “but sometimes happens after a battle when a couple twelves are too degraded.”

“Is that what happened here?”

Jake smiled. “Nope.”

“And you’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Nope. Need to know,” said Jake smugly. “But you’ll find out soon enough, because they should be here within a week.”

“Which suggests overland, and not by airship.”

“If you say so!”

“Thanks for nothing, Jake.”

“My pleasure.”

Beghara arrived then to welcome TT home, and then offered to take him on a tour of the fort. Nadeen said she’d come along, but Jake and Long had business to attend to. Roach said he wanted to wander around, and Jake said to go ahead. He wandered off toward the stables.

The fort was bustling, even with the Ibizim twelve camped outside the walls, on the grassland below. They had three sand lizards with them, and he discovered that Yargui, the Ibizim who’s saved Jake and Nadeen and was now in his twelve, had her own sand lizard with her, too.

He wondered how to fit a lizard the size of a big dog into tactical operations.

Most of the troopers he saw sported red scorpion patches on their harnesses, or somewhere else visible.

“Captain Ridhi says the rest are coming from Ilarnek and should be here any day now, but there just aren’t very many seamstresses out here in the country.”

“Everyone seems to be pretty proud of it.”

“It makes us a stronger group.”

“What’s with the barracks in the church?” asked TT.

“You’ll have to ask Jake about that,” said Nadeen. “We’re keeping the reason quiet for now.”

“I think everyone knows already, you know... I’ve heard a few whispers,” said Beghara. “But it’s the Commander’s decision.”

“Wonderful,” said TT. “Another secret.”

A horn sounded from one of the guards on the wall.

“Sounds like Captain Danryce is back!”

He was indeed back, and rode through the main gate shortly.

His entire twelve—well, eleven, actually, since TT hadn’t been with them—was mounted on horses and armed with bows. Apparently they’d been practicing archery and horsemanship while he’d been gone.

Not to mention hunting! The horses also carried five deer, arrow-shot but not yet dressed.

Danny swung off his horses and handed the reins to one of his troopers.

“Sergeant TiTi! You’re back!”

Danny gave him a big backslap, but this time TT was expecting it, and braced for impact.

“Hey, Danny. Good to see ya! Nice fat deer!”

“Yeah, we were scouting down towards Drinen, near the river, and saw this nice big herd grazing. Figured Captain Ridhi wouldn’t mind more fresh meat.”

Ridhi’s people had already dragged the carcasses off to for dressing. They’d have venison tonight.

“So I hear you’re going to revolutionize combat for me,” said Danny.

“I don’t think you need any help fighting, Danny,” said TT. “You’ve been doing it for longer than I have. But I do have some ideas on training and tactics you might find useful.”

“Maybe. We’ll see, though, one way or another.”

“He’s brought a baby Kingfisher with him, too,” added Beghara. “Quiet kid.”

“Quiet, yeah, but he’s no kid!” said TT, jumping to his defense. “You’ll see.”

“One of Mochizuki’s people... Why’s he here?”

“Him and me, we’re a team now, Danny. I’m training him, and he’s training me, a little.”

“So is he in your six now?”

“Well... that’d be your decision. But I don’t think so,” said TT. “He’s just an observer for now, but if things go south he’ll be a good man to have around.”

“Will he follow orders?”

“Ah, mm, yeah, I think so.”

“Not a very convincing answer, Sergeant.”

“I’ll keep him out of the way, Captain.”

“Good. Do that,” grunted Danny. “Now let me get my horse settled down.”

TT accompanied Danny toward the stables, and Beghara and Nadeen begged off to attend to their own affairs.

The rest of his twelve were already there, taking off harnesses and saddled, and making sure their horses were in good shape.

Horsemaster Turan scurried around checking each horse individually, relaxing them with pats or pieces of apple, and making sure they had plenty of fresh straw. Water was constantly running through the trough, so that wasn’t a problem.

Roach was standing off to the side, just watching. He seemed especially interested in the new colts, only weeks old. There were three of them, two all black and one a sort of mottled brown-and-back mix, and they all seemed healthy.

TT noticed that one of the blacks was always by itself, though, and the other colts shied away from it whenever it approached. It didn’t seem scared, though... pranced right up to Roach and they examined each other for a while.

“That’s Storm,” said Danny, indicating the odd black with his chin. “The other black one is Thunder, and the brownish one is Meatball. No, I had nothing to do with picking their names.”

“Meatball?”

Danny shrugged.

“Storm doesn’t seem to get along with the other horses very well, but he loves people. Seems to love the Commander most of all, runs to greet him, tries to lick him at every opportunity.”

“So what’s so special about them, all the secrecy and everything?”

Danny hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

“Master Chuang and the Horsemaster did something to the broodmares when they were pregnant. They say these colts are going to be a lot smarter than any horses we’ve ever seen. Maybe as smart as people, but I’m having trouble believing that.”

“They look like ordinary horses to me.”

“Yeah, they do... but if they get hungry they open their own stalls, open the door to the feed shed, and help themselves. The Horsemaster said it’s happened a few times already, and she suspects they’ve gotten into other mischief, too.”

“Sounds like fresh recruits to me...”

Danny laughed.

“It does at that!”

Danny gestured at one of his men who was helping get the horses settled down.

“Beorhtwig! Over here!”

The man, holding a saddle in his hands, looked over and nodded, then turned to carry the saddle into the stable. He came back out in a moment, and walked over, slapping his hands on his leather skirt.

“Captain?”

“Beorhtwig, this is Sergeant TiTi,” he said, then turned to TT. “He’s been acting sergeant in your absence, and doing a helluva job at it.”

“TT of Preston.”

“Beorhtwig of Daikos.”

They didn’t shake, as TT would have expected a world ago, but studied each other, and liked what they saw. Beorhtwig was pretty young, maybe mid-twenties TT guessed, but he looked ready: battle-worn gear but well cared-for, long sword fitted with a quickdraw sheath, weathered face.

TT noticed he was missing a finger on his left hand, but didn’t mention it.

That evening Jake was the weekly meeting with all the captains, and as he walked over toward Jake’s quarters with Danny, he asked about the missing finger.

“He’s pretty sensitive about that,” said Danny. “They have wyverns up in Daikos, where he’s from, and it’s a pretty big thing to tame one. Apparently he wanted to be a wyver-master, and tried to catch one. The only way to tame one is to earn its trust, then give it a piece of you so it learns your smell—and taste. He became friends with one and when it tried to bite him, he let it, thinking that was his chance... turned out the wyvern wasn’t that friendly after all, just hungry.

“It ruined him for a while, and he wandered around as a merc until eventually he ended up here.

“Damn fine soldier, but I think he still wants to fly.”

“Flying wyverns, huh? That’d be a pretty damn impressive air force...”

“Shantaks’d be better.”

“What’s a shantak?”

“Forget it, shouldn’t have brought it up,” said Danny. “Wyverns are natural, shantaks are... something else.

“If I saw a wyvern coming my way I might think about trying to fight it; if it was a shantak I’d run as fast and far as I could.”

“How do they hold up again bullets?”

“Against bullets...?” Danny thought about that one for a minute. “No idea... You’d need a whole lot of bullets to hurt one, I think. I’d rather not have to find out.”

Jake’s place had a huge, low table set up in the main room, and a handful of staff preparing for dinner. It seemed they were the last ones to arrive, and Danny introduced him to Ibizim.

“Khasar of the Blue Eagle,” he said. He was an older man, greying hair chopped short, mid-fifties Danny thought, and looked like he could fight off a pack of wolves bare-handed.

“He’s a bagatur, which is basically the Ibizim word for captain,” said Danny. “They usually have twelve swords, too, but often no sergeant on the other six. He doesn’t have one.”

“I’ve heard good things about you, Sergeant TiTi,” said the Ibizim. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Jake said you Ibizim were pretty good in a fight,” returned TT. “The pleasure’s mine.”

Jake walked up with two mugs of ale and handed one to each of them.

“Glad you too finally met. Grab a cushion, eat, relax. We’ll talk later.”

The captains were scattered around the table in no particular order than TT could see, sitting or reclining on the cushions. The staff made sure food and drink were available, under Ridhi Chabra’s watchful gaze.

She was at the table as well, of course, sitting with one leg under her and the other stretched out at an angle.

He looked around the room: Ridhi, Jake, Nadeen, Beghara, Danny, Khasar, Horsemaster Turan, and Einar Ibrahimson, the big blacksmith from Perdóndaris. Mintran would normally have been there, too, but not this time.

Nadeen, Beghara, and Danny sported red-and-gold scorpion patches, as did the Horsemaster.

Roach hadn’t been invited.

They talked about all sorts of things, and TT quickly picked up the latest gossip about the fort. Things seemed to be settling down, units tightening up, fort defenses improving, patrols covering a greater area than before... Jake’s Company was growing, and growing fast.

Later, the food cleared up and teapots and cups placed strategically here and there, Jake started the real meeting.

“Sergeant TT here is in Captain Danryce’s twelve, but he will be working with me on a number of things: training, first aid, small unit tactics, intelligence, communications... I’ve already started work on a number of areas, but now that he’s here he’ll be taking over.

“I expect you to work with him to make this work... and to tell him, or me, about anything you’re unhappy with. Your twelves are yours, but TT and I are convinced some of these ideas will prove invaluable to you, and to the Company.”

“Danny, anything to report on your patrol?”

“Not really... we went east past the village, then followed the treeline south toward Drinen, until we reached the river. We checked out a few of the trails through the Mohagger Mountains and found no signs they’d be used by more than an occasional hunter. Camped out near the river, and came back through the grasslands west of the village. Pretty quiet.”

“Nadeen, how are the fort defenses doing?”

“All the scorpions are secure, with bolts ready. My twelve is ready to go at a moment’s notice, and Captain Ridhi’s people are trained. Everybody knows their station, and what to do if things go sour.”

“Long?”

“We scouted through the mountains to the north yesterday. That outlook is still empty, although we didn’t climb up to verify. Yargui and Aashika Chabra both said we were being watched by someone, but we saw no signs of any enemy force.

“My guess is a scouting party from the other side, and we’re used to those.”

“Beghara?”

“They are getting used to mounted tactics, and most of them are pretty good with both lance and saber now. We’ve had to pull two horses because they refused to charge a line, but I think the dozen we have now are ready.

“Thanks for Master Einar, they’re well-protected, too. That orichalc-reinforced chain mail armor he came up with is light and strong.”

“Any chance of getting some of that for our troops, too?” asked Nadeen.

“I’m trying to find the best panel size now,” said Einar. “If the panels are too big they impede movement, and if they’re too small all the chain connecting them leaves a lot of openings. Captain Beghara has a few sample now; I’ll be happy to give you a few to try, if you like.”

“Yes, please. If we have to defend the fort we’ll be stuck in place, pretty much, and I’d love anything that helps protect us.”

Einar nodded.

“Bagatur Khasar?”

“We scouted west to the foot of the Mohaggers. A large group of men and wagons has crossed the mountains there into the grasslands, but they entered one of the trade routes and we were unable to determine where they’ve gone.

“We didn’t see any evidence that it was soldiers, but I can’t imagine a caravan taking that route... there are shorter and easier roads from Toldees and Mondath, and no other cities that way for a caravan to call at... my guess is it came over the mountains from Gak or somewhere in the Eastern Desert.”

“Thuba Mleen’s troops, you mean.”

“Yes. That’s my guess, Commander.”

Jake moved a teapot from the table to the floor, and spread the map of the area out, placing empty cups on the edges to hold it flat.

“The Mohagger range and the Lake of Sarnath are natural barriers between us and the desert, but they are far too large for us to patrol effectively. Or at all.

“If we had more airships... but we don’t, and the King has made it clear that there aren’t very many he can spare.”

“What about Aercaptain de Palma?” asked Captain Long. “He and Mistress Valda made this map, right?”

“Yes, he could scout, certainly, but he’s only a single airship, and tasked with mapmaking for some time to come,” said Jake. “Besides, he’s off right now on a special mission with Mintran.

“For now we’ve no choice but to keep our patrols moving around, and build up strength.

“The Matriarch advises me that there’s a good chance Thuba Mleen may move to attack us here, hoping to eliminate us before we become a major threat. He usually doesn’t launch major actions outside the desert, and it’s unclear if he would really send a large army this far, but it’s a real possibility.”

“Horsemaster? How are the horses coming along?”

Turan hurriedly put down her teacup and swallowed.

“The three colts we have now appear to be in perfect health, and are growing fast. They are clearly more intelligent than the average horse—they know how to let themselves out of their stalls, for example—but it’s unclear just how much more.

“And Storm?”

“Storm is... difficult,” she said. “He may be the brightest of the bunch, and maybe that’s why, but the other horses seem skittish around him. Even his mother doesn’t seem to be at wholly at ease, although she still lets him nurse.”

“He seems to like me,” mused Jake.

“Yes, you seem to be special. I don’t know why, but every time he sees you he trots right over,” she agreed. “Maybe he wants to be the Commander’s own horse?”

A little laughter around the table.

“Well, hopefully they’ll turn out as good as you and Chuang hope. They’d be damned useful in the field,” said Jake. “Anything else we need to cover?”

Apparently there wasn’t, and the meeting broke up.

Jake drank more tea, but his stomach still hurt.

* * *

Clashing swords and shouts woke him.

It was still the middle of the night, not a glimmer of dawn on the horizon, and the star glittering above.

Jake leapt to his feet, automatically throwing on a tunic and sandals, and grabbed his gear. Nadeen turned the other way, and finished at about the same time.

They sprinted out of Jake’s quarters together.

The postern was closed, as it should be, and just inside was a circle of Nadeen’s troopers. Jake figured they must be the night’s guard.

Lying on the ground holding her bleeding arm and glaring at Kareem was Beth, the woman they’d captured together with Kareem and who had joined Ridhi’s staff after she recovered from her injuries.

Kareem held her at sword’s point.

As captain in overall charge of fort security and defense, Nadeen walked through the gathering crowd.

“What happened, Kareem?”

“I saw someone sneak out of the kitchen, and around the building. I knew something was off because she couldn’t have had anything to do at this time of night, or she wouldn’t have to sneak.

“I followed, and found her trying to open the gate.

“I shouted and drew my sword, and by the time I’d disarmed her, the guards had come.”

“Step back, and sheath your sword,” commanded Nadeen. “Trooper Beth, explain yourself.”

“He’s lying, Captain! He’s the one who snuck out, and I tried to stop him!”

Nadeen turned to one of her men, standing nearby.

“Dhaval, you were on guard here. What say you?”

Dhaval, a young man with long-and-short twin swords, straightened.

“Captain, I don’t know who was sneaking, but the first shout I heard was his, and the sound of him running. She never shouted.”

“Anyone else see anything?”

“I was with Kareem when he saw her sneaking out of the kitchen, Captain,” said Ndidi, a beautiful young archer in Danny’s twelve who had quite a few admirers in the fort. “I didn’t see her until he started chasing her, but he certainly wasn’t sneaking.”

“Search them both.”

Several troopers stepped forward to strip-search both Beth and Kareem, checking everything carefully. Kareem had nothing but his tunic and sword, but folded into the back of Beth’s belt was a thin sheet of paper with a detailed map of the fort, including distances in paces.

Nadeen handed the drawing to Jake, who glanced at it briefly and shredded it to confetti.

“You gave your bond, Trooper,” said Nadeen. “Your life is forfeit.”

She turned to Jake.

“Shall I?”

Kareem stepped forward.

“Commander, you repaid the debt bond-breaker owed me. This woman was formerly under my command, and gave you her bond. Let me now repay that debt to you.”

Jake looked at Nadeen, who nodded. Danny and Long, now standing nearer Jake, nodded in agreement.

Jake sighed.

“Thank you,” he said, and stood at parade rest as Kareem slowly drew his sword, braced, and chopped her in the neck.

Blood fountained and she collapsed, trying to scream as air escaped from her partially cut throat.

He swung again, and she fell silent.

Kareem turned, sword dripping scarlet, and plunged it into the ground in front of Jake.

He dropped to his knees and looked Jake in the eyes.

“I knew nothing of this, Commander, I swear it. If you cannot trust me, kill me.”

“You were first to raise the alarm, and first to draw in our defense,” said Jake, stepping forward to place his hand on Kareem’s shoulder. “You have my thanks, and trust. Rise.”

As Kareem stood, Jake turned to his captains.

“I can think of only one reason why she would want such a map... Thuba Mleen is coming. Have Aashika Chabra and Serilarinna brought to me at once. And Roach!

“Captain Nadeen, prepare for attack. Assign Captains Long and Danryce as you see fit.

“Get word to Bagatur Khasar and the Ibizim. They are to come inside the fort immediately.

“Horsemaster Turan? Are you here?”

“Here, Commander,” came a woman’s voice from the back.

They parted to let her through.

“Where is the herd now?”

“They were down by the river yesterday, and should still be there. Three of the stable hands are with them.

“If you can, get to them and move them farther away from the mountains, keep them safe. We don’t know how close the enemy is, so be careful!”

“Yes, Commander. At once.”

She left at a run, calling for other stable hands.

Torches were being lit throughout the fort now, and in the flickering light the shapes of scorpion crews getting ready for action could be seen. Sheaves of bolts were being readied, and shields set to protect against incoming arrows.

“And extinguish those damn torches! I want the fort dark, dammit!”

Jake trotted back to his quarters and put on his armor: a chain-mail of orichalc and steel over leather, a sturdy shield that could be used for both defense and offense, a steel helmet. He strapped on his fighting dagger—about thirty centimeters in length—and carried his longsword in his hand as he stepped outside, to find Aashika Chabra, Serilarinna, and Roach waiting.

“You three are the best I’ve got... I need you to find out what we’re up against. Trooper Aashika, you’re in command. I need information, so make damn sure you get back here with it! Go!”

“With me! Out the postern,” cried Aashika, and the three of them raced off.

Almost everyone else was armed and armored, ready and waiting.

“Captain Ridhi! Get water boiled and prepare the church for the wounded.”

He realized they still didn’t have a doctor in the camp, but at least he had a handful of people he’d schooled in emergency first aid. With luck Mintran would be back soon, and even though he had specialized in alchemy—chemistry—rather than medicine, he’d learned enough from ibn Sina to be invaluable. If only he were here... or Nolan!

“Commander!” shouted Danny. “Looks like the Ibizim are under attack!

“Damn damn damn!” Jake ran along the wall toward the cliff, and looked down on the Ibizim encampment. It wasn’t directly below, but several hundred meters distant in the grass.

Dark shadows swirled and crashed, illuminated sporadically by the firelight. Their campfire, banked low for the night, was flaring bright now, and he could see horses bucking in panic.

He tried using his telescope to see what was happening, but the combination of distance and darkness made it impossible.

He caught sight of a glare of orange farther away, and shifted the telescope to the horizon.

“The village is on fire,” he said. “They’ve attacked Cadharna.”

Nothing we can do it about it now, he thought, and turned his attention back to the Ibizim camp.

Suddenly a group of horses cut free of the confusion, and came charging up the road toward the fort, a second group of horses in close pursuit.

“Archers, concentrate on sappers and bombs!” shouted Nadeen. “Open the gate, and prepare for a charge!”

The gate was huge double doors that swung outwards rather than the more defensible portcullis they still needed to install. Jake regretted not having made that more of a priority, but everything was a priority... Since the fort was mostly built on rock they didn’t have to worry about tunnels, but the artificers of the Dreamlands knew how to make bombs and grenades. They weren’t in widespread use, but who knew what Thuba Mleen might do.

They slid the bar back halfway and pushed the door open wide enough to let the horses through.

It was the Ibizim, of course, in the lead... eight of them galloped in, most of them already swinging off their mounts to help calm them down. Two sand lizards rushed in with them.

Two of the Ibizim were still in the saddle, one leaning forward in obvious pain, the other lying face-up over the horse’s back, held in place only by his feet in the stirrups and good luck.

“Shut it!” shouted the Bagatur. “Quickly!”

They pulled the door back closed, but two fighters managed to leap through the gap even as it was swinging shut.

One landed on his feet, immediately crossing swords with one of Nadeen’s defenders, and the other on his shoulders, rolling to pop up suddenly—and be skewered by a pike.

The other attacker fell quickly, stabbed from two sides without landing a blow.

The two wounded were helped down off their horses; one was already dead, the other probably soon would be, with a deep cut down through his shoulder.

Ridhi’s people carried them both off as the horses, trembling, eyes wide with excitement, were led away to the stables.

“They almost took us by surprise,” spit Bagatur Khasar. “The guard—Tümen of the Copper Beetle here—saw them coming, and raised the alarm.

“That’s his sand lizard there,” he added, pointing.

“And the others of your twelve?”

“I saw Togtuun fall, and his sand lizard tear out the entrails of the scum who killed him. Oyunchimeg and Duuren are dead. The others, I don’t know, but certainly dead now.

“Only us six left...”

“Captain Nadeen!” called Jake. “Where do you want them?”

“Bagatur, take the wall between the gates!” she shouted back, then turned to Jake. “Danny’s on the postern, Beghara’s on the cliff wall, and I’ve got the main gate. Captain Long is assembled near the church as reserves, or ready to sally.”

The first fire arrows came arching over the wall, striking the church and elsewhere but finding little to burn. The new roof they’d installed was slate, not thatch, and most of the walls were stone.

One arrow, shot from the side of the fort, stuck into the wood wall of the new barracks, dripping flaming oil down the wood. One of Ridhi’s men came running with a bucket of water and extinguished it, but Jake could hear the bowstrings thrumming outside the walls—there’d be more.

And more casualties.

Already one man was down with an arrow in his arm... Dammit, why hadn’t he had his shield up?

There was a bone-rattling crash at the main gate: they were using a ram.

The doors were massive, and the bar through them as thick as a good-sized tree, but eventually it would give, he knew.

Archers were already firing at the ram from the walkway—damn, he wished they had flanking towers on the gates!—but the troops carrying it were protected by a wet leather tent that stopped most of the arrows, and robbed the rest of their force.

Several bladders flew from the wall to land on the tent, breaking open with the impact and splattering oil. Fire arrows followed, and here and there small flames popped up in spite of the wet leather.

At roughly the same time large rocks plummeted down, tearing through the leather to injure the attackers beneath, or tear it free of its supports and expose the attackers to arrow fire.

The archers took advantage of the opportunity, loosing shaft after shaft into the exposed troops.

The attack faltered, and the front end of the ram slipped, dropped, rolled to one side. The fighters supporting the rear end, unable to bear the load, had no choice but to drop it and try to avoid being crushed.

Those who could, fled, leaving their dead and wounded in the carnage in front of the gate. The wounded weren’t worth the arrows, and were left to scream their agony.

Jake turned to look over the interior of the fort... there was smoke coming from half a dozen spots in the fort, but he couldn’t see any fires. Ridhi seemed to have things under control.

There was something happening up on the cliff wall, but he couldn’t see the details even though the night was, very gradually, beginning to give way to dawn.

Just as he was about to send a runner to find out, Nadeen appeared.

“They tried scaling the cliff in a few places,” she reported. “I don’t think they’ll try again. The horses are spooked, though.”

“Make sure to double-check the stables and storehouse—someone may have slipped in somehow.”

“Beghara’s got her people checking now.”

Jake grunted.

“Next is ladders on the walls, I think... you agree?”

“Yup. And we’ve got a lot of wall to defend, even with Bagatur Khasar up there.”

“I’ll be up over the main gate for now. Don’t hesitate to use Long’s reserve!”

Nadeen nodded and was gone.

The next attack was only a few minutes later.

“Here they come!”

“Ram on the postern!”

“Ram on the main gate!”

“Archers, stop those ladders!

Multiple attacks along the front and side wall, with rams to both gates and a dozen ladders being lifted into position in spite of a rain of arrows from above.

“Captain Long!

It was Nadeen, shouting down from the wall.

“Reinforce the main gate!”

Long’s twelve, standing ready near the tower, raced into position.

The postern was not built as sturdily as the main gate, but it was considerably smaller. It might be easier to shatter the door with a ram, but the attackers could probably only enter one at a time.

Danny’s twelve should be able to defend it as long as they didn’t have to worry about being attacked from behind. Or above, from the walkway atop the wall.

Nadeen’s twelve, reinforced by the remaining Ibizim, were using their poles to topple the ladders, but one, then two ladders connected, and the fighters at the top leaped to the wall, hacking at the defenders to open up a bridgehead.

The defenders, split into two groups centered over each gate, fought furiously, swords clanging amid shouts, and screams of pain.

Jake fought side by side with Nadeen and one of her men, the three of them struggling to hold off the attackers. The top of the wall was fairly narrow, which helped, but more attackers were climbing the ladder... Spears thrust forward from behind them, dropping one of the enemy, but another stepped forward to take his place.

New ladders suddenly appeared to the left of the main gate, left almost undefended, and more of the enemy fighters began pouring onto the walkway, threatening to cut off the defenders above the main gate...

“Captain Beghara!” shouted Jake, waving at her.

Beghara, with most of her troopers, charged back along the wall from the cliff, cutting through them like a knife with surprise and ferocity, throwing them and the ladder back down to shatter on the rocks.

They surged forward to join Nadeen’s force, and through them into the enemy fighters atop the wall, driving them back with a furious sword-and-board attack, pushing them back, back, until they were trapped between them and Danny’s men, and died, surrounded.

Jake, breathing heavily, glanced down at the ram... it was burning on the ground next to the first log, surrounded by pin-cushioned corpses. The scorpions, firing dozens of bolts at once with enormous force, had penetrated the leather, turning the tent into a deathtrap.

A glance toward the postern... that ram had broken through, but the doorway was almost blocked by half a dozen enemy corpses, and already TT was leading his men through it, driving the attack home into Thuba Mleen’s fighters. He’d discarded his sword and was armed with two long daggers instead, cutting and thrusting with skill and speed that more than countered the longer weapons of his opponents.

Arrows continued to strike home from above, carefully aimed shafts whittling down the enemy.

There!

A man wearing a black kaffiyeh, finally visible in the feeble light of dawn only because he was waving a torch back and forth. Some sort of leader, Jake guessed... shouting at his troops to attack again.

And behind him... more attackers poured out of the forest... three, maybe four twelves. Fresh troops, with more ladders.

Jake’s sword felt heavier than ever.

There were no rams this time, access to the gates blocked by the prior failed attempts, but there were so many ladders...

A hail of arrows began to fall on the wall, and the tired defenders hurriedly raised their shields.

Most of Ridhi’s staff had joined them now, swords or axes in hand, knowing they had to win this battle or die.

Jake checked that his pistol was still safe in its pouch... they’d get a surprise when the time came, but one pistol wouldn’t change the math any.

The enemy charged, ladders banging into the wall in too many places to count in spite of the poles of the defenders pushing them off. Warriors swarmed up, some reaching the walkway in spite of the flying bolts and waiting weapons, leaping to the attack.

Jake thrust, and swung, keeping his part of the wall, at least, clear, and stepped forward to approach the nearest ladder.

“Commander!”

He spared a second to see who was talking.

It was Roach!

“Commander, they’re coming,...” he panted. “The raptors...”

Raptors? What raptors? Did Thuba Mleen have raptors...?

Trying to make sense of it even as he swung his sword once again, suddenly a mounted troop galloped up the road from the grasslands, driving into the attackers from the rear and shattering them. Ladders fell, men screamed and tried to turn to face this new enemy... only to be torn to pieces by raptors, leaping to the attack.

Jake couldn’t take his eyes off the slaughter... most fighters knew how to fight raptors, of course, but these raptors... they feinted, clawed legs to topple enemies and then leapt on them, threw rocks or bodies, fought together with horses and their riders...

They were intelligent! And the deadliest fighting machines he’d ever seen in action.

Thuba Mleen’s troops broke, pulling back toward the forest again, contracting into a tight defensive line of swords and spears that the raptors hesitated to attack.

“Commander!” came a shout from below. “Commander Jake!”

He roused himself and walked to the edge, looked below.

“Chinh of Celephaïs,” said the man, dismounting. “Formerly of Zaïs, and tasked by the King with bringing you these raptors. Looks like I got here just in the nick of time, too!”

“You certainly did that, Captain. Enter while you can; they’ll be back.”

They’d survived.

And as the enemy—the ones still alive, at least—vanished from the clearing, two figures leapt from the forest and raced for the postern.

Aashika Chabra and Serilarinna!

They quickly slipped through the postern, and reported to Jake, who was resting on the walkway over the main gate.

The walkway was covered with dead and wounded, as was the ground outside the walls for most of its length along the front of the fort. The rear was the cliff, too high for ladders and too sheer to scale.

“Commander, we have a good idea of the enemy force now,” said Aashika. “I see Roach beat us back.

“They have no siege equipment at all, probably because they thought surprise was more important than building and moving it. If the postern gate had been opened they probably would have succeeded.”

“We have Trooper Kareem to thank for that,” said Jake. “And?”

“They do not have that many fighters here,” she continued. “It looks like a grand dozen, and I see many of them have already been wounded or killed here. At least one twelve is down in Cadharna... we heard fighting there, and the village is aflame, but we didn’t scout that far.”

“They are led by Commander Harithah, that man in the black kaffiyeh who was rallying the attackers. He’s one of Thuba Mleen’s trusted lieutenants, and has quite a reputation for slaughter.”

“Thank you. Brief Captain Nadeen immediately, then the other captains.”

They split up, heading off to talk to Nadeen and the other captains individually.

Jake turned to Roach.

“How’d you get back into the fort, with all that fighting?”

“Climbed the cliff wall. It wasn’t very difficult, and it was easy to slip past the guards.”

Jake shook his head and used the ladder to drop down to the ground, where Captain Chinh—a short, thin Asian guy—waited.

He might be little, thought Jake, but his armor and horse were red with splatters of blood, and it looked like none of it was his.

The sun was above the horizon, stunningly beautiful red clouds above the surrounding Mohagger range. On any other day he’d appreciate it, but the color was not a good choice today.

“Captain, thank you. We owe you our lives.”

“They had no flankers out, nothing on their rear at all... the same for that twelve down in the village.”

“You took care of them, too?”

“They got in our way,” smiled Chinh. “And it looked like the villagers could use the help. I don’t think any of them will be bothering you again.”

“Get your wounded looked after,” said Jake, pointing to the church building. “Plenty of food and water, and you can water your horses all the way in the back, in the stables.”

Chinh nodded and began getting his twelve sorted out.

The four raptors—three unharmed, one with a slash across its flank that might be pretty deep—were excited by the fighting and the blood, and Jake wasn’t very happy about having them wander around the fort. Now that he had a chance to catch his breath, he noticed that all four wore leather harnesses, with hacked chain mail.

“Captain Chinh, what about the raptors? Are they safe?”

“Quite safe, I think,...” he said, and waved his hands around.

One of the larger raptors, the one wearing a pouch, threw its head up and waggled its hands back and forth, then stared at Jake and cocked its neck.

Jake could swear it was laughing.

“Cornelia says you’re safe and not to worry... she already had lunch,” translated Chinh. “She’s the leader of this group. The biggest one and that one over there, with the slash on his side, are males, and that one is another female. I think she’s from Cornelia’s brood but it’s hard to know for sure... The males belong to Cornelia; she’s the boss.”

“Can she understand me?”

“Yeah, she understands a lot. Use short, complete sentences and make sure your meaning is simple and unmistakable. It usually works.”

“Uh... yeah, thanks, uh, Cornelia,” he said, returning her gaze. “If you need anything just ask.”

She bobbed her head.

He scooped a handful of water from the nearby bucket.

He was thirsty, and his stomach hurt like a son of a bitch.

He wished he had some tea.

Hell, he wished Thuba Mleen would go away and stop killing everyone!

Danny was near the postern, clearing away rubble and trying to get the gate back into some sort of defensible shape. It would take lumber and carpenters to rebuild it, and they simply didn’t have the time to do it right now.

Jake sat down and rubbed his stomach, watching the activity as the fort tried to put itself back together. The seriously wounded had been moved to the church and were being treated, and those who could still fight were working as hard as the able, fixing up the defenses, carting more bolts and stones to the wall walkway, and collecting spent arrows.

The barrels of water placed strategically throughout the fort were all replenished, ready to fight fires.

A new attack could come at any time, and there was no time to waste.

Ridhi’s staff—those not preparing for combat or treating the wounded—started distributing smoked meat, bread, water, and of course beans, to the defenders.

If they just had a little more time, they had a chance... Only a grand dozen... one hundred and forty-four... and they’d already whittled that down by at least two dozen dead and another three or four dozen injured. His own forces had suffered casualties, too, but Captain Chinh’s troops and the raptors would make a big difference.

If they could just hold the wall, they had a fighting chance.

He saw something big and black out of the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see an enormous barrel explode in the air above the training ground. The shockwave was huge, and the sound deafening.

But where...?

He heard Beorhtwig’s shout: “Wyverns!”

Beorhtwig was standing, mouth agape, staring up into the sky.

A wyvern... no, two... three wyverns! And an airship!

The fucking wyverns were dropping bombs, and they were too high to hit with a scorpion even if they could get it aimed that high.

Another bomb came hurtling down toward the wall, and this one was better aimed, and better timed. It landed just inside the postern gate, blowing a hole in the wall there.

Shit!

Danny!

Danny was working there!

“Danny! Danny!”

He shot to his feet, running toward the postern.

“Danny! Where are you!”

He had no trouble finding Danny in spite of the billowing dirt and smoke. He was lying on the open ground, face up.

One leg was missing at the knee.

Jake thudded to his knees next to him, ripping out a leather cord to use as a torniquet.

“Danny! Stay with me, man!”

He feverishly tied the cord on, cinched it tight to halt the blood, then felt for Danny’s pulse.

There was no pulse.

His eyes were open, unblinking.

After a second, Jake reached forward and carefully pushed his eyelids shut.

He looked around.

TT was lying nearby, scrabbling to pick himself up out of the rubble.

Another explosion, somewhere behind him, closer to the main gate.

He realized, in a quiet, detached fashion, that with the gates gone, they were all going to die.

He took a deep breath, and stood, turning to face the ruined postern gate, sword to hand.

His pistol was in his pouch, ready to draw and fire.

He heard shouting from outside the walls... the enemy was coming.

Then he heard a different scream, a bellow, a trumpet of pain and anguish. From above...?

He looked up...

A wyvern was falling out of the sky, one wing flaming. It flapped wildly, spinning in a circle, throwing its wyver-master off to plunge, arms and legs flailing, into the field just in front of the wall together with their mount. The wyvern bucked and writhed, gave a despairing scream of agony, fell silent.

A second airship!

As he watched it scooted up next to the first one, the one commanding the wyverns, and an arc of liquid fire burned through the air, splashing the enemy airship’s deck and bursting into instant conflagration.

“Mintran! You did it, you son of a bitch! You did it!”

Jake felt tears on his cheeks.

The airship pursued another wyvern, pursuing it with a spray of thalassion fire as it as it zigged and zagged, finally reaching out to gently touch the barrel still clutched in its claws... and as the bomb exploded, the wyvern and its rider died, shredded into fragments.

The last wyvern was already gone, fleeing back over the Mohaggers to safety.

The airship dropped in lower, sweeping over the fort walls, spraying liquid fire onto Thuba Mleen’s advancing troops.

In their dozens, they burst into flame, rolling in the dirt and beating themselves in a vain effort to extinguish the flaming oil that coated them.

A few were successful; most died trying.

And the survivors fled back into the safety of the forest.

The battle was over.

* * *

The dust gradually settled, revealing bodies scattered throughout the fort, killed by bomb blasts and flying fragments.

The new barracks they’d constructed was gone, lost to fire.

And Danny! Danny was gone!

He looked around, wondering why everyone was whispering.

Must be the bomb blast; his hearing was screwed up.

Nadeen...?

There she was. Had a little blood trickling down her face from a scalp wound.

She walked over to hug Jake, then dropped to her knees beside Danny’s body.

Captain Long walked up, hobbling with one bad leg.

Aercaptain de Palma brought the airship up against the bell tower, and jumped across with Mintran, disappearing down the stairs into the church on their way to him.

Jake sat down.

As the tension drained out of him exhaustion took its place.

The other captains came, too: Captain Beghara, eyes ablaze and not a scratch on her; Captain Chinh, covered with dirt and blood but otherwise ready; Bagatur Khasar, carrying a teapot and cups as if to a picnic; the raptor, Cornelia—who could tell anything about a raptor?—and now Alchemist Mintran and Captain de Palma approached.

“Alchemist Mintran, you have saved us all,” said Jake. “You were successful, then. You and Aercaptain de Palma.”

“And Trooper Yargui,” said Mintran. “She made sure we got all the naphtha we needed, and helped us make the pump to shoot it. We never had time to test it, though...”

“Thank you, Alchemist, Aercaptain. I am in your debt. We are all in your debt.”

“All thanks to the Ibizim, Commander. Without that naphtha...”

They heard the sound of galloping hooves.

The horses were out, escaped from the stables after a bomb blast and running free inside the fort walls.

One horse, a black colt, came running toward Jake.

“That’s Storm!” said Nadeen. “He recognizes you!”

Storm headed straight for Jake, lowering its head to lick his face, whickering.

The raptor gave a screech of fury and leapt for the colt’s neck, clamping on with fang-studded jaws, leg talons clawing furiously.

Totally taken by surprise, everyone jumped back, some falling over backwards in their haste to escape the sudden tangle of screaming raptor and horse.

“Cornelia! No! Stop!” yelled Chinh, and made as if to step forward to pull the raptor away.

Nadeen grabbed his arm.

“That’s not blood,” she said, staring at the colt.

Something was spurting from its neck, but it was black, not red.

As they watched it began to lose form, collapsing into a shapeless blob with black pseudopods that stretched out, toward Jake.

Jake leapt backwards, well out of reach, while Long stepped in front, sword and shield in hand, to block the thing’s advance.

Mintran reached into his pouch and pulled out a pottery flask, uncorked it, and threw it onto the blackness.

Cornelia, smelling the naphtha and realizing what was coming, jumped back.

And Mintran struck a spark.

The thing exploded into flame, pseudopods writhing and twitching vainly in search of escape, wrinkling, shrinking, turning to ash in front of their eyes.

It died as silently as it had lived.

“A Flayed One...” breathed Captain Long. “In the shape of a horse...”

“And it was after you, Jake,” said Nadeen, turning to face him. “Jake?”

Jake lay splayed on the ground, a froth of blood at his mouth.

END

Jake: Fort Danryce

Chapter 1

“Jake!”

Nadeen dropped to her knees next to him and clasped his head in her hands, staring into his face.

His eyes were closed, a grimace of pain frozen on his face as blood dripped down his chin.

“Mintran!”

Mintran ran over and squatted down next to her, one hand prying open Jake’s eye for a quick look, the other hand resting on his chest.

Jake was breathing.

“What is it? Nyogtha!?”

“I don’t know... Quickly, help me get him inside!”

“Bring that stretcher over here!” shouted Captain Long, gesturing to two troopers carrying an empty stretcher toward the shattered postern. “Hurry!”

They came running.

“It’s the Commander!”

“What happened?”

“We don’t know... we have to get him to the church!”

As he spoke, Captain Long grabbed the stretcher from their hands and spread it out next to Jake, then looked to Nadeen.

“One... two... and three!”

Together they lifted Jake’s unconscious body onto the stretcher, and grabbed the handles themselves, trotting toward the church with Mintran in close pursuit.

“Captain Beghara, take command!” shouted Nadeen over her shoulder, and Beghara immediately pointed at the stretcher-bearers, standing there with empty hands.

“You. I want you to watch this monstrosity burn. If you see anything move, shout. Loud. Do not get near it.

“And you, go to the kitchen and get oil that burns. A lot of it. Bring it here and turn this thing into fucking ashes! RUN!

She turned to Aercaptain de Palma, who was still staring at the burning Flayed One.

“Aercaptain, fly down to the river pastures, and get the Horsemaster. I need her back here as soon as possible.”

“Yessir,” he cried, and sprinted for the tower, shouting to his crew as he ran. “We’re up again! Back onboard!”

The airship took off almost immediately, turning and heading toward the river.

She sent Bagatur Khasar and Captain Chinh to assess the damage and get started on putting up some sort of temporary defensive structure.

Beghara looked around, spotted a woman carrying arrows she’d collected from inside the fort.

“You! Ndidi, right?”

“Yes, Captain,” she replied, turning to look at Beghara. She didn’t look as beautiful as usual this time, with blood and dirt smeared over half her face and torso.

“Find all the stable hands, and get every horse either in a stall or roped somewhere, right now. Forget the damn arrows!

“If you need help, commandeer anyone you like. Now, trooper!”

Ndidi dropped the bundle of arrows and ran off toward the stables, shouting for a stable hand.

Beghara turned her attention to the gates. She didn’t expect another attack after that massacre, but they had to be repaired as soon as possible.

Suddenly, Captain Chinh called her over.

“Captain Beghara! We’ve got a little problem here!”

She walked over, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She was exhausted... it had been a long night, and was already turning into a long, hot day.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Take a look outside the postern,” he invited. “Carefully.”

She clambered over the stones half-blocking the postern. The ground outside, once fields of grain and vegetables for the fort, was now a blackened plain, flames lapping twisted, blackened bodies that no longer looked human. Smoke and the stench of oil and roasting meat filled the air. She stepped outside.

“Gods!”

She froze for a second, hand automatically grasping her axe.

“The wyvern!”

Only a few meters away, almost flush with the wall, the injured wyvern lay still, golden eyes open and watching her. Next to its scaly head lay a body, and judging from the red-and-gold scorpion patch on the harness, it was one of the fort’s men.

At first glance she’d thought it was eating the man, but as she looked more closely she saw the wyvern was licking his wounds, lapping the blood.

The man was breathing but looked unconscious.

She thought it was one of Captain Long’s men but didn’t recall his name.

She turned toward the main gate where Ginette, one of Nadeen’s twelve, was working.

“Ginette! Trooper Ginette!”

A head popped over the rampart, looked down.

“Captain?”

“You’re from Daikos, right? Know anything about wyverns?”

She stuck her head out farther and saw the wyvern.

“Yes, Captain!”

The head vanished, and she heard her running along the rampart toward the ladder. Ginette joined her a moment later.

“I was never trained as a wyver-master, but my father was,” she said.

It was an adult, it looked like... the same one that had fallen from the sky during the battle, she realized. It was mostly a grayish-green, with huge bat wings were folded... no, one wing was folded.

The other was stretched out, broken and burnt.

“What’s it doing to that man?”

“That’s Beorhtwig, another Daikos man,” said Ginette. “Don’t know how he got there, but the wyvern’s trying to heal him!”

“Heal him? Can wyverns heal the wounded?”

“No, no. The wyvern licks its own wounds, and will lick the wounds of its... master... Damn! He’s taken Beorhtwig as his master!”

“Master or not, if we don’t do something about that wound he’s gonna die,” said Chinh. “But with that wyvern guarding him...”

“I know the words, but injured and with his master injured... I don’t know if he’ll listen. Bulls are usually less defensive than besses, but...”

“Go tell Mintran, Ginette. I know he’s busy but ask him to come if he can,” ordered Beghara. She turned to Chinh.

“What do you think, Captain? I’d like to kill this fucking beast for what it did to us, myself... but a tame wyvern...”

“Well, the wyvern’s not to blame, and I agree: if we can save the wyvern and the wyver-master both, it would be as good as a second airship!”

Mintran walked up, looking exhausted, his robes covered in blood.

“Alchemist Mintran! You came! How is the Commander?”

“He doesn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, but I still don’t know what’s wrong with him.

“Too many wounded, too many who will never fight again... and now you want me to worry about a wyvern!?”

“I know, Alchemist, I know,” said Beghara. “The wyvern, yes, but first the man. Beorhtwig is one of Captain Long’s men, and seems to have become a wyver-master.

“If we keep the wyvern quiet, can you save him?”

“I have to see him first!” retorted Mintran. He walked forward, ignoring the wyvern entirely, and knelt next to the wounded man. “Looks like the blast threw him against the wall, or hit him with stones from the gate. Head, arm, chest... lots of blood, maybe internal damage, I can’t tell... but he’s breathing all right, and pulse is good... Help me get him to the church where I can see better.”

He slipped one arm under Beorhtwig’s shoulders and tried to lift his torso up a little bit for a better look at the side.

A giant claw swiped forward, the curved backside hitting him in the leg and knocking him down and away from the fallen man.

“Wha...?”

Ginette stepped forward, soothing the wyvern with whispered words and slow strokes on the animal’s muzzle.

Its tongue, long and forked, darted out to test the air, touching Ginette on the arm briefly, and the wyvern gave a huge, moist whuff. The enormous golden eye looked at Mintran once more, and then the claw withdrew, and the beast’s head sank back to the ground.

Mintran could treat his wounded master, but not take him away.

Mintran did what he could, cleansing the wounds and binding them up. He put a splint on the arm just in case there was a fracture in there he couldn’t see. He might have a broken rib or two, he thought, but except for bandaging up his chest there wasn’t too much he could do... didn’t seem to be breathing any blood, though, which was a good sign.

The wyvern watched every move, motionless.

“It doesn’t look injured, except for the wing, of course.”

“No wing means it can’t fly,” said Beghara.

“Not now,” agreed Ginette, “but wyverns can usually regenerate. Wings, legs, tails. With luck he may fly again.”

“I’ve heard that but never believed it...”

“Oh, it’s true, all right,” said Mintran. “But only wyverns, I’m afraid, not people.

“And now if you’ll excuse me, there are wounded waiting, and Captain Ridhi can’t handle them all!”

He trotted back to the church.

“Ginette, put an awning up over Beorhtwig. I want you to check on him—and on this damn wyvern— at least twice a day and make sure they’re OK. Tell me immediately if Beorhtwig wakes, or the wyvern does anything.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Ginette, and clambered back through the postern in search of some fabric.

“So let’s look at the postern, shall we, Captain?”

“It’s pretty well destroyed, Captain Beghara, I’m afraid,” said Chinh. “The gate is totally destroyed, and one of the columns as well. Once we get the debris cleared we can see how the stonework looks; might need to replace a few blocks.”

“Have to get some woodworkers up here from Cadhar.... damn! Cadharna was torched, wasn’t it?

“How bad was the damage when you rode through, Captain?”

“A handful of buildings were burning, mostly smaller ones but I recall I saw one grain storehouse going up. The villagers were putting up a pretty good resistance, but the attackers were more interested in burning and pillaging than in fighting.

“They weren’t expecting us to suddenly appear on their flank. And they paid for it.”

“A few buildings wouldn’t be that bad, but how many people did they kill...? Could you send one of your troopers down there and see? We may have to lend them some people to get things in order. We want to stay in their good graces; in addition to doing a lot of jobs for us, they also have the only tavern!”

“Right away, Captain.”

Chinh nodded and walked off to talk to one of his troopers, a black woman from Parg, maybe, or farther south in Zar or Xura.

Beghara walked over the main gate. It was in even worse shape, with part of the wall gone next to it. They’d have to rebuild the whole thing, she realized.

And if they had to rebuild the whole thing, damned if she wouldn’t build flanking towers, too! And on the postern! Hell, half a dozen towers to length of the wall! They didn’t really need them along the clifftop, since the height of the cliff made it close to impossible for anyone to climb up, but she made a mental note to double-check that later.

They’d need to bring an artificer familiar with castle construction out here, she realized, from Rinar or Ilarnek. Maybe Juan Hernández, Chóng’s new factor in Rinar, could find someone.

A shadow cut across the ground, and she glanced up.

The airship was back already.

The Horsemaster jumped off the airship before it was even fully moored, and vanished into the tower. Beghara knew that Nadeen would be there to fill her in—and the Commander! She wanted to go see what had happened, but had too much to do here, now. It had to wait.

Chapter 2

Beorhtwig opened his eyes and wondered where he was.

He was lying on his back, a sheet of tent fabric stretched above.

How did he get here...?

The battle! Thuba Mleen!

The wyvern!

And after the wyvern, another bomb exploded, and something hit him, and he blacked out for a moment.

And then he saw the wyvern falling, falling out of the sky...

And he wanted to see it, to touch a wyvern, one last time before he died.

He crawled here, he remembered that much.

And he found the wyvern, and crawled to it, and lay down next to it, and...

And now he was lying on his back in a tent.

He struggled up on one elbow, grimacing as pain stabbed through his chest.

Suddenly there was a huge whuff of breath, and a crashing as something moved, and an enormous eye dropped into view not more than an arm’s length away.

A wyvern’s eye!

It watched him for a moment, blinked, then slowly the lid sagged, and the wyvern’s head dropped to the ground, watching him contentedly.

Like a wyvern would watch its master, he thought in confusion. But I’m not a wyver-master!

He gingerly reached out a hand, slowly, watching the wyvern’s reaction.

He’d already lost one finger to a wyvern, and didn’t want to lose another... unless...

He stroked its cheek.

It rumbled in pleasure, acceptance.

It’s tongue, long and forked, darted out to rasp over his hand in greeting.

He sat up, forgetting the pain in his chest, pushing the awning to the side.

He was lying next to a wyvern, an adult bull it looked like....

He stroked it again, and was almost knocked down when the bull butted its head against him, gently.

“I see you’re awake finally,” came a voice from behind him.

It was Ginette, another trooper from Daikos.

“Ginette! What... what am I doing here?”

Ginette laughed.

“You’re lying on the ground next to a wyvern, of course.”

“What happened?”

“We don’t really know... after the battle someone thought to come and see if the wyvern was dead or not, and they found you lying next to it. The wyvern was licking the blood from your wound, and when we tried to get you to the church to try to heal you, the wyvern got angry.”

Beorhtwig felt his chest. It was wrapped in bandages and hurt like the devil when he moved.

“I’ve been here with you since.”

“How long? Since the battle?”

“Three days.”

Beorhtwig looked up at the wyvern again.

Like most wyverns, it was a grayish-green on top, with a light gray underside, blotches of camouflage covering its skin to break up its appearance. One bat wing was folded, the other... the other was burned, broken, stretched out and bent unnaturally.

“Yeah, one wing is gone, I’m afraid,” said Ginette.

“But they can regenerate!”

“Yeah, sometimes. I know some of them have regrown wings in the past. But it’ll be painful to cut off the broken wing, and if the wyvern gets angry... well, it wouldn’t be good to be anywhere near.”

He stroked the wyvern again and received another wet, foul-smelling whuff for his trouble, then contented rumbles from deep inside.

He struggled to his feet, wobbly, and began to gingerly walk along the wyvern, running his hand down its neck, its flank, legs, stroking the outstretched wing, the long tail.

He walked around behind, starting up the other side, and stopped at the burned, twisted wing lying on the ground.

He slowly stretched out his hand, touched it.

The wyvern’s rumbled stopped, then started up again.

He ran his hand over the blackened wing, and the wyvern turned to watch him, huge golden eyes staring quietly.

It must have hurt, but other than that initial pause the wyvern kept rumbling, quietly.

He walked around the wing, stroking the neck, and back to the head, scratching along the jaw and reaching up to scratch between its eyes.

“I can do it,” he said. “It trusts me.”

“You sure about that?” asked Ginette. “It’s not a youngling, and I’d guess it’s already paired by now. Probably quite some years ago, judging by the hunting scars along its legs and belly.”

“I’m sure,” said Beorhtwig. “I’ve dreamt of this for so long...”

He straightened up.

“Flogdreka will need food,” said Beorhtwig.

“Flogdreka? You can’t think of a more original name than that?” laughed Ginette.

“I’ve known his name since I could speak, and now I’ve finally found him... Are there any horse carcasses left from the battle?”

“None, I’m afraid... they were put on the pyre with the dead.”

“Then I must go hunting for deer. Captain Danryce must let me go.”

Ginette slowly shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Trooper Beorhtwig. The Captain’s dead, killed in the same bomb blast that wounded you.”

“...Dead...?”

Ginette nodded.

“We’re rebuilding the fort now, and an awful lot of people were killed or injured. It’ll be a while before anything’s back to normal again.”

“So who do I ask?”

“Captain Serilarinna; it’s her twelve now.”

“So Seri finally made Captain. Good for her! She deserves it, but I wish it hadn’t cost us Captain Danryce.”

Ginette nodded.

“Do you feel well enough to hunt?”

He slowly moved his arms, seeing how much everything hurt.

He gasped, and sat down suddenly.

“No. Not yet,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “But Flogdreka needs food!”

“They usually only eat once a week, or less...”

“Normally, but he’s injured, and hopefully will regrow a wing... he needs meat, and lots of it.”

“Let me go get the Captain. You can try convincing her yourself.

“You were smashed up against the wall,” she continued. “You should’ve died right then and there, but somehow you dragged yourself all the way out here, and this wyvern kept you alive.

“And I guess you kept him alive, too. He won’t leave your side now.”

Ginette left, leaving Beorhtwig to stroke his wyvern.

She was back in a few minutes with Captain Serilarinna, who was filthy from head to toe with dirt and ash.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Beorhtwig! We wondered when you’d join us,” she said as she crouched down next to him. “I see you’ve met your new friend here.”

“Sergean... Captain. I just woke up.”

“How’s the ribs?”

“Hurts like a shantak, Captain. Hurts to breathe, hurts to move.”

“Just stay as you are. You’re one of the lucky ones; we lost a lot of good people in that fight.”

“That bad, Captain?”

“Yeah, that bad. Or worse. I never wanted to be Captain over Danny’s dead body...” She paused. “Sorry, I’m not used to being a captain yet.”

They fell silent for a moment.

“So what about this wyvern, then?”

“He needs food... a horse, a cow, even a deer or two.”

“Wyverns only eat every so often, though...”

“Yeah, when they’re healthy. Flogdreka needs a lot right now to regrow that wing.”

“Flogdreka?”

“That’s his name,” explained Beorhtwig. “They can usually regrow injuries like legs, tails, and wings, but they need lots of food to do it.

“...and someone will have to cut off the old one before it’ll work.”

“No way I’m gonna start chopping on a live wyvern!”

“I think Ginette and I can do it. I’ll keep Flogdreka calm long enough for him to chop it free. We’d need a big, heavy axe and a couple of solid hits... those bones are pretty big.”

“If it’s an axe you want, you should ask Captain Beghara,” said Seri. “And she could probably do it in fewer swings, too.”

“Yeah, that sounds good to me, too,” said Ginette. “I saw her swing that axe of hers during the fight. If she’s got the time, she’d be perfect. I’ll help you keep the bull quiet.”

“I can ask the Captain to drop by with her axe,” said Seri, “but you still need someone to go get you some deer or something, right? There’s a hunting party going out tomorrow morning, if you can wait.”

“He really needs to load up on food before we cut that broken wing free,” said Beorhtwig. “Maybe Captain Beghara can help us tomorrow evening, after we get him fed?”

“Assuming they bring back enough deer,” said Seri.

“Anything’ll do, as long as there’s lots of it: sheep, goats, even chickens or fish. Two deer, or a horse or a cow, would be best, but I’ll take what I can get!”

Serilarinna sighed, stood up tiredly.

“OK, let me see what I can do. No promises!”

“Thank you, Captain. You might mention how useful a wyvern would be in the future, if we can save his wing...”

Seri smiled.

“Yes, that had occurred to us, but I don’t think she needs reminding. You know, we’re all a bit busy right now...”

“Sorry, Captain, I just...”

“Yeah, it’s OK, Beorhtwig. Just get better so you can help us put the fort back together again, will ’ya?”

“As soon as I can, Captain, as soon as I can.”

As soon as Serilarinna left, Beorhtwig turned to Ginette.

“Ginette, buddy, can you please, please, get me a bucket of water or two and a new tunic, and help me get cleaned up? Somebody cleaned me up a little while I was out, but...”

“Yeah, that was me. You stink,” agreed Ginette. “Be happy to.”

Chapter 3

“Still hurts like a son of a bitch,” Jake groaned. “You sure somebody didn’t stick me with a knife?”

“Not a scratch,” said Mintran. “It’s something on the inside.”

“Something the Flayed One did to me?”

“I just don’t know, Commander. I doubt it, but I don’t know.”

“Physician Nolan should get here today, Jake,” said Nadeen, “and he may know.”

“I mean, I feel fine except for the knife in my guts,” said Jake. “No fever, no chills, no headache, you say my breathing and pulse are normal... so what is it?”

“If the tea makes it feel a little better, than have some more tea, Commander.”

“Thanks, I will.”

He held out his cup for a refill.

Jake was sitting on a chair in his own quarters. He’d gotten used to the pain, a little, and could walk normally, but every so often a spasm would shudder through his stomach. He’d spit up blood a couple times, too.

“Airship approaching!” came the shout from the bell tower, and there was a sudden flurry of activity as troopers manned the scorpions.

Nadeen stepped outside and shielded her eyes to better see the airship.

“It’s flying the King’s colors,” she said. “A lot smaller than what I expected, though...”

The airship slowed near the cliff wall, revealing itself to the defenders to demonstrate good faith, and was waved closer.

It pulled up abreast of the wall and the crew threw over the hawser, which was quickly looped over a bollard. The gangplank dropped and Chuang came hurrying onto the wall walkway.

“He is in the church?”

“Yes, Master Chuang,” replied Sergeant Petter, waving toward the stairs in the corner. “I’ll take you.”

“No need, I know the way,” snapped Chuang, and scurried down the waiting ladder, leaving the sergeant behind.

It was only a short walk to Jake’s quarters.

“Thank you, Master Chuang, he’s in here,” said Nadeen, showing him in. “Where is Physician Nolan?”

“He will see Jake shortly,” said Chuang. “We have to go meet him.

“Now help me get Jake onto the airship. Just Jake, you, and Mintran.”

He put his arm around Jake’s shoulders and slipped his hand under his armpit.

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I can walk. It just hurts real bad every so often,” said Jake, standing.

“OK, let’s go.”

Chuang began walking with Jake. Nadeen held the door open, and told Captain Long to take command.

They walked toward the cliff wall and the waiting airship, and as they walked Nadeen felt a few gusts of wind, blowing leaves and ash into the air.

She looked up...the northwestern sky was getting dark... a black cloud how was growing over the Mohagger Mountains north of the fort.

They boarded the airship, which hauled up the gangplank and cast off immediately, soaring higher and toward the mountains... and that black cloud.

Gusts of wind swept the deck now, and the airship was buffeted back and forth as it approach the storm.

“Hang on!” called the airship’s captain. “Shouldn’t last very long, but hang on tight. We almost never tip over... just hang on. We have to do it this way to hide where you’re going!”

“Where are we going?” asked Jake, shielding his eyes from the rain.

“You’ll see!”

The aercaptain flew straight into the driving rain, flying as close to the wind as he could, working his way deeper and deeper into the cloud, and upwards.

“Almost there!”

True to the captain’s word, the sky began to lighten and the gusts to weaken, and then they broke through the clouds to see a stone wall in front of them!

They continued to rise along the wall, which turned into a stone wharf with an airship docked, building, trees... over there a minaret, some domes... It was huge! This was no airship!

It was a whole city! A city, hidden in the black cloud!

The airship cautiously rose above the surface, then landed flat on the wharf instead of floating next to it.

Physician Nolan was waiting there with another man, someone she’d never met before but seemed to be a Godsworn. And next to him was... the King!

Here! For Jake!

“King Kuranes! I didn’t expect to see you here!” said Jake, stepping off the airship and onto the wharf. “And on Serannian! You brought your whole city with you!”

“Welcome back, Commander. Captain Nadeen, welcome to Serannian, my floating city. I do wish it could have been under better circumstances.”

He escorted them up the marble steps to a large domed building nearby.

Nadeen looked around at the wharf, the park-like scene they were walking through now, with its lush grass and colorful flowers interspersed with status and gazebos.

She noticed that the wharf was dotted with catapults, scorpions, and other weapons of war, as well as winches, at least two airships that she could see, and a host of other things she didn’t have time to see properly.

And they were manned... This city was carrying an army! And hidden in that cloud, it could go almost anywhere undetected!

Inside the building, Nolan was waiting with several others.

“How are you, buddy?” said Nolan, guiding him to a low couch. “Lie down.”

Jake meekly laid down on the couch, and Nolan bent to take Jake’s arm for a quick pulse with one hand while gauging the color of Jake’s eyes.

“Doesn’t look like you have a fever, certainly no cough, no obvious injuries. What color was the blood?”

“Fresh, bright red,” said Nadeen.

“And he spit it up, no coughing, right?”

“No coughing. When he collapsed he was breathing normally.”

Nolan pulled out a cup-like device and held it against Jake’s chest, pressing his own ear to the top. “No congestion I can hear, heart’s fine.”

“No stethoscope?”

“Still working on it; this is an improvement over my ear, though. Shut up and let me listen.”

He listened a little more, then placed his hand on Jake’s stomach, pressing here and there.

Jake flinched.

“That hurt’s, huh? How about here...? And here?

“How long has your stomach hurt?”

“Uh... a month or two, I guess. Been too busy to pay it much attention.”

“OK, I’m pretty sure it’s just a bleeding ulcer, combined with lack of sleep and excessive stress,” said Nolan, sitting back. “You were about ready to collapse anyway, and then the ulcer kicked in to make it even worse. We can get the pain down pretty fast, but healing will take time.”

“Well, I am not sure that it is just an ulcer,” said Chuang. “Not with that Flayed One spending all that time around him!”

“A what...? A Flayed One?”

“I’ll explain in more detail later, Physician, but for now please let us—Healer Dunchanti and myself—take a look at Jake, too.”

“Of course,” said Nolan. He stood and stepped back to give them room.

The other man, the one Nadeen had thought a Godsworn, knelt next to Jake and placed his hand on Jake’s stomach.

“Dunchanti of Panakeia, Commander. I was sent to establish a temple to Panakeia at your fort, but it seems I have work here to finish first.”

Chuang knelt next to him, and also placed his hand on Jake’s stomach.

They closed their eyes and fell silent, motionless.

Their breathing slowed, became shallower, synchronized... and suddenly they opened their eyes, smiling.

“Not a trace!” said Chuang. “As the Physician said, he has a wound in his stomach, which we have treated a bit. It should heal with care, though.”

“Not a trace of what, exactly?” asked Nolan.

“A Flayed One—the Stain of Nyogtha—was somehow disguised as a colt, or perhaps even born as a colt, and was close to Jake many times recently. It was killed, but Jake collapsed at the same time, right as it was next to him.

“We needed to find out if it had somehow infected him... but there is no trace of the foul thing in Jake’s body.”

“It’s just an ulcer, then,” said Jake. “My dad always had ulcers, but I never figured I’d get them.”

“They’re caused by a bacteria called Helicobacter pylori, which is pretty common. For various reasons it suddenly starts eating holes in the lining of your stomach. Stress is a good way to make a minor ulcer a whole lot worse.”

“Had plenty of stress lately, no question about that... so what now? How do I fix it?”

“If I were back at the Project I’d have you fixed up in a few days, but no antibiotics here, so we’re going to have to do this the traditional way.”

“Which is?”

“Less stress, more sleep, no alcohol or tea or dairy products for a while, and eat lots of cabbage.”

“No tea? Tea’s the only thing that’s kept me going these last few weeks!”

“And there you have it!” proclaimed Nolan, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Stress plus lots of tea. Boom. You’ve been feeding your ulcer well.”

“What’s with the cabbage?”

“It’s an old wives’ remedy, but as it turns out the vitamin C in it really does help people recover,” Nolan said. “Now that Master Chuang and Healer Dunchanti have taken the edge off, we should be able to get it back under control pretty easily, I think.

“Along with cabbage—especially cabbage juice—help yourself to honey and garlic, too.”

Jake closed his eyes.

“Can I at least have a cup of water, doctor?”

“All you want, Jake. Help yourself,” laughed Nolan, handing him one.

Jake looked at it morosely and slugged it down.

“Cabbage juice...”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get here sooner, Commander,” said King Kuranes, who had been quietly watching from the back of the room. “We left as soon as we got your dragolet, but I’m afraid Serannian is not as nimble as an airship.”

“Looks like you brought half the army, too! Thank you,” said Jake. “I think we managed to get things under control, though, thanks to the raptors and Matriarch Geriel.”

“Your Alchemist mounted a gun spraying thalassion fire on the airship, is that right?”

“Yes. I first thought it might possible right here, in fact, when the Matriarch mentioned lakes of naphtha... and it worked! One wyvern dead, one injured, one fled, and the enemy routed.”

The King nodded slowly.

“But now there is a new weapon of war, and I have no doubt that Thuba Mleen will find a way to duplicate it. The secret of thalassion is very well kept, but his alchemists are as clever as ours... it’s too late to put that genie back in the bottle, I’m afraid.”

“Putting the genie back in the bottle... is that what you and Mistress Mochizuki have been doing?”

“Of course; you didn’t know? Why did you think there were no cannon in the Dreamlands, and so few muskets?”

“You eliminated them all?”

“Hardly,” grimaced the King. “We’ve made sure that most of them explode when used, often killing the alchemists who try to invent them. They have quite a reputation now as unreliable gadgets that often kill the user, and fighters and armies are far less willing to use them.

“It’s a temporary measure, of course. We cannot stop them all, but it’s worked for quite a long time already.”

“...and that’s why you wanted to know so much about what I planned at that meeting...”

“Yes. I have seen firsthand what the Industrial Revolution can do for a society, and to a society, and it is my hope—our hope—that we can find a way to uplift the people without destroying them.”

“And Thuba Mleen? What does he want?”

“To rule,” said Kuranes. “Just that. He has no interest in bettering society, or the lives of the people, except as it relates to his own needs.”

“So how does he stay so powerful, over such an enormous area?”

“Because they think he is the Chosen of the Gods, and promises them eternal life in paradise.”

“And they believe him!?”

Kuranes shrugged.

“Where did he come from?”

“Nobody really knows. It is said he came from the Easternmost reaches of the Dreamlands, but that’s merely the most common rumor of many.”

“Well, wherever he came from, he’s here now and damn near killed us all,” said Jake, shaking his head.

“That will become a bit more difficult,” said the King, “when my reinforcements reach you. They’re on the way, but it’ll be some time until they reach you.”

“Reinforcements?”

“Yes, the heavy twelve we talked about: twelve Zar archers and six raptors. The raptors are well-trained, but still only dumb animals, I’m afraid.”

“Cornelia or one of her nest should be able to control them without difficulty,” said Chuang. “Cornelia is from a different nest, of course, but they know how to manipulate common raptors. Should not be any problem.”

“So that will give us ten raptors, too,” said Nadeen. “Good. Not a full twelve, but raptors are invaluable, especially Cornelia and the other three intelligent ones.”

“When you return to Fort Campbell I’ll also send one of my castle artificers to help you improve the defenses.”

“It’s Fort Danryce now,” said Jake.

“I’m sorry... did Captain Danryce die in the battle?”

“Yes, one of the bombs killed him while he was defending the postern. And others, of course.”

“We have lost an outstanding captain,” said the King. “Over the years Thuba Mleen has taken too many fine men and women from us.”

“It was originally intended to be a monastery,” said Nadeen, “and while it has excellent defenses for a monastery, it needs better walls, towers along the wall and flanking the gates, possibly a moat or palisades, and a few other things.”

“And you shall have them,” said Kuranes. “But for now you must return to Fort Danryce and Serannian continue on its way, or its secret shall be revealed.”

“King Kuranes,” ventured Jake slowly, “I had originally planned on taking my time to build a strong, professional fighting force, but if Thuba Mleen attacks like this I can’t do it the way I planned. I either need more troops at the fort, or I have to stop taking mercenary contracts to earn money, so those troops can be at the fort as needed.

“You have been very generous with gold until now... I hesitate to ask, but if you feel my plan has merit, would it be possible to increase the budget?”

Kuranes laughed.

“Dear Jake, you can have as much as you want, of course. I’ll arrange for it immediately.”

“As much as I want!? That’s a very unusual offer, to say the least...”

“You forget that I dreamed Celephaïs and Serannian into existence. Did you think I wouldn’t take care of a minor point like that at the same time? I meant it quite literally... as much as you want.”

“Good Lord!.... It hadn’t occurred to me just what I’m dealing with here. I mean, I could accept being transported, somehow, to a different world, but to find that you can arbitrarily make stuff...”

“It took me quite some time, too. And practice... Chuang helped me clean up a number of, um, learning experiences, I believe you call them.”

“Can you dream anything?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. It may be because my mind is too puny, or it may be because it is simply impossible, I don’t know. I can dream almost anything non-living, though...”

“Can you teach me to do it?”

“Chuang and I agree that it can’t be taught, only improved. You’re born with it, or you’re not.”

“And I’m not.”

“Unfortunately, it seems so. As far as we can tell, at any rate.”

“Damn. It would have been quite handy...”

“Yes, it can be. It can also be a source of constant anguish when I discover I cannot create what I must create, and lose something irreplaceable as a result...”

They fell silent for a moment.

Jake stood, rubbing his stomach.

“Thank you, King Kuranes, for your support. For everything.”

“Thank you, Commander. We shall continue this discussion in the near future.”

The King left, and Jake turned to Nolan.

“Thanks, Nolan. Feel free to drop by anytime... free dinner, on the house.”

Nolan laughed.

“I’m too busy to go running around in the hinterlands now,” he said. “Maybe in a couple years.”

“Busy? Doing what?”

“They’ve asked me to set up a medical college together with some other people. Huge project, and guess who gets to make all the decisions? ...well, most of the tough ones, anyway...”

“Well, well, well... back in academia, are you? I thought you said you’d never teach again!”

“Yeah, I thought so to, but The Project hasn’t been paying my salary lately, so I thought I’d give it a try. Always wanted to be in charge!”

“I think you’re just the man for the job,” said Jake. “You certainly know your shit, if they’ll just let you do it.”

“It’s proving... challenging. We’re trying to combine my knowledge of how things work with ibn Sina’s older, traditional approach, and the healing powers of Panakeia. Prayer and the laying on of the hands and stuff. But it works!”

“No electronics, no drugs...”

“Nope, but just knowing the details of how a lot of things work turns out to be a game-changer in traditional medicine or faith healing.”

“Well, good luck to you, Nolan.”

Jake hugged the other briefly, and left to the waiting airship.

Nadeen walked by his side, still a bit awed by the scale of the floating city and meeting the King, with Chuang close behind.

“Master Chuang, how long will you stay with us?”

“Just long enough to examine all the horses,” said Chuang, “and take another hard look at that stone block set into the floor of the church.”

“The church is an infirmary right now,” said Jake. “Might be a bit crowded.”

“Master Chuang and I will help take care of that,” said Healer Dunchanti, walking next to Chuang. “I’ll set up a temporary temple to Panakeia there and work with Master Chuang on healing your injured, until I can get a real temple built nearby.”

“I wish you could have come sooner, but you’re more than welcome,” said Jake. “Will a Godsworn of Nath-Horthath be joining us, too? We had planned on setting up a school.”

“He should arrive soon,” said Chuang. “He’s coming from Kadatheron, with a small escort. They don’t have any temples in this area, probably because of the low population, but plan to open a school here, or in Cadharna.”

As they boarded the airship, the captain advised them to go below and brace themselves.

“We’re going to fly out through the storm, too,” he said, “to better hide our tracks. And it’ll be rough.”

They cast off and dropped very rapidly, the deck tilting to about a thirty-degree angle. The whistling of the wind rose, the cabin grew dark, and the airship once again shook and rattled.

The airship’s spine creaked as it bent, and it tipped to the side for an instant, and then suddenly a ray of brilliant sunshine came burning in through the window. Above them the black thunderstorm was scudding southwest toward the sea, and the last few wayward gusts rocked the airship in parting.

They were somewhere in the southern extent of the Mohaggers, thought Jake, studying the profiles of the peaks around them. They were a few hours distant from the fort, and anyone who might have been watching would have been unable to tell just what direction they had come from because of the thunderstorm. And nobody would imagine they’d been inside the eye of the storm!

Jake looked back at the black clouds they were leaving behind... a black thunderstorm, it seemed, but inside...

“I understand it floats because the King wants it to, but what it is made of, Master Chuang?”

“Adamant.”

“I’ve heard of that somewhere, long ago...”

“Adamant is made from an ore only mined on the moon, called adamantite. It can only be refined and worked by magic, because it is infinitely hard and no natural force can affect it.”

“Infinitely? Infinity is a pretty big word, Master Chuang... You really mean that?”

“It’s a magical element, and yes, our theory suggests that it is indeed infinitely hard, infinitely tough, infinitely rigid. If it were only easier to mine and easier to shape, it would be incredibly useful.”

“Infinitely hard,...” said Jake almost to himself. “Fascinating...”

The captain swung the prow around and headed for Fort Danryce.

Chapter 4

A few weeks later Beorhtwig could even run without it hurting much.

The wyvern, Flogdreka, didn’t seem to be in physical pain, even after he and Mintran cut off the burnt wing, but he was a very unhappy wyvern.

He should have been a lot happier when they took his saddle and harness off, but he barely seemed to notice. It was quite big and heavy, since it had to hold the rider safely while the enormous wyvern flew, or dove, or spun in midair. It was similar to a horse saddle, modified to mount securely without interfering with either wings or legs, and of course was considerably larger.

Flogdreka ate sparingly. Wyverns normally only ate two or three times a month, and although he needed a lot more protein to regrow his wing properly, he had eaten only once since plunging to the ground that day.

Mintran and even Horsemaster Turan had checked him out as well as they could, and found nothing wrong. He didn’t seem to have internal injuries, and his wing was regenerating rapidly, but he still refused to get up.

Beorhtwig almost never left his side, and the wyvern had come to trust him completely now. Even when they amputated the wing Flogdreka didn’t move, just closed his eyes and lay there as Beorhtwig scratched his cheek.

Something else was wrong.

He trudged back into the fort to talk to Healer Dunchanti again.

The wall was covered in scaffolding and workers, with a couple of winches set up atop the wall to help lift huge blocks of stone into place. It would be weeks, at least, before it was all done. The new main gate would be double, one on either side of the wall with a killing zone between them.

Work was also under way on the defensive towers: twin towers flanking each of the gates, and a few more spaced around the battlements. Attackers would have a harder time breaking down the gates next time.

The captains had talked about repairing the huge gates on the road up from the grasslands below, but since the last attack had come over the mountains, the general consensus was that it was a waste of time and effort—not to mention they’d have to man it for it to be of any use at all.

There was more interest in building a moat, or even a palisade, on the high side of the fort, where the gates were, but bedrock made a moat impossible. It might be possible to put up a palisade of sharpened stakes, but cutting holes in the rock would take a long time.

The old bell tower had a gong in it now, too, to sound the alarm. Turned out it was much quicker to make a good gong than a good bell.

They’d moved some of the cattle and chickens inside the fort. The livestock was housed as far away from the barracks as possible, but the stench was still pretty strong. Most of the troopers were already used to those odors from their childhoods, but it still wasn’t pleasant.

He had it much easier, staying outside the walls with Flogdreka.

Except that Flogdreka wasn’t recovering mentally, somehow.

Healer Duchanti was in the church, where he had set up a temporary temple of Panakeia and taken over much of the healing, freeing Mintran to return to his alchemy.

“Healer? Do you have a moment?”

Duchanti turned from the bedside where one of his remaining patients lay, smiling.

“Trooper Beorhtwig, of course. How can I help you?”

“It’s about Flogdreka. Again.”

“You’re worried about his wing.”

“No, not really... it seems to be growing back properly. Thank you for keeping an eye on it... I’m worried about his spirit.”

“His spirit?”

“He should be eager to fly, to eat, even to walk around, but he is listless and mostly disinterested in everything.”

“When I checked him the other day he seemed quite healthy, except for the wing of course.”

“Yes, I know. And he eats what I give him, but without actually enjoying it.”

“You know more of wyverns than I, I suspect... what do you think is the problem?”

“I don’t know... if I had to guess I’d say he was sad.”

“Because he can’t fly?”

“I don’t think that’s the problem... or at least, not the root cause. But I can’t imagine what the problem might be, or how to help him.”

“If he were human I’d suspect he was in love!” joked Duchanti.

Beorhtwig’s mouth fell open.

“...in... love... Of course! That’s it, Healer! That’s it!”

“He loves you!?”

“Not me, his mate! The wyvern that fled was his mate! That explains it! He must think she’s dead!”

“Of course... they mate for life,” said Duchanti, nodding. “But she flew back to Thuba Mleen; surely the same as dead as far as your wyvern is concerned.”

Beorhtwig paced the stone floor, thinking furiously.

“He can’t understand speech, of course, so I can’t just tell him. He’d have to see her with his own eyes... but her master is one of Thuba Mleen’s fighters.”

“Sounds like you’ll have to visit Thuba Mleen’s wyvern pens, once the wing is healed,” said the Healer.

“Yes, and somehow free her to rejoin Flogdreka. But how...?”

He was so deep in thought as he left the church he forgot to even thank the Healer.

It would be a while yet before Flogdreka could fly again.

 

* * *

 

Jake, Nadeen, and Captain Long pored over the drawings.

The King’s architect, Artificer Takatora, pulled out another sheet to show how the towers flanking the main gate had overlapping fields of fire, and archers could shoot at attackers without revealing themselves. The new main gate consisted of two gates, both massive and well defended, and the space between them—directly under the wall—was in turn protected by “murder holes” that allowed defenders to fire arrows straight down, or drop rocks or boiling oil on the attackers.

“Even the best defenses will be penetrated unless they are manned,” said Takatora. “These openings—the arrow slits in the battlements and the murder holes here—make it possible to inflict considerable losses on the attacker while preserving your own forces.”

“Once the towers are finished, both the ones flanking the gates and the ones along the wall, I think you’ll be reasonably secure.

“You don’t have to worry about tunnels since you’re on solid rock, and about half your periphery is protected by the height of the cliff.”

“And grenades?” asked Jake.

“Not much we can do to stop grenades,” said Takatora. “Make your walls as massive as possible and train your archers to kill the grenadiers before they get too close.

“I think your biggest worries are having enough people available to defend both gates and wall adequately, and siege. You should boost Captain Nadeen’s troop to at least a heavy twelve, and two full twelves if possible. If you expect attack, three would be even better.”

“That’s a heck of a lot of troopers for such a small fort,” mused Nadeen.

“Yes, but if you need to defend the wall again an attack, a single twelve will be overstretched and overwhelmed. Let alone have enough spare force for a sally to destroy siege machines.”

“There’s plenty of wood out there to build siege machines, that’s for sure,” said Captain Long. “and since they can’t be carried over the mountains, they’d have to build them here. Hopefully our patrols will give us enough warning to take care of them before they become a problem.

“And with Mintran’s thalassion fire we can probably destroy any siege machines that get close to the fort anyway.”

“Even without siege machines, though, all they have to do is stop us from leaving the fort,” said Nadeen. “That’s why I agreed to move the chickens and cows inside, even though they stink.”

“You’re closer to them than I am!” laughed Long.

“Yeah... The whole fort has a distinctly unpleasant smell now, all day,” complained Jake. “I’d hoped the stream through there would help, but it hasn’t yet.”

“The stream is your biggest weak point,” said Takatora. “If they poison your water, or simply divert the stream, your water supply is reduced to that single well.

“And I’m a bit concerned about where that well draws it water from, too, because it might well be the same stream, in which case you’d be left with no water at all.”

“What do you think, Captain?” asked Jake, turning to Captain Long. “We can make more water barrels easily enough, but there are limits to how much water we can store that way, and how long we can store it. I’d be happier if we knew more about that well.”

“It’s never gone dry, even when the stream was a lot smaller last summer. I can ask Captain Ridhi if she’s noticed anything.”

“Any way we can drop some dye or something into the stream and see if it turns up in the well?”

“Sure, but we have no way of knowing where the stream might be connected to the well, or how long it might take for dye to penetrate. Worth trying, though!”

Jake rubbed his chin, looking at the ceiling.

“You know, we never did explore that tunnel under the church,” he mused. “The one with the stone block sealing it off.”

“And after finding those metal plates hidden under the floor I’m not sure I want to!” said Nadeen.

“We never did figure out how the Flayed One got to the horses,” said Jake. “It could have been from there, in which case I’d really like to know more about what’s down there.”

“Tunnel? What tunnel?” asked Takatora.

“Sorry, you’ve probably never seen it,” said Jake. “In the floor of the church there is a large stone block set into the floor, about a meter square, with bolts in the top to lift it with. It’s about half a meter thick, and massive.

“We lifted it up a bit when we first got here, and it was just an empty tunnel.

“We’ve never explored it, but it runs close to the stream, and it was completely dry.”

“And why do you think it might have something to do with the Flayed One?”

“When Councilor Nekhii was here with Matriarch Geriel, he found a book, sort of, hidden in a cavity in the floor. Master Chuang has it now. Apparently it’s very, very old, and has something to do with Nyogtha... we think this monastery was built for the worship of Nyogtha, and that might be why it was destroyed.”

“Interesting,” said Takatora. “A tunnel under the fort, a stream, and a well... worth looking into!”

“I say we do a little exploring,” suggested Nadeen. “I’ve always felt a little uneasy about having a secret door inside the fort; about time we had a look.”

“I’m not much on tunnels,” said Long. “but why not ask Bagatur Khasar? The Ibizim have been using the ancient tunnels for generations... they should have a better idea of how to investigate.”

“Excellent idea,” nodded Jake. “They’re out on patrol today, I think with Seri, but I’ll talk to him about it tonight.”

“Can I see this secret door?” asked Takatora.

“Sure,” said Jake, standing up. “We can go have a look at it right now if you like... the church has been converted into two temporary temples, but now that most of the wounded are gone there shouldn’t be any problem.”

They left the meeting room, walking through the library and into the church. That end was set up as the temple of Panakeia, but the opening in the floor was almost in the center of the building, between the two temples.

Jake noticed that lessons were already under way in the other one, the temple of Nath-Horthath. Rorkaln was helping a group of troopers—he recognized a few of them from Beghara’s twelve—practice reading.

He nodded to the Godsworn, not wanting to interrupt, and pointed to the hooks embedded into the floor. He explained in a quiet voice.

“We ran rope through the hooks, and then through pulleys on the columns there, and there, and on the other side. The pulleys were all gone when we first came here, but I’m pretty sure that’s how they lifted the block, too... the bolts are perfectly positioned to use them, and the damn thing is much too heavy to just lift.”

Takatora looked at the bolts and the pulleys, then studied the block itself.

“This is different stone than the stone used in the building, and in the walls. Is it from the same quarry?”

“I don’t know... the quarry we’re using—the one the village has always used—seems to be the same one used to build the whole fort, but I have no idea where this block came from.”

“Hmm... in any case, I think you’re right about the pulleys... Yes, assuming those bolts were in the columns to start with,” he said, “but I wonder about these bolts here.”

He knelt down on one knee to examine the bolts in the floor stone more closely.

“It’s not clear to me how these bolts were inserted... they obviously don’t pull out, or you wouldn’t have been able to lift the stone, but there’s no sign of cement or anything being used to hold them in place. The rock isn’t cut or split around the bolts; they just emerge from a perfectly sized hole, with no gap at all between the bolt and the rock. Or at least very little gap—maybe it’s just very small and full of dirt, making it almost invisible.

“Even so, it’s incredibly tight...”

“Now that you mention it,” said Jake, “the stone barely made a whisper when we lifted it that time... a very quiet sliding noise, no grinding or scraping at all.”

“Yeah, I remember thinking how strange that was at the time,” agreed Nadeen.

“OK, let’s do it,” said Jake. “I’ll talk to the Bagatur tonight and get it set up. I figure he’ll want some special supplies, too... torches, rope, whatnot...”

“I wish we had some sunstones,” said Captain Long.

“Me, too,” laughed Takatora, “but they’re damn rare and more expensive than I’ll ever be able to afford!”

“What’s a sunstone?”

“The lizardfolk used them to light their caverns,” explained Takatora. “They’re crystal balls maybe about, oh, twenty or thirty centimeters in diameter, pretty heavy. I saw one once in Celephaïs.

“Basically, they absorb any light that falls on them when they’re wet, and emit it again when they’re dry. Normally they emit at the same brilliance they absorbed the light at, and for the same length of time, but if you dampen them—just get them a little wet—you can reduce the output to make it last longer.

“There can’t be more than a couple dozen of them in all of the Dreamlands.”

“Huh, neat! A rechargeable light... and no electronics to get Reed all upset!” enthused Jake. “I want to get one for Mintran to play with, because it opens up a whole lot of possibilities.”

“Like the Artificer said, they’re rare.”

“I know some people,” smiled Jake. “Maybe they can help make it happen.”

“In any case, when you finally open this, tomorrow or whenever, I’d like to be here to get a closer look at the stonework,” said Takatora. “Send someone to tell me and I’ll come running.”

“Easy enough,” nodded Jake. “I will.”

He looked up to see Rorkaln, the Godsworn at the adjacent temple to Nath-Horthath, approaching.

“Godsworn Rorkaln, I hope we didn’t disturb you?”

“Oh, no, Commander, not at all. They concentrate well and are not easily distracted, but I fear some of them will never master literacy.”

“How many is ‘some’?”

“One or two out of every twelve, I’m afraid.”

“That’s better than I’d hoped for,” said Jake. “All officers, sergeant and up, will have to be literate soon... Maybe I haven’t made that clear enough yet?”

“I think everyone knows it by now,” said Sergeant Long. “Just some troopers are happy where they are. They aren’t interested in promotions.”

“That’s fine, too, as long as they don’t get angry because they’re skipped over.”

“If they do Captain Nadeen and I will take care of it.”

“How are your studies coming along, Captain?”

“Captain Long is making excellent progress,” said the Godsworn. “He already knows Ibizim, so the concepts of reading and writing are not foreign to him. All he had to do was learn some new letters and how to spell.”

“Like he says, I’m OK,” grunted Long.

“Excellent.

“Godsworn Rorkaln, how are discussions going with the villagers? For your temple?”

“Well, Commander.

“They are delighted to have schooling, and that a temple will be built here, even a small one. I don’t think there’s really space for it here at the fort, though, and to be honest the temple really shouldn’t be inside a fort anyway. We’re using an empty hut in the village as a school now, but once the temple is built I expect we’ll move the school there.

“You know, the butcher said that since he delivers so much meat here, he was thinking of maybe moving his farm and shop out here, to be closer. He said a few other people he knew had been thinking of the same thing: a few merchants and a few of your hired hands.”

“There’s no room in the fort,” said Jake. “Outside the gates? Or do you mean down on the plain?”

“Down on the plain. Plenty of water, good cropland once it’s plowed, grass for the livestock... if there wasn’t already a village nearby this wouldn’t be a bad place to make one.”

“So we’re going to get our own castle town already, then.”

“Plenty of room for my temple, and for a temple to Panakeia, too.”

“You’re not worried about what might happen if the fort is attacked?”

“The villagers say they used to be, but since half the village got torched the last time anyway, they figure closer to the fort might be better... they can always flee inside for protection.

“About this stone, though... I believe you are discussing raising it, and exploring the tunnel underneath?”

“Yes. I need to make sure this isn’t some secret entrance into the fort. If the stone’s too heavy to raise that’s fine, but it’s a strange thing to have in a church.”

“Master Chuang told me of the book you found here, Commander, and I suspect the church and this door also involve Nyogtha. It might be dangerous to explore.”

“Thuba Mleen makes it dangerous to merely be alive,” replied Jake. “Unless Bagatur Khasar has some objection, we’re going to find out what’s down there.”

“I have found no trace of Nyogtha or any other foul creature here, but underneath... I have no idea what may lurk there.”

“I know, Godsworn, but neither do I, and that’s what bothers me.”

“When do you suppose we might get new glass for these windows, Commander?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Captain Ridhi is having glass made in Ilarnek now. Clear glass, I’m afraid, not fancy stained glass windows.”

“Excellent! We’ll want them in the winter.”

“I have no objection to you—or Healer Dunchanti—replacing them with stained glass of your own, however.”

“At our expense, no doubt,” smiled Rorkaln. “No need, though... these are temporary quarters, until Nath-Horthath’s new temple is completed.”

“As you wish. Fortunately, the weather makes windows unnecessary at this time of year... and by fall they should be installed.

“If you will excuse us, Godsworn, we must return to our work,” Jake said, and they returned to the meeting room.

“Artificer Takatora, if you will forgive me, I must see Alchemist Mintran.”

Captain Long and Nadeen stayed with the Artificer to work out a few more details as Jake walked to Mintran’s laboratory.

“I see you’re keeping busy, Alchemist,” he called as he stepped into the low-ceilinged building.

Mintran looked up from his workbench, covered with bits and pieces of metal, and large spools of wire shining dully.

“Commander!” Mintran started to stand, but Jake waved him back down.

“How are the mechanisms coming along?”

Mintran waved at the tabletop.

“Einar’s copper wire is wonderful. He swaged it down extremely well, and it has very little variation in diameter that I can see. My fingertips hurt.”

Jake grinned.

“Your waterwheel should be up and running in a day or two, and once we get it set up to spool the wire properly, your fingertips will be just fine.

“More importantly, though, what about timers?”

“I think I figured out a way to use the same weight to act as a timer.”

“Excellent! And portability?”

“Oh, it’s easy to carry, but because of that weight it needs to hang from something. You need at least two meters, more if you want a timer, for the necessary force.”

“Damn,” muttered Jake. “What I’d give for some Duracells...”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind... have you tested any?”

“Just one. It worked, but the sound echoed off the mountains. Everyone was pretty excited for awhile; I don’t think they ever figured it out.”

“When you’re ready just let me know, and I’ll get de Palma to give you a lift to somewhere secluded.”

“You’re really playing with fire here, you know... if this gets into the wrong hands...”

“I know. But I don’t see any other way.”

“Yessir,” nodded Mintran.

“We’ll get the bastard, one way or another. Keep me informed.”

He smiled as he left.

Another plan was beginning to come together.

Chapter 5

“Explore the tunnel?” asked Bagatur Khasar. “That sounds simple enough... we use the tunnels of the lizard people all the time, so tunnels do not frighten us.

“We’re far from the realm of the Ibizim, though, and on the other side of the Mohaggers. I’ve never heard of lizard people statues or tunnels in this area, or indeed anywhere from the Mohaggers to the coast.

“We can be ready to go tomorrow, if you like. My twelve will be delighted to escape Sergeant TiTi’s constant training and lectures.”

Jake laughed.

“Nobody likes training, but it’s really necessary. In addition to improving skills and abilities throughout the company, we’re also discovering some interesting things that we need to address. One trooper was totally deaf, for example, and another has been hiding a bad back for months.

“In any case, yes, if you can be ready by tomorrow that would be excellent. The sooner the better,” said Jake. “You’ll take your sand lizards, too?”

“Yes. They can sense heat, and warn us of things lurking in the darkness where our light does not reach.”

“Torches?”

“Yes, plenty of torches, of course. Food, water, marking paint, rope, a few other things,” said Khasar, counting off on his fingers. “I haven’t explored a new tunnel in years!”

“Well, it probably goes to a temple to Nyogtha... might not be as much fun as you expect,” warned Jake dryly. “Among other things, get some of those fire flasks from Mintran. He’s been making up a couple batches for future use, and they might come in real handy in tight spaces.”

“The thalassion fire? Yes, that could be very useful, thank you.”

“Anything else, ask Captain Ridhi, and tell her to talk to me if there’s a problem.”

“I will, Commander,” said Khasar. “Let me bring my twelve up to speed.”

“Thank you, Bagatur.”

After the Commander left, Bagatur Khasar walked over to their temporary barracks, a collection of tents that served well enough until the new barracks were finished.

He called his twelve together around the fire, and told them that instead of their planned patrol tomorrow, they’d be exploring a tunnel. They were all familiar with tunnels, but they were less enthusiastic when he filled them in on the details, and mentioned Nyogtha.

“Elbek and Narmandakh, to the armory. Get twelve sheafs of arrows, and however more quivers we need. Everyone will carry a quiver, not just the archers.”

“Yes, Bagatur. That’ll be four more quivers, I think. I’ll check.”

“Good. And I want half a dozen grenades, too. You might want to be careful with those. Mönkhbat, Tümen, and, uh, Jochi, go get half a dozen coils of rope, and a week’s worth of food for the sand lizards. We have a little here, but we’ll need more jerky.”

The two lizard handlers left for the storehouse, now located along the eastern wall.

“And Chaghatai, I want you to go find the Alchemist. I want a dozen flasks of thalassion, more if he can spare it. Tell him it’s a request from the Commander, and we’ll give him back whatever we don’t use.”

“Might be a bit dicey to carry back a dozen flasks full of exploding oil, Bagatur...”

“Yeah, might be. Try not to drop any. And take someone with you to help.”

“Monkhbayar! You’re up, woman. Time for a little stroll.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, getting up and brushing the dirt off her boots. “There’d better be some ale left when I get back!”

“The rest of you, with me. Captain Ridhi is going to give us a week’s worth of food.”

“How about a little ale, Bagatur?” came a voice from the back.

“Drink it here, Davaajav. No ale for you on a mission ever again!”

They all laughed. Davaajav’s fondness for ale was famous.

“Everyone, make sure your water’s full, too, before we leave tomorrow. Canteens, and a couple skins.”

Everything was ready within an hour, and in spite of the looming threat of Nyogtha, they were happy to be going somewhere and doing something instead of just training and patrolling the same old forest, mountains, and grasslands again and again.

They were up at dawn, as usual, and Ridhi had their breakfasts waiting for them in the mess. They shoveled it in, knowing they’d be living off beans and jerky, plus whatever they could find along the way. They’d bring tea with them, of course—everyone drank tea—but whether they’d find anything to make a fire with or no was anyone’s guess.

The Commander was already in the church, helping Captain Beghara’s twelve get the lifting ropes set. They’d had the night guard shift and were supposed to be off-duty at dawn, but he needed their help getting the block lifted... and until Bagatur Khasar came back again, the open hole would have to be guarded, too.

They lifted the block up slowly, the pulleys managing its enormous weight without difficulty, and after they’d raised it high enough, slid two logs underneath to hold it, allowing the Bagatur and his twelve to drop into the square opening.

The two sand lizards went first, waddling forward, tongues flicking, down the inclined floor into the darkness, followed by the Bagatur, torch in hand.

The rest of the twelve followed suit, and they quickly moved down the tunnel and out of sight.

The tunnel sloped downward from the opening, quickly getting higher and wider. As they walked they examined the tunnel in the light of their torches, revealing smooth, almost featureless walls, floor, and ceiling.

It was clean, naturally. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years, maybe decades. Even the spiders were long-dead in their decaying webs, with nothing to eat. The air was bone-dry.

Just featureless blocks of a whitish stone, fitted together amazingly tightly, with barely a crack showing between them.

“Chaghatai, you agree we’re heading right under the Mohaggers?”

“Yeah, think so, Bagatur. My compass isn’t very reliable down here, but I’d guess about northwest. You?”

“The same. We’ve been walking about an hour, on a steady incline, so we’d be right under the first peaks right about now, I figure.”

“Yup. Air’s still good, though!”

“Anyone else? Notice anything?”

Nobody had, and the sand lizards were acting perfectly normal. Obviously they hadn’t sensed anything except empty tunnel, either.

“I don’t see any reason to keep walking like this,” said the Bagatur. “If there’s aren’t any openings anywhere, we might as well up the pace until we get somewhere.

“Let’s get a move on, people!”

They shifted into a leisurely trot that they could keep up all day if they had to, although the lizards would run out of steam in about an hour of this, even with the coolth of the tunnel.

About fifteen minutes later, Khasar called a halt, and lifted his torch up high.

There was something carved into the wall, vertical lines of characters.

“T’pictyl.”

“Yup. Anyone read T’pictyl?”

The other crowded around.

“I read a little,” said Monkhbayar. “The Matriarch insisted we all get a little practice, and I ended up liking it... let me see.”

The black-haired woman stepped closer to study the carvings, running her eyes down the lines slowly and mumbling to herself.

“This is High T’pictyl, which means no vowels. I can’t figure out some of it, but it looks like a poem of welcome. There’s a lot of flowery language, I think, but it says travelers from distant lands are welcome in peace to this place. The place is named TKN, and since didn’t write the vowels I don’t know how to pronounce that. Takana, maybe?”

“OK, we’ll go with Takana for now. Does it say what Takana is?”

“No... but I’d guess a city, given that they bothered to put this poem here.”

“That doesn’t sound like Nyogtha to me...”

“Me neither,” she agreed. “But it looks like somebody lives here, or did.”

Just beyond the welcome message there was a set of steps, and then the tunnel opened up into a huge cavern, lit by the same faintly blue phosphorescent cave lichen they knew from the tunnels in the Ibizim realm. It was impossible to tell just how large it was because a thin mist concealed the far side, and the ceiling. After the first echo they switched to whispers and stealthy footfalls, hoping to avoid the notice of things they didn’t want to meet.

They snuffed their torches, keeping a few coals so they could relight them in a hurry if they had to.

The white-paved path continued straight ahead, sloping down slightly into the cavern, which seemed to have a shallow, dish-shaped floor. In the distance they could make out what looked like a forest, with open water—a lake, maybe? A graceful minaret soared nearby, glittering darkly in the bluish light.

Low buildings flanked the road they were on, which continued straight into the center of the “city.” The buildings, almost all of the same white stone, rose higher and higher into the distance.  

The low buildings along both sides of the road were all uninhabited as far as they could see. Clumps of vegetation began to appear here and there, some obviously overgrown gardens or parks, and others just random growths.

A shadow passed overhead, and Khasar automatically flinched, looking up to see what it was.

Just a bird swooping by; nothing to worry about.

He could head the chirping and whirring of insects, and in the distance faint birdsong. And water!

They reached an intersection, and stopped in wonder... ahead of them was an overgrown park, overlooked by a gigantic statue of a lizardfolk. It bore no weapons, unlike most statues of the lizard people they had seen, and carried a scroll instead. The statue wore a bare harness with no armor at all, and in spite of the lichen growing on its head and shoulders, looked serene.

“A city of the lizardfolk...” breathed Khasar. “I’ve seen ancient dwellings and small villages in our own tunnels, but never a city of this scale...”

“And deserted, as they all are,” added Chaghatai.

“Bagatur,” called Tümen from the right flank. “My lizard says there’s something over this way.”

“Something moving?”

“I don’t know, but it’s flicking its tongue and banging its tail... it’s excited about something.”

“OK, let’s go have a look,” said the Bagatur. “Spread out and stay alert... just because this place looks deserted doesn’t mean it’s safe.”

Tümen’s sand lizard suddenly darted forward and snapped at something.

“Just a frog,” said Tümen, laughing. “About time for lunch, I think.”

The sand lizard left the road, turning toward what must have been a villa garden, now overgrown with weeds and scraggly trees festooned with vines.

It stopped, testing the air, its tongue flicking in and out rapidly, and the other lizard waddled up to join it. Neither one made any effort to enter, but there was obviously something in there that interested them—or worried them.

“Tsogbayar, hop up on that wall and see what’s in there, would you?”

She clambered up the wall, slowly raising her head and then her body to lie on top. She fitted an arrow to her bowstring but held it in place, string slack.

“I don’t see anything... Just a lot of overgrown weeds and bushes, and a fountain. Nothing moving,” she reported. “Lizards still nervous?”

“Still testing the air,” said Tümen.

“Elbek, get up there with her.”

Elbek, another archer, scrambled up onto the wall on the other side of the gate. Between them they should be able to cover most of the garden.

“Jargal, Davaajav, go with Mönkhbat and her lizard and check out the villa. The rest of you, with me.”

Leaving Tümen and her sand lizard at the gate, Khasar cautiously led them into the garden.

The lizard at the gate stayed where it was, head up, tongue flicking, tail slowly flexing back and forth.

Swords drawn, they advanced through the garden, trying to avoid the thickest weeds as they approached the fountain. Another bird slipped through the air, diving to catch something black and buzzing in its beak before darting off again.

Something rattled; Khasar looked down to see a small skull, maybe a badger or something. He held his hand up, motioning the others to halt, then picked it up are showed it around, questioning the others silently.

Narmandakh nodded and held up two fingers, then used her hands to indicate the size. Small.

Several others shook their heads, but Monkhbayar signed that there was a big one. Big enough to be human? Or one of the lizardfolk?

Khasar indicated his own head, questioning, and Monkhbayar nodded. Human, then.

It wouldn’t be unusual to find a dead animal in an abandoned garden, but at least four?

He signed to move ahead, and then slipped forward again, closer to the fountain.

He could hear the water dripping down the little cliff at the far end of the garden, running down toward the pond and the fountain, but the fountain wasn’t working, of course.

Something strange about that pool, though... there was something funny about the color...

A thin black whip shot up out of the pool, coiling around Narmandakh’s leg and pulling her off her feet in an instant. She fell heavily on one shoulder with a curse, her sword flying from her hand.

Chaghatai was the closest, and leapt to grasp her arm, bracing himself against the pull of that dully glistening black strand.

Narmandakh screamed, and the flesh of her leg began melting away, dissolved by some acid, blood dribbling then spurting as she writhed in agony.

Khasar’s sword flashed, cutting through the black strand and freeing Narmandakh. Chaghatai toppled backwards, pulling her with him away from the pool. Monkhbayar grabbed him with one hand and Narmandakh with the other, dragging both away with all her strength.

The black thing on her leg continued to pulse, spreading up her leg as if it had a life of its own, even though severed from its parent. It thinned into a film covering more and more of her body as her screams lessened and her body grew thinner, until finally she fell silent.

His face twisted in a grimace, teeth bared, Khasar pulled a flask of thalassion fire from his pack and poured it over her body and the black mass, which had already tripled in size.

He dropped a coal from his firebox and stood there even as the flames shot up, the heat crisping the hair on his face.

He watched that black monstrosity wither and crack and burn until it was as dead as she was.

“Now we know what happened to the city,” said Chaghatai dully.

“Nyogtha?”

“Or one of its spawn.”

“If they’re all like that... we can’t burn them all,” said Khasar. “I think we’re done here... any reason to stay?”

“Let’s get out of here,” whispered someone to a grumble of murmurs.

“Bagatur!”

It was Tümen, at the gate.

“More of them coming!”

Khasar ran to the gate to see the road covered with a black tar, rippling turgidly toward them. Both directions... they couldn’t escape through this gate anymore!

“Into the villa, quickly!”

The archers jumped down off the wall, and joined the others as they rushed for the building. Davaajav had just stepped out onto the patio from inside.

“What is it?”

“Later. Back inside, fast!” shouted the Bagatur. “Where are the others?”

“Inside... what is it?”

“The Stain of Nyogtha,” explained Khasar briefly, glancing back into the garden to make sure everyone was into the villa. The first black tendrils were seeping in through the garden gate.

“Straight through and out the front door. Move!”

They raced through the building, past deserted rooms and abandoned, rotting furniture and clothing.

The front gate, once of sturdy wood faced with orichalc and silver, lay decaying on the ground, one gatepost collapsed and covered in moss.

To the right, a river of black pulsed toward them.

They ran left up the empty road, and the blackness pursued, flowing almost as fast as they were running, tiny black tentacles spitting out every so often hoping to catch one of them.

“The minaret!”

Khasar pointed toward the soaring tower, and they changed course.

One of the huge doors, covered with gold and silver plates depicting lizardfolk, was ajar.

They slipped inside.

“Push them shut!”

They lined up along the open door, pushing it with all their might, and it slowly, grudgingly, moved with a complaining screech.

A black tendril seeped in the narrowing crack, questing for flesh.

A small flask arced out of the door, landing on the black film outside and bursting open. A hot coal followed, and with a whump it ignited, flames whipping up to fill the doorway in an instant, and even as that black tendril withered and died the door slammed shut.

Khasar and Jargal dropped the bolt into place, and they all panted, shaking until Chaghatai pointed to the bottom of the door, and they silently watched a small black pool begin to seep under it and into the building.

“Upstairs!”

The Bagatur urged the others up the broad stairs, watching the spreading black puddle with alarm.

“It’ll creep up here eventually,” muttered Monkhbayar.

“Yeah, and now we’re trapped,” agreed Tümen.

“Alright, enough of that,” snapped Khasar. “We need some ideas about how to get out of here.

“Spread out and look around. See if there’s anything useful here.

“Jargal, Davaajav, keep an eye on that staircase and shout if it starts climbing up here.”

There was nothing of much use in any of the rooms, but there was another flight of stairs, up into the minaret.

Khasar and Monkhbayar climbed the stairs, and looked in the first room on the way up... there was a shelf with small balls in a row... he picked one up and hefted it.

Heavy, but not a gem or precious metal. Some sacred object?

“Bagatur!”

A shout from below.

He tossed the ball back on the shelf and stepped back onto the stairs. He carried the only torch, leaving Monkhbayar in the dark for a moment.

“It’s climbing the stairs, Bagatur! Burn it?”

“No, not yet!” he called back, then turned at Monkhbayar’s voice from the room.

“Bagatur, that ball... it’s glowing!”

He ducked back into the room, and the ball was as bright as a torch, the light of the same torch he had carried in his hand! His sweat had activated it!

“Sunstones!”

Monkhbayar stared at them in awe.

“I’ve never seen one before...”

“Grab as many as you can, Monkhbayar,” he ordered, pulling off his own ruck and cramming in one after another.

She followed suit, and between them they packed away several dozen spheres.

“Time to go!”

They descended the stairs again... the blackness was slowly oozing up the staircase toward them.

“Out the window?” suggested Chaghatai. “We don’t have a lot of options...”

“We have enough rope,” agreed Khasar, looking out the window toward the road below. “It looks clear on this side; damn things must all be squeezing in through the door.

“Elbek, you’re the lightest, I think. You first.”

Elbek, one of the archers, nodded and climbed into the window. He dropped the rope out and slithered down.

“Somebody, find a long piece of wood or something to anchor this rope to,” ordered Khasar, “or the last one will have to jump.”

They found a piece of wood that would serve the purpose, and tied the rope to it. It was too long to be pulled through the window easily, and served as an anchor.

“Next! Keep moving!” ordered the Bagatur, waving them on.

“Bagatur! It’s coming round toward us!” came a shout from below.

“Damn!” Khasar thought furiously. “Elbek! Take the rope and climb up that building over there, on the other side of the road. We’ll have to swing over!”

There were three troopers safely down the rope now, but the black film was approaching fast.

Elbek and the others raced for the building, pulling the rope with them.

Elbek handed it up to Jochi, who had jumped up onto the roof, then joined him to help secure the end. It was taut in a minute, and the first trooper began to swing over from the minaret.

The black film swirled below, searching, but it had no eyes.

“The lizards! We can’t leave them!” cried Tümen.

“Can you carry them?”

“I will!” she answered, and draped one over her shoulders, tying its front legs together with her rope so it wouldn’t fall off. She began to swing across the road.

Behind her, Mönkhbat began tying her own sand lizard up the same way.

“Let’s get a move on, people! That black goo isn’t going to wait!”

They swung across, one after another.

The Bagatur was the last one out.

As he swung across hand over hand, he looked down at the pool of blackness rippling below... it hadn’t noticed them yet, apparently, and was still sending tendrils here and there, searching.

His eyes widened... was that?

He swung faster, but his eyes staying fixed on the middle of the blackness, where slowly, one tiny piece at a time, a human head was rising out of the puddle.

The black liquid couldn’t be more than a few centimeters deep at best, but he could already see the forehead, and the face gradually rose out of the slime, tiny tentacles writhing over its surface, building it in cell by cell.

That face... it looked familiar.

The scar over the eye! It was...!

The head rose higher, and the eye sockets and cheekbones appeared, revealing what was unmistakably Narmandakh. Her face was an oily black, eyes pools of dark ink seeking light.

And she would be able to see him!

Hanging by one hand, he yanked out his last flask of thalassion and dropped it, missing the growing head but close enough to splash it with naphtha... and tipped a coal out of his firebox.

The flames shot up so high that he could feel the warmth on his legs, and he hurriedly pulled himself across the rest of the way, until they grabbed his arms and pulled him up.

And not a moment too soon, as the black goo began to seep along the rope from the minaret in relentless pursuit.

Khasar slashed the rope, the severed end dropping into the roadway and the flames.

“Now let’s get the hell out of here!”

They leapt from the roof to the overgrown garden in back of the building, on the side opposite the minaret, and ran for their lives.

“The tunnel is that way,” shouted Khasar, waving off to the right. “If the lizards can’t keep up, leave them!”

They raced down a narrow road flanked on both sides by smaller, lower buildings, heading for the edge of the city and the tunnel out.

“Bagatur! It’s pursuing us!” called Jochi, and Khasar slowed a little to look.

The road behind them was steadily turning black, like a tide coming in. It was moving almost as fast as they were running.

Mönkhbat stopped, turned, and picked up his sand lizard. It had collapsed, obviously winded, tongue hanging out.

“I got you, Tochi! just hang on to me!” he said, draping the lizard over his back, then starting to run again, one hand reaching behind to keep the lizard from slipping off.

“Leave it, Mönkhbat!”

“I can’t! Never!”

They kept running, until Mönkhbat stumbled.

He stretched his hands out to catch himself, but the sand lizard fell free, lying dazed for a moment... and it only took a moment.

The blackness swarmed up one leg, then the body, and the lizard melted away, leaving nothing but a single piteous scream.

“No!”

Mönkhbat froze, still lying on the ground, unable to tear his eyes away from the death of the beloved sand lizard he had raised from an egg.

And the blackness claimed him.

A single tendril crept onto his hand, and he screamed in pain, flailing wildly, trying to shake it off, his hand melting as he watched.

A second tendril grabbed his leg, pulling him down into the shallow liquid, an inky film that spread to quickly cover his body, then face, mercifully blotting out his agony.

“Keep running you idiots!” shouted Khasar. “He’s dead. Go!”

The blackness slowed a bit, as if digesting its latest meal, and they were out of the city, and up the steps into the tunnel itself. They paused only as long as it took to light a torch, then broke into a run again, lighting other torches from the first as they ran.

They continued their mad dash until the tunnel narrowed down, where Khasar halted them. They fell to the tunnel floor, muscles aching, out of breath. Tümen’s sand lizard, which had somehow managed to keep up, collapsed next to them.

“Who has those grenades?” he panted.

Chaghatai, Elbek, and Jochi had two each.

“I’m going to blow the tunnel here, where it’s narrow. Any way we can mount them on the ceiling?"

The tunnel was built of the same white stone, fitted together so carefully it was hard to see the cracks between blocks. Featureless, with no way to hold the grenades in place.

“The lizards’ food!” cried Tümen. “Add a little water and it’s like mud!”

“Will it stick to the ceiling?”

“No, but it’ll hold the grenades in place, and help direct the blast.”

“Quickly! All the food—our own food, too—everything we don’t need. Set the grenades along this wall, here. Short fuse. Stack them, and cover them up to hold them in place.”

They quickly mixed up the lizard food and slopped it onto the grenades, then piled their own food and full waterskins on top.

“It’s reached the steps,” called Jargal. “About time to go.”

“OK, up the tunnel,” ordered the Bagatur. “Chagatai, light it.”

Making sure the fuse was burning, Chagatai followed the others as they ran up the gradual incline of the tunnel, away from the damned city and toward the surface.

The explosion knocked them off their feet, and they felt the ground shake.

Khasar picked himself up and walked back towards the city, holding his torch up high.

“It’s blocked completely, looks like... the whole roof collapsed, and I don’t think the grenades were this close... a whole section of the roof must have caved in.”

The others approached, searching for black liquid seeping under the rockfall.

“Don’t see anything... anyone?”

Nobody did.

“Well,” said the Bagatur, sitting down and watching the barrier, “maybe we’ll just rest a bit.”

Everyone agreed, and a few canteens appeared to be passed around.

Khasar didn’t even raise an eyebrow when it turned out that Davaajav’s was full of wine instead of water.

They sat in silence until one of the torches suddenly fell over, startling everyone and triggering a nervous laugh.

Monkhbayar reached into her ruck and pulled out a brilliant sunstone, setting it down on the ground.

“Torches are pretty smelly, don’t you think?”

They rested for about an hour, and then started the long walk back to the fort.

Chapter 6

Flogdreka’s wing looked healed. It was the same size as the other, and when he stretched it grew taut, veins pulsating with life, as if eager to take to the skies.

After the stretch, though, Flogdreka folded his wings up neatly again and lay his head down, staring at the snows of the distant peaks. He still rumbled, deep inside, when Beorhtwig scratched between his eyes, or scrubbed his scales clean with pine branches.

He sniffed at fresh goat meat, or beef, and sometimes ate a mouthful, as if to humor the wyver-master.

No matter how he tried, Beorhtwig could not break through the wyvern’s apparent depression. Already Flogdreka was alarmingly gaunt, thinned by lack of food and whatever was bothering him. He was unquestionably hot, in spite of the set of bamboo pipes he’d rigged up to redirect part of the stream into a constant flow of cold water run over the wyvern’s body, but not so hot it would make him sick. It must be a mental issue, he was sure.

Running his hand down the wyvern’s flank once again, Beorhtwig made up his mind... today, Flogdreka would fly.

He looked up at the Mohaggers again... there was plenty of snow on the high peaks, and he was sure that if he could just get Flogdreka to get up that high, the freezing air would invigorate him.

First, though, he needed to check something with the aercaptain, de Palma.

The Cavor was still at the fort, probably getting ready to leave on its mapmaking flight for the day, so he walked over to the church, where the airship was still tethered to the belltower. De Palma was still downstairs talking to Captain Ridhi and Valda Sigridsdóttir.

When they were done, he approached the captain.

“Aercaptain de Palma? Do you have a second?”

The sergeant turned.

“Trooper Beorhtwig, of course! We’re just about to leave.”

“I wanted to ask you about the three wyverns that day... I’ve looked at the body, and the one you killed was a male—it had horns and a short, stubby tail—and my wyvern is a male, but did you notice whether the one that got away was male or female?”

“Uh... let me think... everything happened so fast...”

He looked at the ceiling for a moment, then nodded.

“I’m pretty sure it was a female. I don’t know about the horns, but I think the tail was quite long.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Let’s ask the crew; maybe they got a better look.”

He walked over to the stairs into the belltower and called up.

“Hey, Tomás! C’mere a minute!”

“Yo!” came a shout from above, and shortly a crewmember can down.

“Do you recall if the wyvern that got away was a male or a female? I think female, but I’m not sure...”

“Yup, that was a female, alright. Remember, her tail damn near took the pennant off.”

“It did?” exclaimed de Palma. “I never saw that!”

“You were at the helm; I was in the stern.”

“Huh. Glad it missed us! But you’re sure it was a female?”

“Must have been as long as her wings. Yup, female, alright.”

Beorhtwig grinned.

“Thank you, Aercaptain, Trooper Tomás. That’s the best news I’ve had in weeks!”

So that must have been Flogdreka’s mate, he figured... Thuba Mleen couldn’t have that many wyverns around; they weren’t easy to find, or tame.

“One more quick question... you’ve mapped much of the Mohaggers already, right?”

“We’re working outwards, but yes, most of it. We’re staying away from the area around Tsol, and the fortress at Bleth, for safety, though.”

“Have you seen signs of an encampment on any of the snowcaps?”

“An encampment!? Up that high?” He laughed. “Not likely!”

“We did see smoke once, though,” mused Tomás, “up on Mt. Thartis, remember?”

The captain nodded.

“Now that you mention it... we joked about a volcano in the Mohaggers! Never saw it again, but there was something there that one time...”

“Mt. Thartis... thank you.”

“Why did you want to know?”

“I think I’m going to take my wyvern out there for a little visit,” said Beorhtwig. “If I’m right, the one that got away was his mate, and she’s staying up on that peak where it’s nice and cold.”

“It’s cold, all right,” agreed de Palma. “We’ve caught sight of the wyvern a few times, far away, but it’s possible. The Mohaggers are the only place around here with snow...”

“Thank you, Aercaptain. Safe flight!”

“Safe flight, Trooper Beorhtwig.”

Next stop... the kitchen.

“Captain Ridhi,” he called from the doorway. He was smart enough not to walk into her kitchen when they were cooking.

She handed a pot of something to a waiting man and turned to see who it was.

“Trooper Beorhtwig. What is it?”

“I know you’re busy, but I have a favor to ask...”

“Yes, I’m busy. What?”

“Liver. Raw liver. I think the wyvern’s going to die if I can’t get him back into the air, and raw liver should do the trick.”

“Do I look like I have raw liver lying about?” She turned back to her staff, waving her hand at someone to summon them. “They’re slaughtering a cow now; go ask them.”

“Thank you, Captain,” he said, but she was already talking to the woman she’d called over.

The barn, and the yard where they slaughtered cattle and chickens, was at the other end of the fort, on the cliff side. He walked back and found them cutting up the carcass.

“Mind if I take the liver? Captain Ridhi said I should ask you...”

“Sure, help yourself,” said one of the bloody workers. “In that bucket there.”

He did.

It was six, maybe seven kilograms... heavy for him to lug back to the wyvern, but a tiny mouthful for Flogdreka. He’d heard that it was one of the foods they loved more than anything else, though, and it was worth a try. He cut it into small chunks.

He almost whistled as he walked back toward his wyvern, carrying the liver in the wooden bucket he’d borrowed

The postern was all finished, along with its flanking towers. It was open, of course, but two of Nadeen’s twelve were there on guard duty. They had lookouts posted along the walls, and the underbrush had been cut back quite a ways from the fort, so it would be extremely difficult for anyone to approach unseen, especially in daylight. Still, Nadeen made sure guards were posted and alert, and after the recent battle nobody complained.

Flogdreka was still lying there, and looked like he hadn’t moved.

Beorhtwig debated rigging up the saddle, and finally decided not to... he’d do it the old way, looping ropes under the belly and around the wings to hold himself in place. It was more dangerous, of course, but it was a lot faster, and lighter for the wyvern.

Getting Flogdreka to fly again was the most important thing; he could worry about the saddle later.

It was tough getting the ropes under the wyvern’s bulk, but after a few well-aimed kicks the wyvern sighed and moved enough to let him pass the ropes through.

He tied them into position, and clambered up with the covered bucket. Tied himself into position. Opened the bucket and pulled out a piece of liver, waving it in the air and whistling.

Flogdreka’s head turned, and one eye opened to see if he was really holding what it smelled like... it was, and for the first time in weeks, Flogdreka’s tongue snapped out, rasping across his palm and devouring the liver.

“You want more, you have to fly for it,” he said, and threw a piece into the air.

Flogdreka’s neck sprang out, catching the bloody gobbet before it hit the ground. He rose to his feet, shook himself, and twisted his head back to look at Beorhtwig again. Rumbled somewhere deep inside, darted his tongue out a few times to catch the scent, and nuzzled his hand.

Beorhtwig threw another piece into the air, farther away this time.

Flogdreka jumped forward, missing it but snapping it up from the ground instantly.

Beorhtwig kicked his heels, “Fly!”

And the wyvern, well trained by Thuba Mleen, followed his command, running a few paces while his enormous wings beat up and down, throwing Beorhtwig back and forth, until he finally, heavily, soared into the air...

“Yes! Fly, Flogdreka, fly!” he screamed in joy, and threw another piece of liver into the air.

Flogdreka gave a piercing shriek and twisted, snatching it from the air, then folding his wings up and bulleting toward the forest below, only to snap them out with a bang and level off, just skimming the treetops.

He pumped his wings, soaring up, up, until Beorhtwig could see the fort tiny below.

He threw more pieces of liver, and watched Flogdreka come back to life, the freezing air invigorating them both.

The fire was back in his eyes.

“Now, Flogdreka, now we go find your mate!”

He tugged on the reins and kicked his heels, turning the wyvern toward the distant snowcap of Mt. Thartis.

Flogdreka soared, wings outstretched and almost motionless, riding the air currents. The unbelievable silence of the flight—only the whisper of the wind—brought back memories of Beorhtwig’s father, taking him up for rides when he was but a young boy.

And now he was a wyver-master!

Flogdreka shrieked again, and Beorhtwig looked ahead, toward the approaching peak.

Another wyvern was rising to meet them.

Long tail... a female.

Was it Flogdreka’s mate?

It was also carrying a rider, he saw. One of Thuba Mleen’s fighters.

He had no bow, no mail or shield, nothing but his sword...

Flogdreka suddenly broke off, twisting away from the oncoming wyvern. He must have recognized her.

He screamed again, and she answered, but her rider forced her to pursue, coming to the attack.

He had a bow.

The wyverns were almost immune to arrow unless the archer was extremely powerful or lucky, but riders were only human.

Beorhtwig used every trick in the book to hide, lying flat on the wyvern’s back, or twisting to slip down onto its flank, keeping its bulk between himself and the archer.

He had an idea, but would it work...?

The next time the female approached, he stopped Flogdreka from breaking off, and instead twisted him at the last moment, flying up under the other, belly to belly. As he’d hoped, their claws grappled for an instant, either in combat or reliving a memory of their own mating flight, when wyverns would dance across the sky, often linking claws to fly as one, twisting and spiraling through the air.

The lifeline secure about his waist, he leapt for the other wyvern, dagger ready.

He grabbed its saddle cinch, and slashed furiously. Leather cord dropped, cut though, and the cinch began to slip.

He let go, grasping the rope that might save him, ready to die for Flogdreka if he must.

A sudden jerk, searing pain as the rope was yanked through his hands by his own falling weight, and then Flogdreka was there, lifting him up neatly on his back, banking back, and up, and he twisted his head to look at the other wyvern.

The rider, caught unprepared when his saddle was cut loose, was gone, saddle and all... the reins flapped empty in the wind, and the wyvern was pumping her wings, heading straight for them!

Flogdreka spun in the air, somehow, twisting up and over, and they crashed together. Shrieks and screams split the air, and he felt the muscles of Flogdreka’s back tense and bulge.

Were they...?

No!

Talons interlocked, they spun in the air, necks intertwined as they greeted one another, their shrieks gentling down into rumbles and coos.

He pulled gently on the reins, and Flogdreka broke off, gliding in circles that slowly returned to Fort Danryce.

She followed, and a few minutes later all three of them were safe on the fields in front of the fort.

Beorhtwig hopped off, leaving the two of them alone, and ran back to get more liver for the reunited pair: Flogdreka and his mate, who he named Fæger, the fair.

Chapter 7

The meeting room was brightly lit, quite a change from the usual oil lamps... the sunstone Bagatur Khasar had brought back made an enormous difference. Mintran had worked up a cage for it, to make it easier to mount on a wall or ceiling and simultaneously harder to steal.

You could buy a ship or two with one sunstone, and the dozens they’d brought back were top secret for now. Their rarity made them enormously valuable, and Jake didn’t want any to mysteriously disappear.

“We need more information on Bleth,” said Jake, sipping his cabbage juice and grimacing. He wondered if he’d ever be able to chug down a cold ale again.

“Now that all of their wyverns are gone, and it looks like they don’t have another airship, I’ve asked Aercaptain de Palma to swing closer and try to get us some good maps from the air. We really need to see what it looks like on the ground, though... you can hide too many things from aerial observation.

“Speaking of wyverns... Beorhtwig did one hell of a job, Seri, but he’s spending all his time with them now, and you’ve got a hole in your twelve.”

“Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that,” said Captain Serilarinna. “I wouldn’t mind having a wyvern attached to my twelve, but to be honest I don’t really know what I’d use it for, other than scouting. For now I’d rather have a full twelve.”

“It’s a common problem with special weapons... we have one airship and two wyverns, and they’re all basically irreplaceable. If we don’t use them they’re entirely wasted, but if we do use them there’s a chance they may be destroyed, and we couldn’t use them some day when we really needed them.

“As Beorhtwig demonstrated, it’s not impossible to steal a wyvern, either, although everybody tells me it’ll never happen again and shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

“I would like to let my archers practice shooting from the wyverns, if it’s possible,” said Captain Ekene. The warrior was from Zar, and the contrast between his near-black skin and the bright purple cord wrapped around his pigtail was eye-watering. “We’ve practiced shooting from horseback, but a wyvern would be even faster, and the wings would be constantly in the way. It’ll be a very different challenge.”

Captain Long nodded in agreement.

“It could prove a handy skill,” he said. “If we’d had wyvern-borne archers in the battle they would have been invaluable.”

“We’d have to work up some sort of armor for the wyvern’s belly, though. I’ve heard of such a thing but never seen it,...” mused Nadeen. “We have a couple troopers from Lomar and Zobna, right? I know Ginette is from Daikos... she may know more.”

“Aymeric, in my six, is from Daikos, too. I’ll ask him later.”

“Good. Likewise for the rest of you: see if anyone has any more information,” directed Jake. “And Captain Ekene, I agree, your archers should get training if it’s possible. Still, these wyverns have only been flying with a single rider, and I don’t know how well they can handle the weight of two.”

“Another point to look into,” agreed Ekene. “I’ll talk to Beorhtwig and find out.”

“In any case, Bleth,” said Jake, pulling the conversation back on topic. “I want to know more about it: who’s in command, what forces are based there, what defenses it has, food and water supplies, how and how often it communicates with other units, everything. And we can’t get it from the air.

“So what do we need to scout it properly?”

“We know they’ve got patrols in the Mohaggers, too, so either a very small force that might be able to slip through undetected, or a larger force able to defend itself if it does meet a patrol. We wouldn’t want to run into anything bigger than a patrol, though,” said Seri.

“If you want to stay mobile but still be able to handle patrols, take the raptors,” suggested Captain Chinh. “Now that Mudge has taken over, they’re downright dangerous.”

“Mudge? Who’s Mudge?” asked Bagatur Khasar.

“One of the smart raptors who came with Cornelia,” said Nadeen. “She’s made a new brood of herself and the six raptors that came with the archers, with herself as queen. Between the training they got before and the training she’s put them through since, they can probably take out a scouting patrol by themselves with few or no losses.”

“But pretty much all fighters know how to deal with a raptor, don’t they?” asked the Bagatur.

“Yes, but these aren’t just raptors anymore,” she explained. “They fight as a group, with tactics designed especially for armed opponents. They can do a lot of surprising things under Mudge’s control.”

“Interesting... I had no idea they’d reached that level,” said Khasar. “We train our lizards very well, of course, but I’ve never heard of a lizard giving orders to other lizards...”

“Just imagine what a full twelve of intelligent raptors could do,” said Jake, smiling. “And the best part of it is that we have them all.”

“OK, so raptors, then,” said Seri. “They’d be unlikely to raise an alarm even if they were seen, as long as they are unarmored. Everyone would just assume they were wild.”

“Would they?” asked Nadeen. “I don’t think anyone here at the fort knows we’ve got intelligent raptors, except for us, but you know what they say about secrets.”

Everyone nodded.

“The word will get out eventually, no doubt about it,” admitted Jake. “But even if they do know we’ve got smart raptors, could they do anything about it?”

“They’d certainly change their tactics when fighting,” mused Chinh. “But how?”

Seri shrugged.

“I guess we’ll find out one way or another,” she said. “So assume we take the six—no, seven, with Mudge—raptors with us. They can forage for themselves, so we don’t need to carry any food for them.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘we,’ Captain?” asked Jake with a smile.

“Obviously this is something my twelve would be best at,” she replied with a straight face. “Sergeant TiTi’s been training us for exactly this, stealth recon and whatnot.”

“But we are far more familiar with Thuba Mleen’s fighters,” said Bagatur Khasar. “We’ve been fighting him for years.”

“You’re still down two people, Bagatur,” said Jake, shaking his head. “And I think your twelve needs a little more time to recover and break in new troopers before you’re ready to go back out in the field again.”

“Trooper Yargui will be with us, Bagatur,” said Seri. “We can handle it.”

“So you’re thinking of your full twelve plus the raptors, then?” asked Jake.

“Yes, unless there’s a better idea. Anyone?”

Silence.

“Thuba Mleen’s patrols are almost always between ten and twenty people, usually ten or twelve, and of those only half or maybe two-thirds have any real combat experience. A dozen troopers plus seven raptors should be ample,” she added.

“Why not have the wyverns check out your route in advance, maybe see what surprises might be waiting,” suggested Nadeen. “If nothing else they can get the enemy looking up at the sky and not down at you.”

“Excellent idea, thank you,” said Jake. “And the Cavor might as well do some mapping around there, too... we have to do it eventually, and they might assume the wyverns were just there to protect the airship.”

“Are we really sure they don’t have another airship? Or more wyverns?” asked Long. “Having freedom of the sky would be great, but I just can’t believe Thuba Mleen doesn’t have something we don’t know about.”

“Nobody’s seen anything except that wyvern Beorhtwig brought back... What was its name? Figger or something?”

“Fæger,” said Ridhi. “Apparently it means beautiful in their tongue.”

Jake shrugged.

“Whatever. They’re impressive, but I have trouble classifying anything with scales as beautiful.

“Anyway, we don’t know. We don’t think so, but like you said... Thuba Mleen’s got a lot of resources to draw on.”

“When do you want us to go?”

“As soon as you’re ready. The fort’s coming along nicely, and everyone’s back on standard training and patrol schedules; now’s the time.

“Captain Chinh, work with Captain Serilarinna and make sure the raptors are ready to go.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“What do you think, Seri? Day after tomorrow?”

“That should be fine. I’ll get the word out today and let them play tonight. We’ll be ready.”

“What about Beorhtwig? You don’t really have time to fill his slot with anyone new.”

“I want him flying for support,” said Seri. “I’ll fill up the twelve later, after we get back.”

“Everyone, this stays secret for now. Nobody else knows about this,” nodded Jake. “Anything else?”

Captain Ridhi cleared her throat.

“Just a few updates,” she said. “First of all, that tunnel under the church has been filled in all the way down to where the Bagatur collapsed it. No sign of anything untoward. It’s packed with sand, rocks, and cement now, and even black slime is going to have a tough time getting through all that.”

Khasar clenched his teeth.

“I’ll be checking that regularly in any case, I think. We really need something better than just cement to keep Nyogtha out.”

“Agreed,” said Jake. “We still don’t know if that’s how it got to the horses or not.

“But I don’t know of anything else we can do... Even Godsworn Rorkaln doesn’t have any suggestions. Chuang said he’d do a little research at the library, and look in those metal plates we found.”

“The other big issue is the castle town we’ve got growing here,” she continued. “At first just some of the stable hands and the butcher put up shacks to be closer to the fort, but there have been more and more of them lately, mostly either homes for people working here, or establishments designed to separate troopers from their money.

“And it’s getting out of hand.”

“In what way?”

“I think you’ve all heard the ruckus down there every night, but there have been a few fights already. Nobody stabbed or killed yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

“A small whorehouse has just opened, too, right next to the tavern. There have always been ‘warriors of the evening’ around the fort, but just individuals until now. A whorehouse is a different proposition, so to speak, and comes with its own problems.”

“Doesn’t sound like our problem,” mused Chinh. “Lots of taverns and whorehouses, among other things, in Celephaïs, and we rarely had a problem with them.”

“Exactly. Because there were lots of them, and things had settled down into a regular routine that kept everybody happy without getting the city guard too excited,” said Ridhi. “It’s all new here, and everybody wants that money without understanding now things are supposed to work.”

“It’s getting dirty and smelly down there, too,” added Long. “The stream from the fort is pretty dirty to start with, and by the time it runs through that ‘village,’ if that’s what it is, it’s filthy.”

Nadeen drummed her fingers on the table.

“Is anyone in charge down there yet?”

“I don’t think so,” replied Ridhi. “But it won’t take long for them to start fighting about who runs things.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” said Nadeen. “If it was a single boss we could just deal with them, but it could get messy until someone wins out.”

“So what are our options? I think we can shut the village down entirely, which will upset a lot of our troopers and make everyone in Cadharna into enemies,” said Jake, counting on his fingers. “We can police the place ourselves, which will make everyone hate us for acting like the guard. We can set up our own boss to run things, which will keep things quiet as long as they make money. Or we can just ignore anything that happens outside these walls.”

 Captain Chinh sipped his tea, staring at the ceiling, and spoke quietly: “You know, we could also build the temples to Nath-Horthath and Panakeia right there. Let the Godsworn make it clear that their Gods would take it as a personal affront if the area were dirty, or dangerous. Cadharna is happy as hell to be getting temples out here, so why not let them worry about it themselves?”

Jake smacked the table with his fist, spilling his cabbage juice.

“That’s a great idea! I love it!”

Ridhi made to call for more juice, but he waved her down.

“Please, don’t. I hate that stuff. I’ll just drink water or something.”

She quieted, and he continued.

“Seriously, I like it. They’ve already been talking to the village Reeve about where to build the temples, and obviously he wants them near the village. I don’t really care about the temples, but I’d like the Healer to be close if possible,” continued Jake.

“If we build the temples here, contributing gold and labor, we can install a decent sewer system at the same time.”

“Celephaïs is a large city, but has an excellent network of sewer tunnels, and another distributing drinking water throughout the city. I don’t know much about them, but they work,” said Chinh. “Even with a village here we’d have a lot fewer people, and we could probably get by with something a lot simpler. And cheaper.”

“Pity Artificer Takatora’s already gone... he would have been the right person to ask about sewers,” said Nadeen. “He got our walls and towers up stronger than I could have ever done.”

“This is something we want to get started on before the any castle town gets settled,” said Jake. “I’ll send a dragolet off to Celephaïs today and ask them to send us an artificer who knows what to do. The Godsworn will design their own temples, but we’ll have to figure out the rest of it: streets, water, sewage—I think the right word is sewerage, not sewage, by the way—guards to keep things under control. Might have to even think about taxes, much as it pains me."

“...taxes...” signed Chinh. “It always comes down to taxes, doesn’t it?”

“Money talks,” quipped Jake. “In any case, Captain Long? Would you meet with Godsworn Rorkaln and Healer Dunchanti and see if they have any insurmountable objections? If you have to, mention that my support—gold, labor, materials—might be dependent on it. If there’s a problem I’ll join you, but I’d rather keep it as low-key as possible.”

“I’ll get on it right after this meeting.”

“Thank you.”

Captain Chinh coughed.

“Uh, something that’s been bothering me lately on patrol... Every so often we hear a thunderclap coming from the mountains. Not always in the same place, and usually only one. Have the rest of you heard them too?”

“We have,” said Khasar. “Pretty far away so we didn’t pay much attention, though... Reed’s Eye appeared in the sky once, too.”

“Reed again,” grimaced Jake. “I think you should forget about it entirely, and advise your troopers that it’s just distant thunder. Just between you and me, you are not to investigate, not to approach, and if your troopers start asking questions, make it clear it’s far away and irrelevant, is that clear?”

“Quite clear, Commander,” said Chinh, raising an eyebrow.

Khasar pursed his lips but said nothing.

“You don’t have Mintran making bigger bombs or something, do you?” asked Ridhi.

“I give you my word, and Nadeen will confirm, Mintran is not making bombs.”

“He’s telling the truth,” said Nadeen. “Not now, and not before. Grenades, yes, but nothing larger.”

“That’s good enough for me,” said Ridhi.

After they ran through a few more trivial matters the meeting broke up and the captains returned to their twelves.

Jake wrote a letter to Master Chuang explaining the castle town idea and requesting the loan of an artisan skilled in planning and construction, and asked Ridhi to send it off by dragolet. He should get a reply in two days or so.

Captain Serilarinna walked over to the barracks.

Beghara’s twelve was out on patrol, and Nadeen’s up on the wall, but the rest of the company was either here—in the barracks or the adjoining bath and lounge—or down in the brothel.

“Sergeant TiTi!”

He popped out of the lounge at her call.

“Captain?”

“Step outside and go for a walk with me, Sergeant.”

He did, and they walked over toward the stairs to the cliff wall.

Seri nodded to the trooper on guard up on the wall, and he moved away so she could speak with TT privately.

“What’s up, Captain?”

“Pass the word around, Sergeant. We’re going on a long patrol the day after tomorrow. Tell everyone to make ready.”

“Where to?”

“Nobody else knows until we’re out of the fort, Sergeant, but we’re going to go have a look at Bleth. We’ll be taking the raptors with us, and the airship and maybe wyverns will be keeping an eye on things.”

“Bleth! That’s quite a hike.”

“Yes, but hopefully we can get there, see what there is to see, and get out again without being spotted. The raptors will help. And the idea is that the airship and wyvern will get them all looking up at the sky instead of for us.

“Even if it doesn’t work out we should still get some aerial maps of Bleth and the terrain.”

“It’s supposed to be bigger and badder than Fort Danryce.”

“Yep.”

“Probably wouldn’t be a good idea to get into a fight that close to Bleth.”

“Nope.”

“Do we have to keep this need-to-know until we leave? I’d really like to get use the new camo gear if we can.”

“Need to know. But I’ll be putting together a cache of special gear tomorrow, and you’re going to help me lug it up into the Mohaggers. Put the camo in with the rest of it, and we can pick it all up later.

“The troopers will carry their own food and water, just like any long patrol, but what do we need to cache? I’d like to make everyone think this is just another standard patrol, until it’s too late for anyone to let Thuba Mleen know different.”

TT rubbed his hands together.

“Oh boy, this is going to be fun... let me see. Um, camo, of course. Telescopes. Lots of rope, never know when that’ll come in handy. Pitons, probably... Any way we can get hold of a shimmer or two? I know they don’t work too well in the forest, but there are a lot of mountains between here and there when they could be useful. I figure it’d be better to not be seen at all, than just kill ’em all.”

“Me too. I can get some shimmers easily enough. How many camo tarps do you have?”

“Tarps? I think only three or four... I asked them to prioritize the camo clothing.”

“We’ll want those, even if there are only a few.”

“What about a dragolet?”

Seri thought for a moment, then shook her head.

“Too awkward to carry around, and if it ever got free it’d fly back here in an instant,” she said. “You’re thinking of how to get a message out, right?”

“Yep.”

“If we’re going to have people up in the air—wyverns and the airship—I think mirrors should work fine. Not much they can do to help us if we get into a tight spot in any case, but we’d be able to pass short messages.”

“So, assuming we see something important, we’ll need to make copies for everyone to carry, to improve the chances of someone getting the info back to the Commander. Paper and ink.”

“Paper and ink,” Seri agreed. “But that’s light enough I can just pack it myself; we don’t really have to cache it.”

“Right. I think everyone can read and write well enough, except maybe that guy from Pungar Vees, Zubeen. He’s death on wheels with his scimitar but not too imaginative.”

She grunted. “What else?”

“Open fires?”

“Good point. No fires, so no raw meat. Jerky, mashed beans, dry foods we don’t need flame for.”

“Gotcha.”

“I think that’s about it... we won’t know what else we need until we get there. And there will surely be something we wish we’d brought.”

“Always is, Sergeant, always is.”

She pointed to the raptors, now in a large corral down below.

“We’ll be taking the dumb ones under Mudge. You’ve worked with her, right?”

“Yes. I’m not real happy working next to those fangs and claws, but we can get the job done.”

“Good. The raptors are trained, but if Mudge gets killed it’ll be a lot harder to control them. Especially if there’s the smell of blood in the air.”

“I guess we’ll have to not let that happen, then,” said TT.

“Mmm. That’d be nice,” agreed Seri. “By the way, you know anything about these thunderclaps?”

“As far as I know Jake is not working on bombs, and neither in Mintran. And I suspect I’d know if they were trying to make bigger bombs, because they’d probably ask me for help.”

“Hmm, no doubt,” she agreed.

 They walked back down the stairs, TT to the barracks in search of the rest of the twelve, and Seri off to find de Palma and Beorhtwig.

Beorhtwig was in his usual place just outside the postern.

“Trooper, if you have plans for the day after tomorrow, cancel them,” she said.

“Just patrolling the area and getting to know them better,” he said. “What’s up?”

“This is strictly need-to-know for now, but for a week or so the airship will be mapping closer to Bleth, and we’ll want you to be around for back-up.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“I see... and you are here telling me about it because...?”

“Well, you’re still in my twelve, after all. But yeah, there’s more. We’ll be scouting it out on the ground at the same time. The idea is to get them all looking at you and not us.”

“I haven’t seen any signs of other airships or wyverns, you know.”

“I know; nobody else has, either, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

“So you want me to kill anything that comes out, then?”

“No, I want you to make sure the wyverns and the airship stay safe. How you do it is up to you, but that’s your first priority. If we get in trouble and you can help us safely, that’d be great, but saving our airpower comes first. And if we’re lucky the airship’ll get us some good maps of the area.”

“Have you talked to Aercaptain de Palma yet?”

“He’s out with Valda, but will be back tonight. I’ll fill him in on the mission then.”

“I’ll need to talk to him, too; make sure we don’t get in each other’s way.”

“You have a signal mirror?”

“Yeah. I’ll try to keep an eye out for any signals you might send, but there’s a lot of forest between here and there, and if Thuba Mleen has any surprises I might get busy real fast.”

“Don’t flash us back unless it’s critical, because it’ll alert the enemy of our presence, too.

“It should take us about a day to circle the lake on the west coast, and another three or four days through the mountains to Bleth. We’ll try to flash you every so often to let you know where we are, but it really depends on what we run into on the way.”

“I’ll be ready, Captain. We’re up flying every day already, and the wyverns love to snap up mouthfuls of mountain snow as they fly past... sort of a game for them.”

“I’ll check back tomorrow, Trooper,” she said and headed back to the main building, and the library.

There were still not very many books, but the selection of area maps was growing steadily as de Palma and Valda kept churning out new ones.

Jake had set up a system to keep track of them all, with a big map of the extended region—from Bleth and Tsol in the north to Rinar in the south, and about as wide—and divided it into a grid of smaller maps identified by letters and numbers. She checked the index map and started pulling out maps showing the west coast of the lake, and the mountains from there to Bleth.

The fringe of forest around the lake was well-mapped, and some of the Mohagger Mountains northward, but there was nothing for the area they’d have to cross to reach Bleth.

She sat down to pore over the maps they did have, checking the route and referencing the big legend hanging on the wall with all the map symbols. Pretty straightforward, at least for the maps they had... marshy ground for a few kilometers in one place, but they should be able to swing uphill to the treeline for that part. That’d expose them to any observers who happened to be in the area but so would struggling through a swamp for a couple hours... She made a mental note to see if anyone had been there before and knew the area, because that might make it possible to travel that section at night, out of sight.

She thought it unlikely, though: certainly no patrols going that far north, risking running into one of Thuba Mleen’s patrols.

They didn’t have enough troopers to easily take that sort of risk.

Still, that made her wonder why the Commander was taking this risk, sending her up there on a scouting mission... was there something else being planned? Or was he just after information?

She shrugged.

Not much she could do about it...Jake’d tell her when he wanted her to know, and he’d been pretty honest with them this far. She trusted him, and she trusted Nadeen—they’d been together a long time in Feng’s company.  

The next day her twelve prepared for a long patrol—at least a week or two, she warned them—while Seri and TT made up the loads of camo gear and a few other things, and backpacked them out to a hiding place in the mountains, with a guard provided by Mudge and the raptors.

They wanted to see how they got along with Mudge, and how she controlled the other raptors, and this would be a good opportunity to find out. They’d worked together a number of times in the fort and nearby, learning to understand each other better, and working on controlling the dumb raptors.

Mudge was smart—really smart—but they kept running into two problems. The first was that Mudge simply didn’t have enough experience to understand what Seri wanted her to do. If she provided a good explanation Mudge would get it, but in a battle there probably wouldn’t be time to explain things that clearly.

The other problem was that Seri wasn’t used to speaking with simple words, complete sentences, and precise grammar, and Mudge sometimes ended up doing something entirely different than what Seri expected simply because she didn’t say it clearly enough.

Between them they’d made good progress resolving both problems, but things still weren’t as good as they’d hoped.

The dumb raptors were well trained, and Mudge kept them under control most of the time, but if there was blood in the air they could forget their training and revert to a hunting pack. Mudge would snap and claw them back into line, but it took time.

Mudge sent three of her team up front, leading the way through the forest and checking for surprises, with herself and the other three surrounding Seri and TT. Tomorrow, when the whole twelve was on the move, there would be three each front and rear, with Mudge roaming around keeping an eye on them. The twelve would have its own front and rear guards, too, of course, but raptors were faster and more likely to detect anyone hiding, and were even farther away from the main party than the usual human guards.

They headed north through the forest, staying reasonably close to the treeline but still hidden.

Nobody wanted to go near the lake if they could avoid it... there hadn’t been any reliable reports of the green moon-creatures who worshipped Bokrug for many years, but the ruins of Ib were still easily visible to the east, reminding visitors of the doom they had brought to drowned Sarnath.

After a couple hours of hiking they deposited the pack near a rock formation they’d marked during earlier patrols, camouflaging it with brush. It only had to stay hidden for one day, and since the raptors said nobody was watching—they’d have to be very close to be able to watch through the dense woods—they were confident it would still be here in the morning.

A quick rest with cold mountain stream water, and then back to Fort Danryce.

Seri noticed that a few of the raptors had red snouts, and Mudge told her they’d had a snack... squirrels.

It would have been nice to bring a deer or two back with them, but they only had hungry raptors and no horses. She decided it would be too complicated to dress the deer here while trying to keep the raptors under control, and abandoned the idea.

They got back to camp around noon.

Seri and TT spent the rest of the day getting the twelve ready for a long patrol.

That evening when the airship returned from its map-making mission, Seri headed off to find Aercaptain de Palma. He was just coming down the bell-tower stairs with Valda.

“Aercaptain de Palma, Mistress Valda. Smooth sailing today?”

The captain looked up.

“Oh, Captain Serilarinna! Yes, thank you, beautiful weather, very clear.”

“Excellent. Your maps are superb, Mistress.”

“Thank you, Captain. It took me a while to get used to the symbols the Commodore wants, but we’re well ahead of schedule now.”

“Good,” said Seri. “Aercaptain, may I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course,” he replied, and told Valda he’d get back to her later to go over a few things.

After she left for the library, to begin the process of turning her sketches and notes into finished maps, Seri invited the sergeant to walk with her.

The vegetable fields looked quite healthy, and in the early evening nobody was working them. They could talk without fear of being overheard.

“Aercaptain, tomorrow I will be taking my twelve up along the west side of the lake, staying close to the mountain treeline, to the north coast, and then we’re going to cut through the Mohaggers to take a closer look at Bleth. From tomorrow the Commander wants you to begin mapping that area, the mountains north of the lake.

“In addition to making some decent maps of the area, we also hope that Thuba Mleen’s forces will spend their time watching you instead of searching for us. Beorhtwig and the two wyverns will be guarding you as well, although we haven’t seen any new enemy airships or wyverns. With luck they only had that one airship, and we’ve captured or killed all their wyverns.”

“We were very lucky that day, because they weren’t expecting us to have thalassion fire. We caught them by surprise, but that won’t happen again. If they do have more wyverns, or even a well-armed airship, we’ll be in trouble.”

“We know. And if there is any sign of danger you are to withdraw immediately. Your priority is to preserve your airship.”

“What about you?”

“We’ll mirror-flash you when we can to let you know where we are, but don’t respond unless it’s something we need to know. Any flash you make will alert Thuba Mleen that we’re in the mountains, and they’ll come looking.”

“Right. Is this all secret?”

“Yes. As far as anyone else knows we’re just out on a usual long patrol.”

“What about my crew? And Valda Sigridsdóttir?

“They don’t need to know.”

He nodded.

“Anything else?”

“If necessary we might want you to pick us up. I don’t expect it to happen, and I won’t put your airship in danger, but keep it in mind.”

“Your twelve?”

“A little more than twelve.”

“Also secret.”

“Yes, sorry. Need-to-know.”

“How long is the mission?”

“That’ll depend on what happens. It should be four or five days to Bleth, but after that who knows? I’d expect a day or two there and then back again, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

“That’s a pretty big area to map, even if we concentrate on the parts between the Lake of Sarnath and Bleth. Plus which, it’s very rugged terrain with a lot of high peaks, which complicates things. There isn’t much forest, so we can see the terrain fairly clearly, but there are a lot of updrafts and crosswinds that can bounce us around a lot if we’re not careful... we could spend weeks up there and still not finish mapping properly.”

“Excellent! So it won’t be at all unusual for you to be there days in a row!”

“Well, no, but my point is that it’s dangerous.”

“No raptors and no swordfights up where you are, Aercaptain,” said Seri, ignoring his complaint. “From tomorrow, then.”

She left him amid the carrots and walked back to the barracks.

 

* * *

 

They left shortly after dawn, on foot, and headed north along the same route they’d traversed the previous day.

The raptors indicated there was nobody hiding in the trees, and the twelve made good time, reaching the cache in about the same time it had taken Seri and TT the day before.

“We’re going to take a little rest here,” announced Seri, leaning her pack against a tree trunk and walking over to the pile of branches. TT joined her, and together they pulled out the supplies they’d hidden the day before.

“OK, listen up,” she said, pulling out the camo clothing. “We’re going on a long patrol, maybe a week or two, but this one will be a little different. We’re gonna have a look at Bleth.”

There was a murmur of surprise.

“Yeah, I know. Bleth is full of all sorts of bad news, and I want to avoid all of it,” she continued. “We’ve been training in scouting and intelligence gathering, and that’s what we’re going for. I don’t want to even see any of Thuba Mleen’s troops, let alone fight them... our job is to get there, look around long enough to get a good idea of the defenses and what troops are based there, and then get the hell out again.

“That means if we run into some of Thuba Mleen’s troops, they don’t get away. We want to keep this trip our little secret.”

She outlined the route they planned to take.

“From here on out leave as little trace as possible... no trail blazes, no damn fires. That means cold food, and if you get chilly easily now’s the time to find a nice warm buddy to snuggle up with. I hear raptors are a few degrees warmer than people, so you might wanna keep a few pieces of meat to make a friend for those cold nights.”

There was brief chuckling from the twelve.

“The airship and the wyverns will be up over us somewhere, but their mission is to continue mapping, while attracting the attention of enemy forces. We don’t know if they have any more fliers or not, but hopefully if there are any they’ll go bother our airship and not look for us.”

“Can they fly us out if we need it?”

“We have signal mirrors, and in theory it’s possible, but if we need to be flown out in a hurry, it’s probably gonna be too dangerous to land and pick us up... their top priority is staying alive, not rescuing us.”

“Figures...”

“Yeah, I heard you, Zubeen,” said TT. “Suck it up.”

“Trooper Kareem, we’ll be depending on your knowledge of the area around Bleth. We saw the rough maps you drew, of course, but the map is not the terrain.”

“You’re not taking the same route I used, then?”

“No,” she replied. “It’s almost certainly watched. We’ll stay in the forest as long as possible, then cut due north from the north end of the lake. Have to find a new route.”

“Can the airship help with that?”

“They won’t contact us unless it’s an emergency,” she replied. “But we can mirror-flash them, for what it’s worth.

“One more thing... along with the camo tunics, each of you is also getting a telescope, and a pouch with pen and paper. Some of you aren’t very good with writing yet, but our mission is to bring back intelligence on Bleth. Make notes, sketches, everything you see and hear. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to copy all that information and distribute it before we start back, so even if we do get caught in a fight somebody can carry it back to the fort.

Our top priority is to get that intel. Got it?”

There was a quiet chorus of yeses and nods.

“OK, get your camo on and let’s get moving. We’ll stay in the forest all day today, and hopefully can reach the northern edge before sundown. We’ll camp there and get into the mountains predawn tomorrow.”

She stripped down, put on the camouflaged tunic, and then strapped her battle harness back on. TT noticed that this time she had two bandoleers of throwing knives, instead of the usual one.

“We’ll move in threes. Ndidi, Aashika, you’re with me on point. Yargui, take the second three with Chiemeka and Aymeric. Keep within visual distance of the groups in front and behind you, if you can. If we get split up, head north and wait one night. Hopefully the raptors can find anyone who gets split off. Sergeant TiTi, you’re only a five, so stick together as rearguard. Any questions?”

There were none, and they moved out, Mudge in the front with Seri and the other raptors spread out in a wide arc across their direction of travel.

They were all experienced and made very little noise moving through the woods, especially with a thick carpet of pine needles underfoot. The pine trees had been here, untouched, for centuries, Seri thought, and had choked out most of the underbrush, but fallen trees, ravines cut by mountain streams, boulders of all shapes and sizes, and other diverse obstacles made it difficult to keep to a straight line, and impossible to see very far.

Fortunately, the raptors were taking care of that, she reminded herself.

They were also very quiet, as you would expect from carnivores, but every so often she could hear a quiet snarl or snapping twig as they prowled ahead. That in itself didn’t alarm her, because while they were rare in this region they were not unheard of, and nobody would be especially surprised to see one.

Hopefully they’d be even more surprised when they discovered the raptors were hunting human prey.

A sudden hiss and bark from up ahead alerted her, and she held up her hand to halt, glancing at Mudge to see what it meant.

Mudge’s head was high, body tense. She was listening, and when there was a shriek of fury from that direction, headed off at a run.

Seri saw two other raptors heading in the same direction; they probably all headed that way.

The shrieks rose in volume, and she heard something heavy thrashing about.

“Trooper, stay here. Join up with the sergeant and tell him he is to find a defensible position,” she ordered Yargui, and approached the sound of battle slowly with her two troopers. Ndidi had an arrow nocked and ready, and Aashika Chabra had a knife in each hand. She waved Aashika out to the left, and moved farther to the right, flanking the archer.

Aashika was one of the finest scouts Seri had ever worked with—all the Chabras were superlative scouts, it seemed—but Seri was raised in the jungles of Cydathria. They reached the scene at about the same time, well ahead of Ndidi, and cautiously looked down the slope into the stream.

The raptors were furiously attacking a huge snake, mottled copper and green, but with little effect. The snake’s scales were almost as tough as their talons and fangs, and it showed only a few relatively minor wounds in spite of their efforts. The snake’s head darted out once more and meter-wide jaws closed on a raptor not quite fast enough.

The raptor shrieked again as one fang punched into its chest like a spear, leaving it writhing in agony as the other raptors took advantage of the opening to attack the snake’s head, going for the eyes.

A talon flashed, gouging through the eye and tearing into the lower eyelid, dark red blood spurting from the injury.

The snake’s head twisted up to escape, tail snapping forward to bat the attacking raptors away, and the snake slithered into the earth with incredible speed, leaving hissing, bloody raptors behind.

The raptor it had bitten, presumably the one that had sounded the alarm, was gone.

One raptor gone, more hurt, and they hadn’t even contacted the enemy yet...

Mudge was already gathering the raptors, checking their wounds and trying to calm them down.

Seri gave her a few minutes, then whistled her over for an update.

None of their injuries looked very serious, but a few were in pain and that could mean an internal injury, which might worsen... they’d just have to push on and see.

She walked back to where Sergeant TT was waiting and filled him in, then it was on the move again.

When they formed up again, she put the sergeant in the lead, Yargui in the middle, and took the rearguard slot with her own three. As always, the raptors spread out ahead of them in a wide arc... they’d already successfully warned of one danger on the route, albeit at the cost of one raptor, and she was beginning to trust their senses a bit more now.

She watched them whenever she had the chance. Because they were quite a ways ahead of her she only caught glimpses, but they were prowling normally, with no obvious signs of injury. Mudge seemed to have no worries, although Seri couldn’t read raptor expressions—if they had any.

Around noon, as the temperature and humidity were rising noticeably even here in the forest, Seri figured it was time for a rest.

She whistled to alert Yargui and the Sergeant TT, and dropped her pack on the ground.

“This is a nice, quiet hill... good place to take a rest, eat something,” she said, and sat on the most comfortable-looking rock.

The rest of her twelve joined her, low conversation popping up as they relaxed.

Normally Seri would assign guards, but with the raptors in the surrounding forest she didn’t feel it was needed.  

Mudge and one other raptor squatted down with them, although Seri had no idea why—hoping for a bite of someone’s jerky, perhaps? The others were off in the forest somewhere, probably catching small things to eat. Which was fine with her, because they’d also be checking a pretty broad area for danger.

She motioned TT over to join her.

“Any problems at your end, Sergeant?”

“Nothing yet. Pretty light loads, we’re in the shade, and most of the way is carpeted in pine needles... so far it’s a walk in the park.”

“Good. How you getting along with Mudge?”

“I think OK,” he said, pursing his lips. “A while back she came up with a dead ferret and offered it to me. Looked like a fresh kill.”

“And? You take it?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have a clue what to do, so I just sniffed it and handed it back to her. Don’t know if that was the right thing to do or not, but it seemed to make her happy. Swallowed the whole thing, fur and all, in two bites.”

Seri laughed.

“I think she likes you! Maybe avoid women for a while; don’t want to get her jealous!”

He grimaced.

“She’s a bit too young for me, I’m afraid. Only, what, three or something?”

“Yeah, three I think. Cute, though!”

“I’ll pass, but thanks.”

“You think we’ve hit the halfway mark yet?”

“I’ve been marking paces, but of course it’s mostly guesswork in the forest—we’re always veering one way or the other to get around ravines and stuff—best guess? Yeah, halfway and a little.”

“I agree, and if we keep it up we’ll reach the north edge of the forest in the Hour of the Cock, I think. Pretty much on schedule.”

TT translated in his head... the Hour of the Cock would be a two-hour span centered on 18:00, which was about what he’d figured, too.

“Yup. Barring surprises.”

“I wanted to ask you about Phaeton...”

“Captain?”

“How do you evaluate his skills, Sergeant?”

“He’s quite young, early twenties I think, but an excellent swordsman. Uses both sword and shield very well. Literate. Still overly confident in his youth and skill, though, and until someone beats it out of him he’s likely to make a few bad decisions.”

“Nothing else?”

“You want me to say he makes too much noise, right, Captain?”

“Well, I heard whistling once,” mused Seri, “and once he cursed at something—I think a tree branch must have caught him in the face or something.”

TT sighed.

“Yeah, I know. He’s a lot better than he was, but he still lets his concentration slip sometimes, forgets to watch where he’s walking. Especially on a long hike like this.”

“Is he going to improve?”

“Oh, yes, he certainly is,” nodded TT. “I’ve already had a little talk with him today, and I’ll be having another one shortly. He’s a good man to have in the twelve, Captain, just needs to stop trying to be the best one.”

“See to it, Sergeant,” she said. “See if you can’t get him to shape up before we get to Bleth, huh?”

“Yes, Captain.”

He stood and walked over to where Phaeton was resting. He had already eaten, and was sitting cross-legged on the moss, honing his shortsword.

“Phaeton? Walk with me a minute,” he said, gesturing to the other to join him. They walked away from the others, out of earshot.

“The Captain’s not happy with all the noise you’re making, trooper. You’re good with that sword, but unless you can learn to pay a little fucking attention when you’re supposed to be quiet I’ll transfer you to Nadeen’s twelve and you can guard the fucking cows all day!”

“Yessir,” replied Phaeton, having the presence of mind to at least look down in embarrassment.

“I’ve heard that Thorabon produces some very good fighters. You’re a very good fighter. But we aren’t fucking here to fucking fight, kid! We’re here to get fucking intelligence about Bleth, which is packed with enough fighters to kill us all a dozen times over! And if you keep traipsing along like you’re on a picnic they’re gonna hand you your fucking head!

“If you want to get your damn head chopped off that’s fine with me, but goddammit don’t take the rest of us with you!

“You got anything to say, trooper?”

“I’ll do better, Sergeant.”

“Damn right you’ll do better, or you’ll be walking back to the fort all by your little lonesome.”

“Yessir.”

TT stalked back to the group, the troopers watching him carefully to make sure he wasn’t coming for anyone else. Nobody had heard their conversation, but they all knew what it had been about.

A few minutes later it was time to move out again.

They policed the area, erased the obvious signs of their passage, and set out again, this time with Yargui’s three in the lead, Seri in the middle, and TT bringing up the rear.

The belt of forest around the lake was beginning to thin: the mountains were visible more often to the west, and they could see the waters of the lake every so often in the distance. The belt was thinnest at the northern extent, although still more than enough to shield them from distant observers.

Hours passed, and although they switched positions every so often, and had to change course once in a while to pass some ravine or upthrust of rock, it was quiet.

As the sun slipped behind the mountains, Seri halted.

“Take a break. Trooper Aashika, Sergeant TiTi, look around for a good place to make camp for tonight. The rest of you, don’t get too settled just yet.”

Aashika Chabra and TT slipped off into the trees and everyone else sat down, sipping water or just resting.

“Captain, there’s a stream just over there... noticed it a few minutes ago. OK to go get a refill?”

“Yeah, sure. I saw it, too. I’ll go with you, in fact... cold water would be real nice right now.”

A few other troopers joined them, enjoying ice-cold stream water from the mountains instead of the lukewarm, vinegary water in their canteens.

Seri splashed her face with it, poured a few handfuls over her head, smoothed her hair back.

TT and Aashika Chabra got back at about the same time she did, and agreed that there was an excellent spot just a few minutes’ distant. An outthrust formed a wall on one side, and it was a bit higher than the surrounding area so it wouldn’t flood in the event of rain. It had been good weather all day, but cloudy, and the chance of rain was pretty slim, everyone agreed. Still, never hurt.

It would probably even be safe to light a small fire, said TT, but Seri overruled him. All it took was a little smoke to attract undue attention and get them all killed.

They picked up their gear and moved to the new campsite, a quick walk. It was an excellent choice, but even with the raptors on guard duty, Seri wanted a human guard, too. A schedule was quickly arranged, and the first guard took up his duty while the campsite was being readied.

They didn’t want to leave any traces, so instead of a pit latrine everyone had to troop down to the nearest stream. Running water would take care of the evidence, even for almost a dozen people, and the raptors could take care of themselves.

They lashed camo tarps to convenient trees and set up a shimmer, concealing the campsite even better. While a special incense was lit next to the shimmer, it would blur an area of about a hundred meters in diameter, making it harder to see what was inside. It didn’t work well with moving objects because blurred motion is still visible as motion, but as long as they stayed out of direct sight it would be invaluable.

Seri’s twelve settled down for a dinner of beans, dried meat and fruit. They still had vegetables they’d brought with them, too, and the sound of crunching cucumbers simply couldn’t be muffled.

The last guard woke Seri up at the Hour of the Tiger—about four in the morning. The sky would be lightening soon with the coming dawn, and they hoped to be across the low scrub separating the forest from the mountains by the time the sun came up. They couldn’t hope to hide everywhere, but once they got into the mountains it would be easier than the relatively open stretch above the treeline.

Everyone was up and ready to go within about fifteen minutes. There was no need to rush, but no reason to dawdle, and since they wanted to avoid leaving signs of their presence they hadn’t erected tents in the first place.

Aashika Chabra made one last sweep of the campsite to make sure there were no obvious signs left for the enemy to spot, and then they were on their way.

The clouds had grown thicker during the night, but the eastern sky over the mountains was growing brighter, and they could see clearly enough to make good speed across the open ground. They were heading for a narrow valley leading into the Mohaggers, and their fragmentary information said it offered a path deep into the mountains.

They were safely into the mountains by the time the sun finally rose, a disc of somber orange blurred yet still bright behind the cloud cover. It was cooler today.

A mountain stream flowed through the valley, cutting a deep ravine in places, but it was still relatively easy hiking parallel to it. There were a few scattered trees, old and twisted, lots of scrawny brush, and far more boulders blocking their path.

The raptors spread out to cover the breadth of the valley floor, and the troop followed in what was almost a skirmish line, advancing at roughly the same speed, weaving around obstacles deeper into the Mohagger range.

None of the raptors detected any trace of observers, but of course someone up on a mountainside would be able to see them. They used what cover they could, but with mountains on both sides they were exposed far too often to make Seri or TT happy.

Around noon a gentle rain began to fall.

“The rain will help hide us from watchers, and wash away any tracks we make,” said Seri, “but if it starts to really pour that stream is going to be a problem.”

“Not much vegetation here to soak up rainfall,” agreed TT. “I don’t think we’d get a flash flood, but the water’s gonna rise for sure.”

“OK, let’s get everyone over the north side now, before the flood,” ordered Seri. “Pass the word, Sergeant.”

She called in Mudge and explained the need to pull all the raptors from the south bank. She couldn’t tell how much Mudge understood about floods, but she clearly understood the command, and in short order the entire troop—human and raptor—was on the north side.

There were no tall trees or caves for shelter, so they ate on their feet, trudging on through the steady rain.

It didn’t seem to bother the raptors much, but it slowed Seri’s twelve down considerably.

As visibility dropped Seri pulled the twelve closer together, keeping everyone within sight of each other. The steady, gentle rain continued unabated all morning, finally slacking off to a very fine mist in the early afternoon.

Everybody was completely soaked, but they’d stopped complaining about it, even to themselves, hours ago. The stream was a little deeper and a little more violent than before, but nothing to worry about yet, thought Seri.

The mud was more of a problem. Not only did it seriously slow them down, but troopers were slipping every so often, and eventually somebody might get hurt. Didn’t bother the raptors at all, of course.

She was especially worried about mudslides... they’d crossed a number of older slides already, irregular piles of rock and dirt that had slid down off the mountain’s slopes into the valley. If the rainfall loosened one and it slipped down onto them, it could kill them all in the flash of an eye.

With this weather and this cloud cover, they wouldn’t be able to see the wyverns or the airship, either. Or vice-versa.

By nightfall everyone was exhausted, tired of the wet and covered in mud. Seri collapsed onto a relatively clean rock, slick with rain but at least not muddy, and munched on jerky. A small mountain stream rushed past her, rainwater flowing down off the mountains into the valley.

It was enough to rinse off the mud with, bitterly cold.

With visibility this poor, she’d told everyone to put up tarps or tents to at least keep the rain off. Patches of sky could be seen here and there, and it looked like the weather was clearing up... with luck things would dry out tomorrow.

Chapter 8

Beorhtwig pulled the saddle-harness tight under Flogdreka’s belly, arms straining with the effort... still didn’t fit. Either the wyvern had gotten a lot fatter since yesterday, or he was acting up again.

He didn’t blame, him... he didn’t like flying in the rain, either, and even this light drizzle would make it almost impossible to see anything. If this cloud was thin enough it might be possible to punch through, breaking into the sunlight of the upper air, but even if they did they wouldn’t be able to see anything except the mountaintops. That’d be handy for navigation, but not much else.

Holding the belt as taut as he could with one hand, he punched upwards with the other, smacking home into the wyvern’s abdomen.

With a whuff and a small squeak, Flogdreka surrendered for a second, and that was all the time he needed to pull the saddle-harness and buckle it in place. Once the saddle was cinched around the wyvern’s belly, with belts running to both legs and another around his neck to stop it from sliding off, he was ready to go. He’d put the wyvern’s bridle on first, and didn’t need to carry anything in the panniers.

He clambered up and tied himself to the saddle, feet in the stirrups. Under normal circumstances Flogdreka would take care not to throw him off, but if they had to fight anything could happen—any responsible wyver-master used a lifeline, unlike the previous one who had ridden this wyvern.

Today he’d be flying over the west shore of the lake, and up into the Mohaggers. Aercaptain de Palma should be there, too, with his airship, but it seemed unlikely they’d be able to get much mapmaking done with the rain.

Still, making maps was only part of the reason they were heading up there.

He wondered how Captain Seri was doing in the rain, and thanked his gods once again for getting him out of the muck and onto a wyvern.

He whistled to let Fæger know they were leaving, and slapped Flogdreka’s neck, pulling back on the reins. The wyvern began to run across the fields, huge wings flapping to build up thrust, until it leapt into the air.

He bounced in his saddle as the wings pumped, jaw clamped shut to stop him from biting his own tongue off, and held onto the lifeline with both hands. He glanced to the side to see Fæger coming up behind, pacing them at a safe distance. She wore no trappings, of course, and no rider.

Behind him he could see their footprints in the field, already turning into tiny pools... and somebody had run through the vegetables. Again. Ridhi would chew him out when he got back. Again.

The ground fell away, softening into a greyish blur in the rain, and he guided Flogdreka up into the clouds... yes! The cloud gradually thinned, metamorphosing into billows and wisps floating in the sunlight, with the peaks of the Mohagger Mountains trailing off to the north.

Even as he was enjoying the sudden sunlight, Fæger broke through nearby, soaring into the clear sky like a bird, leaving lines of cloud behind her like trails in the sky, already dissipating back into nothingness. She threw back her head, shrieked her joy at the sun, and circled around Flogdreka, who answered with a shriek of his own, and they flew on northward, abreast.

 

* * *

 

Aercaptain de Palma was also unhappy to be flying in the rain.

It wasn’t a thunderstorm, and there were no sudden gusts to deal with, but the Cavor was sluggish, her sails wet and heavy. He pointed the prow upwards, aiming for the clear sky above the clouds, and watched Fort Danryce slip into gray obscurity below.

“Bridok, you got the hawser?”

Bridok, a heavyset man in his thirties, snapped the hawser to free it from where it had snagged on the opening, then pulled the rest of it aboard, coiled it, and secured it to the railing.

He walked slowly, deliberately, as any experienced crew would on a slippery, inclined deck that might shift at any moment. The deck was dotted with railings and posts, and all three crew—and the Sergeant, of course—were roped to at least one of them constantly, with carabiners. Experienced crew often elected to skip the lifelines above the clouds, where the airship would stabilize and the deck become horizontal once again. Sudden gusts could catch them by surprise, of course, but unlike the earthbound, the crew was at ease in their airborne craft.

After six years captaining the Cavor, Captain de Palma hadn’t lost a crew over the side yet, even during the Battle of Fort Danryce.

Mistress Valda was inside, out of the rain with her paper and pen, no doubt looking down through the solehole at the rain.

Another few minutes and they were out of the cloud and into the air, the morning sunlight brilliant over the undulating sea of cloud below them.

He quickly scanned the horizon—mountain peaks poking through, of course, and over there were those two wyverns, heading north.

Good, so even if nobody could see the ground at least they all managed to get out of the rain.

“Clank, Frija, get the sails unfurled and dried out so this thing stops wallowing about,” he ordered, and Clarthinny (“Clank”) and Frija started untying the sails, letting them fall wetly into place and slowly pulse with the wind.

“Broad reach, we’re heading northwest!”

The wind was blowing to the northeast, and he ordered them swing the boom out almost perpendicular to the airship’s hull. They wouldn’t even have to tack to make good time, and they’d go faster once the sails dried a bit.

The wyverns were far ahead of them now, just dots on the horizon.

He couldn’t see any other dots, so at least there weren’t any other airships or wyverns up here to fight. A nice quiet day would be wonderful. And a dry one!

“Well, since we can’t do much mapping with the rain, Mistress, I guess we’ll have to settle for positioning the peaks today. Hopefully the weather will clear up tomorrow.!”

“Compass headings and triangulation,” Valda nodded. “Where shall we start?”

“Closest one is Redhorn, where they spotted that observation post. Start there?”

“Fine,” she agreed. “If you’ll fly us over there I can get started.”

They were already flying in that direction and Mt. Redhorn was not very far as the crow flies. A few minutes later the airship slowed to a halt about a hundred meters below the top.

“Oh, nice!” exclaimed Clank, reaching out to grab a handful of snow. He balled it up and chucked it at Frija.

It missed, but earned him a quick reprimand from de Palma.

“Save it, you two! If you absolutely need to have a snowball fight, take it back with you and do it at the fort.”

Valda ignored the incident, carefully measuring the headings to all the peaks she could see clearly. She couldn’t measure distance, of course, but her theodolite made it possible to measure the headings to each peak with excellent precision. By repeating the measurements from multiple peaks, she could make a map that placed them all at the proper distances and directions from each other, and that would help enormously when it came time to make detailed maps of the terrain below.

Her theodolite was quite large and heavy, and so had been bolted to the floor of the airship to prevent it from moving—or falling off!

The airship had to be not only moored to the peak, but actually attached to it and immobile, so that the theodolite’s measurements wouldn’t be affected every time the airship bobbed or twisted in the air. This was usually accomplished by hammering pitons into the rock or ice, a job which took considerable physical strength. Bridok and Clank didn’t mind the hammering, but they often had to chip the ice off first, if they felt it wasn’t strong enough to hold the Cavor steady.

She double-checked her work, and then they were ready to go on to the next peak.

The airship repeated the process a dozen times, gradually expanding the area covered, both to improve the accuracy and in hopes that the weather might clear up.

The wyverns flew rings around the airship—literally—and seemed to be having a great time. They would fold their wings and plunge toward a peak, speeding past it at breakneck speed and snatching up a load of snow and ice in their talons, sometimes eating it, usually just letting it fall again. They challenged each other to reach the highest peaks, Flogdreka usually winning, but neither of them could reach the highest ones, soaring far, far above their maximum height. The airship might be able to fly that high, but wyverns needed relatively dense air.

Aercaptain de Palma finally gave up and let Clank and Frija throw snowballs at them, laughing with delight as they snatched them out of the air or batted one with a wing.

If they missed a snowball they would often power-dive after it, wings pumping to catch up to the falling snowball before it slipped out of sight into the clouds, shrieking with delight.

The wyver-master seemed to be having fun, too, but de Palma couldn’t understand how he could stand being thrown around the way he was...the wyverns turned and spun with incredible speed in flight. He was sure he’d be knocked unconscious, or thrown off, in minutes.

In the afternoon the clouds got a little thinner and the ground became faintly visible, but it was still not good enough for map-making.

“OK, let’s call it a day,” said de Palma some time later. “We’re obviously not going to get any detailed mapping done today, and we’re getting pretty close to Bleth. I’d rather approach their fort when the dragons are well-rested, and they’ve been flapping around up here for hours today.

“Mistress, is that OK with you?”

“Just let me finish up this set of measurements, captain, and I’ll be happy to take a rest,” she replied. “It’ll take me a couple hours to get all this down solid, and make sure we don’t have to redo any tomorrow.

“Having the peaks positioned properly will help a lot when I start making the terrain maps, though.”

“Good; glad the day wasn’t a total waste,” said de Palma. “Trooper Bridok, run up the signal flag, if you will. Call that flying maniac over so I can let him know.”

Bridok attached the signal flag indicating they needed to talk, and a few minutes later a wyvern scrunched down onto the ice-covered peak.

Beorhtwig, wearing pants and jacket made of furs, had traces of ice in his beard, but was in high spirits.

“Aercaptain! Beautiful weather, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is, Trooper. Up here, at least... We’re about finished; as soon as we’re done here we’re heading back. If the weather is better tomorrow we’ll get started on more detailed maps, and may work our way closer to Bleth.”

“Sounds good, Aercaptain. Let’s talk about it later, at the fort, and make the final decision in the morn.”

“Excellent. Safe flight, Trooper!”

“Safe flight, Aercaptain!”

Beorhtwig pulled back on the reins and the wyvern pushed off, dropping into space like a stone, and suddenly spreading its wings with a boom hundreds of meters below, then shooting off into the distance, wings outstretched.

“You’ve gotta be crazy to fly one of those things,” said Clank, shaking his head.

“You’ve gotta be crazy to fly,” corrected Valda, checking that her lifeline was still secure. She’d gotten a little more used to flying but still hated it.

Chapter 9

“Come in, Godsworn Rorkaln, Healer Dunchanti, please,” urged Jake, welcoming the two into his home. He often held sensitive meetings there, or highly personal ones.

Captain Chinh was already inside, and Ridhi to personally take care of his guests’ needs.

He ushered them into this living/meeting room, where a low table was surrounded by cushions.

As soon as they sat Ridhi appeared out of the back with chilled tea and something sweet and crunchy to nibble, then promptly vanished into the back again. A fancy dinner would be served later.

Jake had made it a point to meet with them regularly, and had invited them tonight.

“How are the classes coming, Godsworn?”

“Quite well. I think almost everyone is able to read and write, but of course speed varies. Vocabulary also varies quite a bit between people, but I doubt that is terribly important.”

“I think not. Many of our troopers don’t speak common as their first language anyway, and as long as they can read and write simple messages, they should be fine.”

“Good, good... there is one, however...”

“One trooper who can’t?”

“I don’t think he’s a trooper, but yes. Roach.”

“Roach? TT’s trainee... what’s his problem?”

“He is absolutely incapable of reading or writing a single letter. He can copy a letter, and is quite a talented artist, but he has no idea what a letter is, and just copies the shape. It isn’t lack of study; he seems a remarkably intelligent young man. He simply cannot comprehend it.”

“Some sort of mental issue?”

“Well, yes, but he’s not a simpleton or anything. He can solve problems, converse, has unbelievable memory and physical abilities—all sorts of skills. He just cannot understand writing.”

“Have you tried him with other languages? What about numbers?”

“Yes. Same problem. He seems incapable of grasping the concept of written characters. Strange because he has an excellent vocabulary when he chooses to use it.”

“Strange... perhaps ask Master Chuang next time he comes?”

“Yes, I intend to, although I suspect Master Chuang is already aware of it. Roach hasn’t been to class these few days, you know.”

“Really? Strange,” said Jake. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a mental problem before.

“Nor I,” agreed Rokaln.

“Ah! I see our dinner has arrived!”

Ridhi and two of her staff appeared with the meals, along with tea, water, and ale. Jake, of course, stuck with water, but poured cups of ale for his guests.

“Just because I can’t enjoy the ale is no reason for you to refuse it,” he said, handing each of them a cup brimming with cold ale.

He picked up his own water, and held it out.

“To health and prosperity!”

“To health and prosperity!”

They all drank, and Jake promptly refilled their cups.

“This is one of Captain Ridhi’s specialties, and one of my favorites... mutton and vegetables cooked up with rice in a spicy sauce. It really goes best with ale, you know. I envy you!”

They all agreed it was delicious, and did indeed go well with ale.

They talked of various matters, nothing very important, and exchanged a few choice bits of gossip.

“How are your temples coming along?”

“We have been talking with the Reeve quite a bit lately,” said Rokaln. “He has already begun cutting the finest trees in the forest, and will built us both quite lovely wood temples in the traditional style.”

“Don’t see many traditional temples anymore. Most of the major temples are in the cities now, which means stone.”

“Wood is lovely,” said Dunchanti, “but unfortunately has both advantages and disadvantages. I confess that while I love the fragrance of pine, I am not much enamored of insect bites.”

They laughed.

“On the other hand,” said Jake, “I can attest that stonework can get mightily cold in the winter, even if there are fewer insects to bite you. It is a lot safer, though... doesn’t burn. Thuba Mleen’s raiders burned quite a few buildings in Cadharna.”

“There is that,” agreed Rokaln. “All of Nath-Horthath’s main temples are of stone—I believe yours are as well, are they not, Healer Dunchanti?”

“Yes, most.”

“The temple here is just a very small one, newborn you might say, so I cannot object.”

“You know, we plan to build sewage and water conduits in the growing ‘castle town’ below the fort,” mused Jake. “It’s already beginning to stink, and we want to build a good foundation before there are too many people and buildings there.”

“Of stone?”

“Yes, of course. The quarry has plenty of stone, and we’ve brought in a few stonecutters from Kadatheron and Toldees to cut what we need. We’re fixing up the fort already, and thought it would be a good investment. Running water, fountains, a public bath, the works.”

“You expect it to grow into a whole village?”

“As you have no doubt noticed, a number of people from the village have moved out here—villagers who work here in the fort, and people that supply us with all the things we may need, whether it be food, lumber, or arrows, for example.”

“Or women,” added Dunchanti wryly.

“That too,” agreed Jake. “Troopers need to relax, too, and ‘wine, women, and song’ has long been a military tradition.

“I see,” said Rokaln, sipping more ale. “I wonder...”

He trailed off.

“Yes?”

“You know, my colleague and I had talked about the possibility of building the temples of stone instead of wood.”

“We decided it was hopeless for a variety of reasons: time, labor, cost,” explained Dunchanti. “If you are already building water pipes and whatnot below the fort, it would be no great added effort to build the temples there, either.”

“No great effort!?” Jake snorted. “It would be an immense effort, in every sense. You just mentioned time, labor, and cost and it would demand all three, and in abundance!”

“Still,” said Rokaln slowly, “I think it might be worth the investment, having us closer to the fort...”

“You would break me!” complained Jake.

“I think our head temples might be willing to contribute some small amount to the project,” suggested Dunchanti. “Far be it from me to denigrate traditional forest temples, but stone has a certain, um, dignity, don’t you think?”

“Dignity or not, I doubt we could afford it...”

“Let us suggest the matter to our superiors, and let you know their thoughts,” said Rokaln. “And you will consider it as well?”

“I will look into it, but I confess my hopes are none too high.”

“An open mind is all we ask," said Rokaln, as Dunchanti nodded in agreement.

“The Reeve will be most unhappy, I think,” said Jake.

“I suspect if you suggested the Reeve of such a growing village needed a larger and more gracious home, he would not object to some, uh, assistance to build his own manor with those fine logs he is having brought.”

“You mean gold.”

“Well, yes. Gold may be the root of all evil but it is also undeniably useful in getting things done.”

“And you would, of course, support my suggestion that he should have a finer home,” pressed Jake.

“Oh, of course, of course.”

“I don’t know if I can afford all of this,” said Jake, slowly. “It depends on how the fort defenses are going, and what your head temples say, and what the Reeve says... it would be a massive project for us to undertake.”

“You are skilled at completing big projects, Commander,” said Dunchanti. “As evidenced by the evolution of this monastery.”

Jake nodded but still looked troubled.

“In any case, you’ll be happy to know that in addition to the castle town, we have also begun an orchard just east of the fort. It will take some years to bear fruit, but hopefully we may enjoy the same delicious apples and peaches that one might find in Rinar or Ilarnek.

“We already grow most of our own vegetables, of course, but must rely on the farmers of Cadharna for our grain. In fact, I believe that today is baking day... Captain Ridhi!”

She appeared as if she had been waited to be summoned—and no doubt she had been hovering in the doorway all this time—and raised her eyebrows in query.

“Today is baking day, is it not?”

“Yes, Commander. We’ve been baking since dawn.”

“Would you be so kind as to present my guests with some fresh loaves? They may find it a pleasant change from the bread available in Cadharna.”

“Of course, Commander.”

She vanished out the door, heading for the main building and the bakery.

The Godsworn and the Healer had been staying in Cadharna most of the time, and coming out to the fort as needed. They were also ministering to the needs of the villagers, and had apparently become close friends with the Reeve.

The fort now had about as many people as the village, and considerably more gold. Jake needed to maintain good relations with the Reeve and the rest of the villagers, but he also wanted it to be very clear who controlled things. They were already helping the villagers rebuild after the Battle of Fort Danryce, with labor and materials, and he had no doubt he could get the Reeve to agree to his proposal, one way or another. In fact, he thought to himself, that all went very well. They’re trying to strong-arm me into exactly what I wanted to do in the first place—build their temples right here!

Ridhi was back shortly with dessert—some sort of honey cake—and more tea, plus a fresh-baked loaf of bread for each of them.

 

* * *

 

The next day Jake and Captain Chinh saddled up their horses and rode to Cadharna to see Reeve Lowar.

He was working his fields, as always. This year it looked like he was growing wheat and rye, and leaving several fields fallow for his sheep, goats, and chickens. The Reeve owned no cattle, perhaps because his fields were broken up into relatively small, separate plots. Now that the fort was consuming more meat, no doubt the number of cattle farmers would increase. And more beans, beans, beans!

“Good morning, Reeve!”

“Commander,” he nodded in response. “Captain Chinh, good to see you again.”

Chinh smiled. His troops had saved the village from being destroyed, and no doubt saved the Reeve’s life as well.

“And you, Reeve.”

They dismounted and the Reeve walked over to join them.

“Can I help you with something, Commander?”

“Oh, no, we’re just passing through... checking out a few things out West.”

“Something to worry about?”

“Probably not,” reassured Jake. “We’re thinking of setting up some lookouts to the west and want to see a few possible sites.”

“It’ll be a hot one today, I think...”

“We’re riding! You’re the one doing all the hard work, Reeve!”

Reeve Lowar chuckled.

“I may be Reeve, but the work won’t do itself, you know.”

“You really deserve more recognition for all your hard work, you know... rebuilding the village, keeping all the new residents under control—my apologies for that; the fort has really attracted a lot of people, hadn’t it?—and helping us get the quarry back in good shape.”

“It’s hard, but I do it for the villagers,” said the Reeve, wiping his forehead for a rag. “Nice to be appreciated once in a while.”

“Your assistance is invaluable to the fort in so many ways,” said Chinh. “I’m glad I was able to help you defend the village against Thuba Mleen’s raiders!”

“Yes, thank you for that, Captain.”

“We noticed a lot of new houses and other buildings going up,” said Jake. “I hope you’re building a new house for yourself as well? You really deserve one.”

“No time for such silliness,” said the Reeve. “The village, and the temples.”

“The temples? You are building the temples?” asked Jake, apparently surprised. “I thought the Godsworn would pay to have their temples built.”

“It’s my duty as Reeve to build temples, of course, for the villagers,” said the other. “When they’re done they’ll be grand indeed, made with the finest wood the forest has to offer.”

“You are true to your duty, Reeve, most admirable indeed,” praised Chinh.

“Strange that the head temples, with all their wealth, cannot build their own temples here, though,” mused Jake. “And you certainly deserve a new home for your own family after all you’ve done!”

“My wives have said the same, especially when the roof leaks...”

Jake reached into his tunic and withdrew a small linen bag.

It clinked softly as he chucked it to the Reeve.

“Allow me to contribute a small amount to your new home, Reeve! One must keep one’s wives content or all sorts of problems occur,” he chuckled.

The Reeve deftly caught the bag, hefted it.

“Why, thank you, Commander! Thank you for recognizing my efforts to support the fort!”

He grinned and hefted the bag once more before slipping it into his own tunic.

“Perhaps you are right; a man of my position should have a proper house, one that reflects his importance to the village, and the region.”

“Oh, I agree, Reeve. A manor, to be sure.”

The Reeve’s smile grew even broader.

“But what about the temples?”

“I’m sure the head temples can afford to build new temples without demanding you pay for them, Reeve.”

“Oh, yes. The head temples are richer than I am, to be sure. Down there in the big city and all.”

“Absolutely. Let me talk to the Godsworn and see if I can’t convince them to build the temples themselves,” said Jake. “Forgive us, Reeve Lowar, but we really must be going; we have a long ride ahead of us. Thank you for your excellent advice!”

“Drop by the fort when you get the chance, Reeve!” added Chinh.

They snapped their reins and rode off, unsure if the Reeve, still lost in daydreams, saw them go or not.

As they rode through and beyond the village, Chinh twitched his reins and guided his horse next to Jake’s.

“What was all that about, Commander, if I may ask? You certainly didn’t ride past his fields by accident.”

Jake laughed.

“The temples are being built under the cliff, Captain, not here in the village. And the Reeve has just agreed that it’s an excellent idea.”

“And you’ve already talked this over with Godsworn Rokaln and the Healer, I gather.”

“Of course. And that was the last real problem.”

“They’ll build their own temples?”

“Oh, of course not,” smiled Jake. “I’ll build them, but hopefully they’ll pay for it. And in the process, the new ‘castle town’ springing up below the cliff will gain two beautiful stone temples. Temples, I might add, that the fort will have to protect, which will no doubt require some form of tax...”

Chinh laughed.

“I see the King was not wrong to choose you, Commander. But hopefully you are still the King’s man.”

“Absolutely. The King and I agree on the end goals, although we do have some difference of opinion about how to achieve them.”

“Good. I am, of course, the King’s man through-and-through,” warned Chinh. “So, where to? Are we really off to look at the western extent?”

“Nah. Just a nice ride through the countryside, loop around north and back to the fort. I’ve got too much to do. Besides, setting up lookouts is Beghara’s job. Or Long’s.”

“A beautiful day for a ride, Commander,” agreed Chinh. “Are you familiar with the Otter Rapids, and the small lake just downstream from there? A popular fishing spot, and just a few kilometers down this road, in fact. Excellent roast river fish.”

“Yes, I’ve caught a few there myself. Very nice. Why?”

“Because the last one there buys lunch!” shouted Chinh, and snapped his reins to burst into a gallop.

“Damn you, Chinh!”

 

* * *

 

After lunch—Jake’s treat—they angled up into the mountains to ride past the quarry.

Nobody knew who had actually started the quarry, or cut its rock to build the monastery and a variety of ruins throughout the area, but everyone in the village knew it. It was part of the landscape.

With the rebuilding and improvement of Fort Danryce, plus a few smaller projects in the village, the quarry had come back to life. Stonecutters had been hired from nearby Kadatheron and Toldees, and laborers had showed up to do the work.

The cut stone blocks were transported by ox-drawn wagon to the fort, and rapidly fitted into place in the wall or elsewhere. Work on the fort was almost done now, and the laborers had begun to think of moving on, but once work started on the castle town the quarry would recover.

“Commander Jake! Haven’t seen you here for a while!” said the Stonemaster, a grizzled old man named Buka who had worked many years in the onyx quarries of Inganok. “My stone not to your likin’?”

“Good day, Stonemaster,” replied Jake. “No, your stone is excellent, and the walls and towers almost complete. I wanted to speak with you on something else.”

“Sit,” invited Buka, pointing at some broken bocks nearby that were just right for sitting on. He joined them.

“Two things, actually,” said Jake. “First and most important, I’m planning to build a few things in the little village growing up below the fort. Once the artificer gets here from Celephaïs, he’ll be building a sewage system, a water system with fountains and a public bath, and two temples, for Nath-Horthath and Panakeia.”

The Stonemaster blinked

“Quite a project.”

“Yes it is, and it will need quite a stonemaster to keep it supplied. At a salary commensurate with his skill, of course.”

“Of course. Sure, Commander, I’d be tickled pink,” smiled Buka. “And when is this here artificer type getting’ here?”

“Any day now,” said Chinh. “We’ll bring him out here as soon as possible so the two of you can talk.”

“Fine, fine... I was wonderin’ where t’ go next now your fort’s all pretty,” smiled Buka. “And?”

“Are you familiar with any other quarries in this area? White, very fine-grained rock.”

“White? Nope, don’t recall any... why?”

“Next time you visit the fort ask to see the church floor,” explained Jake. There is a single block of white rock set into the floor, and I’m curious where it might have come from.”

“Ain’t no white rock in the Mohaggers. Leastways, I ain’t never heard of no such thing, and I been working these mountains for a round dozen and more.”

“Interesting... what about marble?”

“Nope, not ’round here. Best place for marble is up in Lomar, ’round Olathoë and such. Most of the marble out here is from the desert quarries in the far east, near the Pool of Night. All under Thuba Mleen’s thumb now.”

“Celephaïs was built with marble, too.”

“Yeah, most of that’s from Lomar; a little from Thran’s quarries. No idea where he got all that pink marble from, though. Beautiful stuff.”

“So if we wanted marble temples we can’t get it around here.”

“Not unless you want to go diggin’ up Sarnath... plenty of marble there, to be sure, but all sunk in the bogs now and guarded by who knows what.”

“There are lots of stories about ‘the doom of Sarnath’,” said Jake. “But have you ever seen any of its fabled marble?”

“I seen stonework said to come from Sarnath, yes I have,” nodded Buka. “Very nice stuff, looked like that old desert marble to me. Hard to say if it came from Sarnath or not. But it was carved something pretty, and had been buried a long, long time. Mighta been Sarnath, mighta been them lizardfolk.”

“The Ibizim, you mean?”

“Nah, Ibizim’re human. The real lizard people, you know, croc snouts and long tails, green scales, the works,” said Buka, waving his hands in emphasis. “The Ibizim just use their tunnels.”

“The lizard people used a lot of marble?”

“Oh, yeah. All sorts of stone, in their tunnels and cities. Story goes they had big quarries underground, but I never seen one. Supposed to be a big lizard city under the Mohaggers somewhere, too.”

“Have you ever been in one of their tunnels?”

“Nope. Up Inganok way you don’t wanna go wanderin’ around in tunnels. Not likely to ever come out again, if you know what I mean.”

“No Ibizim up there, huh?”

“Ibizim are desert folk; not much likin’ for ice and snow.”

“Well, that sucks,” muttered Jake. “I’d hoped to use marble for those temples; impress the hell out of everyone.”

“Well, if it’s fancy rocks you want, why not use chalcedony or malachite or somethin’? Impressive as hell.”

“Malachite’s green, right? Lots of little bubbles and lines and stuff in it?”

“Yeah, that’s the stuff. And chalcedony’s a light blue, most of the time. With or without lines.”

“Think you can quarry enough to make one of each?”

“Chalcedony’s easy: Narath. The mountain quarries between Narath and Zulan-Thek are huge. They supplied Sarnath, too, for that matter... Might be a bit tricky to get it down here easily, since Thuba Mleen’s turf is smack in the middle, but pay the toll and they’d let it through, I imagine.

“Now, malachite... hmm, have to ask around for that one. I seen malachite from Zar and Thalarion, but don’t know if it’s really quarried or just little stuff. Don’t recall ever seeing slabs of it.

“What about carnelian? Chalcedony and malachite are blue, most of the time, but carnelian is in all sort of orange and red. The Hills of Noor have all the carnelian you’d ever need, and cheap, too, because nobody never uses it for nothing ’cept jewelry. You’d need to convince the Ibizim to let you have it, but from what I hear you’re already in with them.

“Hang on a sec... I think I’ve got some here...”

Buka held up the bracelet on his left wrist. Composed of large, multi-colored stone beads, it looked cold and heavy. He flicked through the beads and finally held up one that was a dark red.

“Yup, that’s carnelian... Just look at that beauty shine!”

It was beautiful, a deep red flaming to crimson in the center as the sun shone through.

“Damn, that’s stunning!”

“Do you think you can get the Godsworn to use it, Commander?”

“Only have to convince one of them, Captain; the other can use chalcedony.”

“Actually, they’re both chalcedony,” said Buka. “Pretty much the same rock.”

“Can you get me samples of both, so I can show the Godsworn? They’ve probably seen the rocks already, but nothing like showing the real thing when you want to close the deal.”

“Sure, no problem. You in a hurry?”

“Say, within a week?”

“Easy. I’ll have the boy pick some up next time he’s off to Kadatheron.”

“Thank you, Stonemaster. That’s quite a load off my mind.”

“Happy to help, Commander. You bring that artificer out here now, OK? We’ll get you all the stone you need to make that place pretty.”

After the talk, Jake and Chinh swung north and back east, arriving back at Fort Danryce in the late afternoon.

Chapter 10

She awakened to the warbling and chirping of the birds, and realized it was morning... the sky was already bright to the east, the sun about ready to peek over the mountains.

It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day, Seri thought, until she recalled where they were, and where they were going.

More marching, and directly toward a major concentration of enemy forces: Bleth.

She sat up and looked around the camp, silently: About half her twelve were still sleeping, the rest already getting ready for the day’s march. TT was up on a nearby slope, on guard duty, and Ebubechukwu, one of the archers from Zar, stood watch from another slight rise some distance away, bow at hand.

She walked over to the stream and cupped a handful of water. Runoff from the mountain, it was almost clear, free of the mud and debris no doubt clogging the main stream in the center of the valley. Cold and delicious, it woke her up and reminded her she hadn’t eaten yet.

Munching on a bar of pressed fruit and beans, she walked through the camp kicking the troopers who were still asleep, and up the slope to TT.

“Morning, Sergeant.”

“Captain.”

“Beautiful weather today.”

He grunted.

“They’ll be able to see us miles away.”

“Kilometers, even.”

“Yeah, whatever,” agreed TT. “It’s gonna be a bitch to sneak around today... no rain, damn few trees, and a lot of people to hide.”

“Send the raptors out farther up ahead?”

“I’d really prefer to wait until tonight and move when it’s dark.”

“We’re pretty exposed here already,” said Seri. “We haven’t seen a trace of anyone, but you’re right... they could see us from a long ways away if they were watching, even if we are mostly hidden down next to the stream.”

“I’d say move farther up into the mountains, and wait until dark. This streambed we’re following is getting pretty narrow and I’d expect it to peter out soon anyway, so we might as well get into the rough sooner rather than later.”

“Slow us down quite a bit...”

“Well, yeah, but so would getting killed.”

Seri chuckled.

“I agree with you, actually. It would have been nice to get closer in the rain, but we need cover more than we need to hurry.”

Seri whistled Mudge over.

“We go that way,” she said, pointing between two mountains. It wasn’t high enough to be called a pass, and looked to be blocked by debris and scree, but it was a good place to hide in and was headed in almost the direction they wanted to go. “Scout quietly.”

Mudge nodded and grinned. Or was she just baring her fangs? Hard to tell, thought Seri.

The raptor gave a low shriek and all of a sudden half a dozen more reptilian snouts popped up into view all around the camp. When they were hidden, they were very difficult to spot, their green and brown scales very similar to their muddy surroundings.

She walked back to the camp and put her bedroll back in her pack, along with the few odds and ends she had taken out. She travelled light: most of her pack was food and water, although thus far there had been plenty of nice, cold melt or spring water to drink.

She debated putting her mail shirt in the pack, too. It was heavy and it was going to be a hot day, but if they got into a fight she’d miss it.

She shook her head.

Better put it on and suffer. And make sure everyone else did, too.

“Good morning, Troopers! I hope you all enjoyed your leisurely beauty sleep and are ready for a little exercise? Since the weather cleared and we’re a little too obvious here, we’re going to move up into that ravine and see where it goes. We’ll probably spend the day there and continue on to Bleth at dusk. With luck we’ll get to see the walls tonight, and with even more luck we’ll do it without being spotted.

“So get it all cleaned up, troopers! Pick up your garbage, brush your tracks, and get ready to move out. Yargui, you and Aymeric are the last ones out—I want you to check the entire area and make sure we haven’t left anything obvious.”

“Yes, Captain,” they said in chorus.

“Kareem, Aashika Chabra, the raptors are already scouting out up that way,” she continued, pointing to the ravine continuing deeper into the mountains. “You two take point for now and see what’s waiting for us. If you spot anyone do not engage, unless they spot you—in which case kill them if you can, or get back her if you can’t. Good?”

“Good,” echoed Kareem, as he and Aashika Chabra slipped their rucks on and headed out.

TT and the other guard had rejoined them and they were ready to go shortly.

“Sergeant, set ’em up,” she ordered.

“OK, spread out wide,” said TT. “Make sure you can see each other, and keep your damn eyes open. We really don’t want to be noticed, so stay alert and stay in cover as much as possible. If you see something, whistle first and then investigate.

“Oh, and Kareem mentioned the mountains are full of snakes, too, so might watch where you walk.”

“Move out!” said Seri, and they did.

 

* * *

 

At about the same time, Beorhtwig was just cinching his saddle on Flogdreka.

They hadn’t been able to do much yesterday thanks to the unexpected rainclouds, but the sky was crystal-clear, only a few tiny clouds lurking at the very horizon.

He couldn’t wait to get up there.

He was supposed to wait for de Palma’s airship, but the sun was up and the day was calling. The archer from Captain Ekene’s twelve, an ebon Zarite named Ifechukwu, was already seated and secured on Fæger... she hadn’t been afraid of flying, and had proved to be an excellent shot from the air. She said it was because she had been practicing shooting from galloping horses since she was a babe, but Beorhtwig suspected she was just gifted... he certainly couldn’t make those shots, no matter how good a wyvern-rider he was!

He kicked Flogdreka, and they launched into the sky, Fæger following close as always.

The two wyverns called to each other as they climbed, circling around each other, wingtips almost touching at times. Without his saddle and lifeline, Beorhtwig would have been thrown to death dozens of times, but they were ecstatic flying, and he couldn’t get enough of their antics. He checked up on Ifechukwu every so often, but she seemed to be enjoying the ride, too.

Up, up, until he could make out the blob that was Kadatheron, and beyond it, the Middle Sea. Below him stretched the Lake of Sarnath, neatly enclosed in the curved sweep of the Mohagger Range, and to the northwest lay the almost-hidden valley of Toldees and Mondath, buried deep in the mountains. Father north was the Eastern Desert, a yellow and brown tapestry stretching across half of the horizon. He knew Thuba Mleen’s palace was out there, far beyond Mondath, but it was too small and too far away to be seen from here.

While they saw only the highest peaks of the Mohaggers yesterday, today the entire range clawed high into the heavens, a study in rugged contrast as the eastern side was tinged red by the rising orb of the sun while the west was dark in shadow.

He let the wyverns soar and circle, enjoying the peace and beauty of this silent world as he waited.

A few minutes later he saw the Cavor lift off from the belltower, circling once over the fort and then climbing sharply to join him.

They made rendezvous over the lake, the airship keeping pace with the wyverns as they drifted slowly through the air, almost hovering into a headwind. The Cavor, at an angle to the wind, had no difficulty keeping pace. It had the other five archers of Captain Ekene’s six onboard, under the Captain himself. Nobody thought they’d be needed, but better safe than sorry... and it wouldn’t hurt to give them more experience flying.

“Morning to you, Trooper!”

“And to you, Aercaptain de Palma! A beautiful morning indeed!”

“Today we’ll get our first glimpse of Bleth, I think.”

“Aye, it should be an interesting day,” replied Beorhtwig. “Let us see what they have in the air, shall we?”

They headed north.

Valda was orienting the peak maps she had made the previous day with their position, and when she was set she signaled de Palma to halt the airship. The aercaptain would try to keep it stationary while she sketched in terrain details, and when she was done here they’d move a bit more.

Over the course of the day they’d repeat the process dozens of times, and while it was a bit of a chore to try to hold the airship steady, he and the crew really had very little to do. A deck of cards soon appeared on the foredeck.

Overtly, Beorhtwig was providing protection to the airship. The wyverns would land on a convenient peak when the airship was sufficiently near one, and circle nearby if not. There was a strong updraft on the desert flank of the Mohaggers, as heated air swept upwards along the mountain slopes, and a stiff wind from the east at a higher altitude, so the wyverns could stay up for long periods of time without getting exhausted.

At the same time, though, Beorhtwig was looking for signs of Captain Serilarinna’s twelve, and her raptors. He knew they’d be hiding, but it was difficult to hide from the sky... and besides, he expected them to flash him, too.

Just before they broke for lunch—which would be with the airship moored to a mountain peak and the wyverns sitting nearby—he finally caught the flash of a mirror from a narrow ravine north of the lake.

They were a bit farther north than he’d expected, and the narrowness of the ravine made it hard for them to catch the sunlight while he was in view, but it was unmistakable.

It flashed a few simple codes—no enemy sighted, continuing mission.

He circled once to indicate he’d seen the message, and continued on.

As they were eating lunch, Ifechukwu sat down next to him on the airship’s deck.

“I saw the flash, Trooper, and I saw you signal back... who are you talking to?”

Beorhtwig looked around quickly to make sure nobody was nearby, then leaned over.

“Trooper Ifechukwu, that’s the reason we’re up here, flapping about in circles. I can’t tell you more, and right now the only people up here that know that are you, me, and de Palma, so keep it to yourself.”

“I have to tell my captain,” said Ifechukwu. “You can tell him, too, but I have to tell him what I saw.”

“Dammit! Can’t you wait until... no, of course you can’t. Shit!”

Beorhtwig stood, searched for Aercaptain de Palma, waved him over.

“Go get Captain Ekene and bring him back here. Nobody else!”

Beorhtwig told de Palma briefly what the problem was, and de Palma quickly evicted a few archers who had been sitting in the stern, leaving it entirely empty.

Ekene showed up shortly, his double-curved bow on his back and a cup of tea in one hand.

They squatted down, and Aercaptain de Palma began.

“Captain Ekene, I’m sorry you’ve been kept in the dark until now, but Commodore’s orders. There is a scouting party below, heading north, and our primary mission is to provide air cover for them if needed. Mapping is useful, but it’s not why we’re here.

“We don’t think Thuba Mleen has any more airships or wyverns but we don’t know, and hopefully between your archers and the two wyverns we can take care of anything he does manage to throw at us. We are supposed to attract his attention by mapping the region, and hopefully give the scouting party a better chance at getting a look at Bleth.”

“Bleth! I thought we were getting awfully close to his turf... and there’s a scouting party going in on the ground!”

“And now there are four of us up here who know what’s going on. We can’t afford to let a word of this escape. If you need to, talk to the Commander tonight to check with him, but this has to remain top secret, absolutely nobody else must know,” stressed de Palma.

“We aren’t even allowed to reply to their flashes,” explained Beorhtwig. “I circled to let them know I read the message, but that’s about all I can do... and we circle a lot up here already, to make it harder for Thuba Mleen’s troops to figure out what’s going on.”

“So we might see action today after all...” mused Ekene. “It’s very restful floating around up here, but we’re bored silly.”

“Keep your eyes open, Captain. If they do decide to attack us when we get closer to Bleth, it’ll come quickly, whatever it is.

“You know,” continued de Palma, “I’m pretty sure my crew knows what’s going on, too, even if they don’t know the details. We’ve been together a long time, though, and I’m confident they’ll keep their mouths closed.”

“If your crew has noticed, I think we can assume my archers have noticed, too,” said Ekene. “I knew something was going on... They’re new to flight, but non-observant people just don’t last long in this business.”

Aercaptain de Palma sighed.

“I’m not surprised... we knew we couldn’t keep it secret forever, but I’d hoped it’d last longer than one day!”

Captain Ekene laughed.

“I’m surprised it’s lasted this long, actually... usually all these details are known to the entire fort before the troops even hit the road!”

“You think we should do a full briefing?”

“Anyone who leaks to the enemy is going to leak anyway. We can assume everyone knows there are troops on the ground somewhere down there, even if they don’t know the details... I don’t see that we lose anything by admitting they’re scouting the Mohaggers on foot while we map from the air, and don’t mention Bleth.”

Aercaptain de Palma thought for a moment. Ekene ranked him, but in theory he was in command as captain of the Cavor. He didn’t want to do anything to suggest that Captain Ekene could issue commands onboard, but he also didn’t want to risk making an enemy of him.

“I agree with your suggestion, Captain, thank you,” he said. “Might as well get it over with.”

He stood up and jumped up on top of the deckhouse.

“Everyone, a moment please!”

It was a small ship, and his voice reached everyone easily.

“Since we’re out of the reach of any prying eyes and ears, I’d like to bring you all up to speed on our mission.

“Some of you may have wondered why we need two wyverns and a six of archers to defend an airship mapping the mountains. We are mapping the mountains, yes, but we are working together with people on the ground who are making a survey on foot. And since Thuba Mleen has a whole fort full of troopers up north, on the other side of the mountains, he might decide to come down here and bother us.

“We want those maps, but we also don’t want him killing off the ground party, or destroying our airship... so here you are.”

He paused for a moment.

“We are taking every precaution to avoid drawing Thuba Mleen’s attention to that surveying party. We want him to be about us, and hopefully miss them. Once the mission’s over and we have the maps it won’t matter anymore, but for now this is secret. You don’t talk about it to anybody on the ground, ever.

“Any problems?”

There was a mutter from the assembled crew and archers, but no questions.

“Captain? Did you have something to add?”

Captain Ekene joined him atop the deckhouse.

“I know you’re all getting a little tired of floating around like dandelion fluff, but we might see some action so try to stay awake, will ’ya?”

There was scattered laughter.

“Make sure you know where your lifelines are, too,” added de Palma. “If we get into a fight up the airship is going to really jump around, and there’s nothing we can do for you if you get thrown out. Make sure you have one next to you, or keep it tied on all the time. We don’t always get much warning when there’s an attack up here... no hoofbeats in the clouds.”

More muttering, and de Palma noticed a few archers hurriedly scrambling for ropes, or checking their knotwork.

After lunch they were back at it, marking time while Valda worked on her sketches.

“I’ll have to have a little talk with the Commander, I think,” said Ekene to de Palma. “I understand your position, but he really should have told me what’s going on in the first place.”

“I thought you should know but...”

Ekene held up a hand.

“Don’t worry, not your fault. I’ve been in the same position. More to the point, though, Beorhtwig confirmed they’re OK?”

“The Commander forbade us from answering except in emergencies, but they said they’re still on mission, and haven’t encountered any enemies yet.”

“Where are they?”

Aercaptain de Palma walked over to Valda’s table, waited until she was looking over the railing at the ground, and quickly tapped a spot on the map.

“He got the signal from here.”

Ekene nodded.

“Hard place to get out of, if push comes to shove.”

“If necessary I can help pull them out, but my priority is to preserve the airship, I’m afraid... could get awkward.”

“We’ll just have to make sure Thuba Mleen never notices them, then!”

“It’d be nice if he never noticed us, either...” muttered de Palma. “On that note, Clank is keeping watch through the solehole; would you like to post one of your archers there?”

“I’m not used to airships, and keep forgetting that this isn’t like a boat. You can see—and shoot—from the bottom, of course.”

“A lot of people can’t handle looking straight down from an airship. Takes practice.”

“I’ll cycle my people through there one at a time and see how they take it. Good idea.”

 

* * *

 

The ravine gradually rose, getting narrower and steeper as it climbed, until finally it petered out entirely. Just ahead a fold of the mountain crossed their path, a two-meter rise blocking their way.

Seri scrabbled up the steep rock face, pulling herself up to the top for a better look.

“There’s a similar ravine stretching out this way,” she called back to the others. “Looks pretty much the same.”

“What’ll we do about the raptors?” called TT.

Seri dropped down, dusted her hands off.

“Yargui, Aashika Chabra... get over there and see if there’s anything waiting for us on the other side. Don’t go too far, and don’t be seen!

“Kareem, you ever been in this region before?”

“No, Captain. When I entered the mountains at all it was always on the known routes.”

“I guess that’s good news... maybe they won’t be expecting us.”

She turned to TT.

“Any dead trees or something we can use to make a step for the raptors?”

“Sorry, just brush around here... I think we’d have to backtrack all the way to the stream again to find anything that big.”

“OK, the raptors are, what, maybe thirty kilos or so? We’ll just lift them up.”

“Mudge!”

The raptor came trotting over.

“Mudge, do I need muzzles?”

Mudge shook her head no.

“No biting or clawing!”

Mudge smiled, or maybe bared her teeth—it was hard to tell which.

With Yargui and Aashika Chabra scouting up ahead her six was down to herself and three troopers, and there were six raptors to get over the hump. Mudge wouldn’t bite anyone, but she was less certain about the five dumb ones... they were all friendly in camp when they wanted a piece of your dinner, but animals could react violently to all sorts of things, and she didn’t want to lose a trooper to one of her own raptors!

“Mudge, I want you on top of the wall for now,” she said, and picked the raptor up. She was about the size and weight of a Great Dane: heavy and awkward to carry, but not impossible.

She raised Mudge over her head, pushing her up the rock wall while Mudge scrabbled her feet, until finally she managed to pull herself to the top.

Seri turned around and stepped out of the way so Aymeric, a Daikosian swordsman in her six, could lift up another raptor.

Mudge hissed once when one of the raptors began wriggling, but other than that there were no problems, and everyone—raptors and human both—was over the hump within a short period of time.

Seri looked ahead, down the slope. It gradually grew into a ravine as tiny rivulets from the mountains drained into it. She couldn’t see very far as it twisted and turned through the rocks, but she imagined it grew into a larger stream later, probably draining into the Eastern Desert somewhere.

Aashika Chabra came walking back.

“It looks all clear up ahead, Captain... no sign of anyone we can see, although yesterday’s rain could have washed away a lot. Yargui’s gone on a bit farther.”

“OK, let’s get it on,” ordered Seri. “Mudge, scout front!”

Mudge snarled at her raptors and they click-clacked off over the rock, downstream.

Seri and Aashika in the lead, they followed the raptors, often clambering over boulders or squeezing between them. It would have been a great place for an ambush except that there was no place to hide on the mountainsides above them.

Seri kept looking anyway, expecting to see a flight of arrows or the flash of a sword.

A raptor shriek brought her attention back to the front.

“Back! All of you, get back!”

It was Yargui, shouting at the raptors.

Seri dashed forward, jumping over and on rocks, risking a fall in her hurry.

“Sergeant! Advance under cover!”

TT hunched down, a habit left over from when he faced rifles, and scuttled forward to the cover of an overhang.

“Keep under cover, and move up!” he called to the rest of the twelve. “Archers, if you see it, shoot it!”

Seri skidded to a halt, almost stepping on a raptor.

There was a half-circle of raptors eyeing a rock lizard

Yargui was sprawled on the ground next to it, facing the raptors with her arm outstretched, palm out to command them to halt.

Mudge was standing between the raptors and Yargui, rumbling softly to herself, head snapping back and forth as she tried to look at everyone at once.

“What happened, trooper?”

“A rock lizard, Captain. It was fighting that snake,” she explained, pointing at two halves of a huge snake lying on the ground. Obviously she’d chopped it in half.

“The lizard only got bitten once, and the snake was getting ready to crush it when I got here.”

“It’s just a lizard, Yargui,” said Seri, sheathing her sword. “I know you miss your sand lizard, but it’s fine back at the fort.”

“Sorry, Captain, should’ve been clearer... This isn’t a wild lizard.”

She stuck one finger under the leather collar around the lizard’s neck and lifted it up a bit.

“A pet lizard, out here!?”

“It’s a rock lizard, Captain. Pretty much like my sand lizard, but lives in the mountains instead of the desert. And I think it’s a hunting lizard.”

The raptors hissed and jumped again, suddenly rearranging themselves to face the mountainside.

Seri looked up to see a man sitting on the naked rock slope, looking down at them. He was dressed in what looked like rags, the colors of the rock around them and ragged to break up his profile.

“My lizard,” he said.

“Mudge, pull the raptors back,” commanded Seri, stepping forward, hands empty.

Behind her, TT signaled the archers to nock arrows and stand ready.

“Who are you?”

“Lonagon of Y’barra.”

“Y’barra—the Mountain People!” breathed Yargui.

“Talk to me, Yargui,” said Seri. “Who are the Mountain People?”

“They’re Ibizim, just like me. That’s why we both have lizards. They’ve always lived in the mountains, and we in the desert.”

“They have nothing to do with Thuba Mleen?”

“I don’t...”

“We are of the mountains, and have naught to do with the Emperor of the Sands. We see his troops, but they never see us.”

“Yet you showed yourself to us now.”

“You saved my rock lizard, and I would have her back.”

Seri stepped well back, gesturing TT and the others to fall back as well.

“Mudge, pull those raptors back, dammit!”

Mudge snarled and they grudgingly shuffled backwards, obviously hoping for an invitation to attack the lizard. Or eat it?

“We shall not stand in your way. Our enemy is Thuba Mleen, not the Mountain People.”

The other half ran, half hopped down the mountainside, his soft-booted feet making almost no sound, and walked over to the injured rock lizard.

He bowed to Yargui.

“Yargui of the Copper Beetle,” she said and stepped back. He squatted down next to the lizard, his hand on its head for a moment, turned.

“Captain Serilarinna, thank you.”

“You know my name!?”

“We’ve been following you since you left the Lake of Sarnath,” the other said. “I was too busy trying to stay out of your way to protect my rock lizard.”

“You said ‘we’?”

The other whistled, and Seri’s twelve shrank closer together as half a dozen rock-colored figures suddenly appeared around them. They must have been hiding in plain view all this time.

“We can conceal our smell, but not perfectly, and raptors can still sense us if they get too close... Your raptors kept us on the move constantly.”

“Yes, they’re well-trained,” said Seri, without going into detail. “Take your lizard, and go in peace.”

He nodded, and, picking up his injured pet, draped it over his shoulders.

“We shall leave a marker for you up ahead; turn east there and you will find an unwatched trail to Snakescale, and you can see Bleth from there. We of Y’barra always pay our debts.”

And they were gone.

“Well, that was interesting...” said TT, breaking the silence.

“Yargui, what else do you know about these people?” asked Seri.

“They’re just Ibizim... I mean, they’re not special, they just live in the mountains and we live in the desert.

“Some of the Ibizim in my Home traded with them, but I don’t know the details. Like I said, this is the first time I’ve ever met anyone from there.”

“So they’re not allies of Thuba Mleen?”

“If they were I’d certainly have heard about it!,” she denied. “No, they’re just cousins, basically, who live somewhere else. As far as I know.”

“Interesting. And they are invisible here in the mountains...” mused Seri. “They live underground?”

“I think they live in the same protected valleys as we do, but I know they also use tunnels. I don’t know if that is the same Sunless Road we use, or tunnels they constructed themselves, though.”

“What’s Snakescale?”

“Must be a mountain. Never heard of it, but we don’t know the names of most of these mountains.”

“Well, we’ll find out. He’s gone now—they’re all gone,” said Seri. “And if they did leave us a marker up ahead that’ll be great. Move out!”

One of the raptors stayed to investigate the dead snake until Mudge nipped his flank, and they headed downstream, followed by Serilarinna, Yargui, and Aashika, and then the rest of the twelve, with TT bringing up the rear.

The stream running down the ravine was flush with rainwater, and in places there was still plenty of mud left to make going tough. Low bushes grew here and there, giving them something to hang onto when they slipped, but Seri was worried that every slip was leaving a mark that Thuba Mleen’s men could spot too easily. Hopefully there’d be more rain later to wash it all off.

About an hour later Yargui held up her hand, signaling Seri and Aashika to stop.

She pointed to a slope on their right, a clear incline of time-polished rock.

Right in the middle of the otherwise-empty rock face was a seashell... a perfectly normal seashell. Half of a scallop, in fact.

“That’s it?”

“Yes, Captain. There’s no reason for a seashell to be here in the mountains this far from the sea, and it certainly would have washed away in the rain last night.”

Seri looked up the slope, searching for anything out of the ordinary... a couple boulders, some fresh scree, a scrawny bush.... not much.

“You see anything?”

“No, but let me go have a look,” said Aashika, scrambling up the rock to grab hold of the bush, then transfer to the boulder. She slipped around behind it.

“There’s an opening here, Captain,” she shouted. “I’m going to have a quick look.”

“Yargui, is this the shortcut he mentioned? Get up there and stay with her.”

Yargui climbed the rock face, quickly slipping behind the same boulder.

A minute passed... two, then three.

Yargui popped out from behind the boulder again.

“This is it, Captain. It’s a short passage, well, half a tunnel really, opening up into another streambed, just on the other side. Only a few meters long.”

Seri climbed up for herself, gripping Yargui’s outstretched hand to cross the final stretch and grab onto the boulder. There was a narrow gap behind the boulder, wide enough for one person to walk, leading into a passage.

The passage, obviously widened in places, was only a few meters long. The foot of the mountain, stretched out like a giant tree root gradually vanishing into the earth, had been eaten away from the other side by the mountain stream there, leaving it only a few meters thick in this exact spot.

The roof of the passage opened first to the sky, and the wall gradually dropped until it was gone, and she was standing in an almost spherical pothole, cut into the flesh of the peak by millennia of mountain floods.

In front of her was another ravine, running almost north-south: the secret way Lonagon had mentioned. To the north—the direction they wanted to go—it sloped upwards.

She stepped back where the rest were waiting.

“Sergeant TiTi, we’re going through, one at a time. Throw me a rope and I’ll give you something easier to hold onto.”

TT pulled a rope out of his pack and threw it up to her.

Seri caught it deftly and handed it to Yargui.

“Help them up, Yargui. I’m going through.”

She went back into the passage, joining Aashika on the other side as Yargui wrapped the rope around her waist and sat down on the rock floor, bracing herself against the boulder with her feet. She threw the other end of the rope back down to the Sergeant, and the rest of the twelve started climbing up.

The raptors, unable to grasp the rope with any strength, scrambled up, trusting the talons on their feet to hold the rope enough to get them to the top. Most of them made it on the first try; one took three.

TT was the last one up.

“Don’t forget the shell, Sergeant!” called Yargui. “No point in leaving a marker for them to find.”

He snatched it up and pushed it into his wallet, then walked up the slope while pulling himself on the rope.

He helped Yargui up, and they went on through the passage, into the next valley.

 

* * *

 

“There they are!” called de Palma. “They just crossed over into that narrow valley, there.”

He pointed to the shadowed valley below, running almost north-south.

“Good eyes!” praised Captain Ekene, holding up a hand to shade his own eyes. “I’d never spot them from this height if you hadn’t pointed them out.”

“It’s hard to tell from here, but it looks like that valley runs pretty much straight north toward Bleth, then peters out... The shadows suggest that’s a pretty flat area, but it’s hard to tell without dropping down a bit lower. Which I’d rather not do.”

He turned to Bridok.

“Can you flash the wyverns? Let them know?”

“I’ll try!”

Bridok grabbed a signaling mirror and walked toward the stern, searching for a spot where he could reflect the sunlight to Beorhtwig. He found one, and tried a few flashes.

They had only agreed on a very few codes, and this one was simple: We found them.

Beorhtwig flashed back a simple OK, but didn’t change course. They didn’t want Thuba Mleen’s troops to suspect they were interested in some particular area in the mountains.

Bleth was visible in the distance, a sand-colored pile of walls and towers. They couldn’t see any of the defenders from here, but there was no doubt they were there, watching.

Aercaptain de Palma watched Seri’s twelve and the raptors advance up the cleft, and while it was impossible to tell which blob was a person and which was a raptor, there was one blob too few... they’d already had a casualty.

 The stream grew thinner and thinner as it rose, until finally the party emerged onto a relatively flat area. They were quite close to Bleth now, as the crow flies.

He left the airship to the practiced hands of Bridock and concentrated on Seri’s twelve.

They had no place to hide now, but it didn’t look like Bleth had anything up in the air...

 

* * *

 

“I hate being exposed like this,” grumbled TT. “Not a rock or a tree in sight... we’re sitting ducks if they come at us with an airship or whatever.”

“Relax, Sergeant,” said Seri. “There’s nothing we can do about it except trust Lonagon. They said it was not being watched.

“Right now I’m more worried about where we go from here... we must be pretty close to Bleth, but I really don’t want to be spotted by anyone on the ground, either.”

“For now, I suggest we just keep on,” advised Yargui. “Lonagon said this route would work, and he had little reason to lie.”

“Agreed,” nodded Seri. “For now we keep on moving north.

“Aashika, you and Sergeant TiTi take point. Mudge, spread out wider on the flanks; I don’t want to be surprised up here.”

They continued to advance. Ahead of them, the rock shelf they were traversing gradually slanted upward and grew into another peak. It wasn’t one of the tallest ones, but it looked a lot more rugged than most, ragged from some ancient catastrophe that had ravaged its once-symmetrical form. It was a surprisingly thin mountain, and almost perfectly triangular in shape.”

“That must be Snakescale,” guessed Yargui.

As they got closer they could see signs of more recent avalanches, rocks and scree scattered in piles, some not yet weathered by the elements.

“So where do we go from here?” wondered Seri aloud, searching the debris in front of her, and the rising mountain.

“Captain!”

It was Aashika Chabra, pointing to the ground near where she stood.

A seashell lay there, and beyond it a narrow gap between two boulders lay in shadow.

“Another marker,” said Seri. “This must be it.

“Sergeant, you and Aashika check it out.”

TT led the way, vanishing into the shadow silently, Aashika close behind.

“Take a break,” said Seri. “Try to stay in shadow if you can... I don’t think Bleth has anything up in the air, but you never know.”

A few minutes later Aashika returned.

“This is it, Captain... There’s one place that’s a little tricky, but at the end is an ideal place to observe Bleth. Sarge’s there now.”

“Lead me, trooper. Yargui! You’re in charge until either Sergeant TiTi or I get back. Stay out of sight.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Seri followed Aashika between the two boulders, placing one hand on the adjacent rocks every so often as her boots slipped. The path twisted and turned, and in one place, as Aashika has said, there was a sheer drop-off on one side that forced them to carefully slide their feet across a narrow ledge, gripping the rock wall with their fingertips, to reach safety.

On the other side there was a small, low space, wide enough for only four or five people, surrounded by fallen rock... and looking down almost directly at Bleth.

She could see all of the close side, and most of the rest except where it was hidden by towers or the central keep. More than enough to make a very complete map, and figure out just what forces were based there.

It was perfect.

“Trooper, run a rope across that sheer drop, and then go back and tell Yargui we’re gonna be here for a while. Oh, and tell her to signal the airship that we’re in position.”

“Yessir,” said Aashika, and she scuttled back into the darkness.

“We’re in shadow here,” said TT, “so no worry about the sun glinting off our telescopes. I’ve been sketching the fort.”

He showed her the sheet he’d been working on.

“Haven’t seen any movement yet, but when they change the guard we’ll get a pretty good idea of what’s down there.”

“Good. Anything up in the air?”

“Haven’t seen anything yet.”

Seri lifted her own telescope to her eye and began examining Bleth in detail.

“Looks like a triple gate. Towers on both flanks, and above. Murder holes for sure.”

“Hmm, I think so, too,” said TT. “There’s a postern over there on the far right, see it? No flanking tower, but something big above. Probably a defense.”

“Sergeant, you are not so familiar with our fortifications yet. I’d like you to go back and take command of the twelve and the raptors—find somewhere safe to set up camp—and have Kareem and Yargui come here.”

“Why them?”

“Kareem’s been inside and can help explain things; Yargui knows how forts are built. She’s been around quite a bit.”

“Right,” nodded TT. “Here’s what I’ve got so far, and my paper. Good luck!”

“Oh, and Sergeant... make a good map and sketches of how to find this place again. I don’t want to leave that seashell, but I suspect we’ll be back here again.”

“Yessir.”

He slipped away, leaving Seri alone in the outlook.

A few minutes later Kareem and Yargui joined her there.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t see where they’ve gone, but that flash says they’re in position and OK, so I guess they found a safe place,” said de Palma.

“That open area they crossed is pretty close to Bleth... They must’ve circled that mountain somehow.”

“Can’t tell from here, Captain, but no doubt. Maybe time to swing a bit closer?”

“I wouldn’t mind a closer look at Bleth myself, Aercaptain.”

Captain Ekene turned back toward the deck, shouting “Archers! We’re going to swing a bit closer to Bleth, so have those arrows handy! And check your damn lifelines! We’re keeping our distance, but don’t know what they might throw at us.”

“Mistress Valda, I don’t want to spend too much time close to the fort, but I’m going to fly through the area once just to see what it looks like in more detail. You won’t have time to make sketches, and depending what they do we may have to leave quickly.

“If they do nothing—which is what I think will happen, since they don’t seem to have airships or wyverns—then we can come back for a more leisurely visit later.”

“Thank you, Aercaptain,” she replied. “I’ll just make a quick sketch, then, of the major points, and hopefully we can fill it in later.”

“Bridok, Frija! Make sure the sails are free... if something happens I’ll want to get out of here fast.

“Clank? Stay on the solehole, but watch yourself. If things get tight, button ’er up.”

“Aye sir,” came a muffled affirmative from below. One of the archers was down there with him, too.

Captain de Palma steered the airship toward the sand-colored fort far below. The two wyverns were circling nearby, ready to pounce on any threat with their superior speed.

They approached slowly, de Palma tacking into the wind. It meant the airship was moving far more slowly than usual, as it was advancing partially against the wind, but it also meant they could flee much, much faster by just adjusting the sails, and letting the wind blow them on their way.

Captain Ekene held his telescope to his eye, examining the fort’s defenses.

“Wow, that’s a thick wall... must be maybe, five meters? And probably twice that high. Towers all around, but I can’t tell how high from here.”

“Look at the length of a shadow, and compare it to the length of a man’s shadow,” advised de Palma. “You can make a pretty good guess that way.”

“Oh, right... that’s handy,” muttered Ekene, swinging his telescope back and forth.

“Mistress? You getting this?”

Valda was also looking down, sketching the terrain furiously.

Ekene doubted she even heard him, and let it ride. She was busy.

“Captain! Port bow low!” came a cry from Bridok.

He looked and saw a host of black dots issuing from one of the buildings in the fort. Flying dots.

Not big enough to be wyverns, or airships... but what...?

Suddenly a shadow swooped down from above: Beorhtwig.

“Eagles! It’s eagles! Get out of here!”

He turned his wyvern and they raced for the mountains, wings pumping full speed. Eagles could fly higher and faster than wyverns, and while the wyvern was far larger, a flock of eagles could tear it apart.

Eagles could tear him apart, too.

He threw the tiller over, shouting “Hard to port! Full sail! Get above them!”

The boom swung across the deck, sails snapping as they caught the wind full-on, and the ship jerked.

The boom rammed into one of Ekene’s archers, raptly watching the approaching eagles, knocking the breath out of him, and over the rail.

“Ewelike! Hang on!” shouted Captain Ekene, running over to grab the man’s lifeline. He started hauling him up, but the airship’s acceleration and the fallen man’s own gyrations made it difficult.

The eagles, dozens of them, attacked.

Screeching eagles, flurries of wings, twanging bows, shouts, screams... it was chaos.

The airship tilted up as it turned back over the Mohaggers, the deck a steep slope. Most of the archers slid across it, held only by their lifelines until they managed to grab hold of a railing or wall.

“Everyone into the cabin!” shouted de Palma. “Go, go, go!”

He joined Frija, shield on one arm to defend against the eagles and batter them when he had a chance, helping the archers make it to safety. Once they reached a railing they were able to drag themselves into the cabin.

With the exception of Ewelike, the man who’d been knocked overboard.

Captain Ekene finally managed to pull him back onto the deck as Bridok defending both of them with sword and shield, feet hooked into the airship’s railing to stop him from slipping.

Ewelike was unconscious, bow gone and quiver empty, his arms and face covered in blood. The eagles had attacked him viciously until they realized he was unconscious.

Brodok and Ekene grabbed him by his legs and dragged him to the cabin hatch, where de Palma helped pull him inside.

The hatch slammed shut, and the airship kept rising higher and higher as the eagles raged outside. With no-one to attack, they flew angry circles around the airship, screeching their displeasure until, finally, the airship flew higher than they could.

Regretfully, they drifted down from the heights, well above the highest of the Mohagger peaks, to return to their nests at Bleth.

They waited a little longer, and then carefully opened the cabin door.

The deck looked empty... he stepped out.

There was a scream of avian anger from behind him, and he dropped to the deck just in time as a huge eagle dove at him. It must have been hanging onto the cabin, or the boom, unable to fly but determined to wait him out.

It would have worked, too, except that it couldn’t keep its mouth shut and gave him the second’s warning he needed to evade, and thrust.

He missed the body of the eagle, slashing into its wing instead, but the eagle missed him.

Catching his breath, he checked the rest of the airship for more hidden threat, and found none.

The eagle, wing broken or cut, had spiraled out of control into the depths of the Mohaggers far below.

He sheathed his sword, returned the airship to an even keel, and headed south again, back toward Fort Danryce.

Ewelike was badly injured, one arm almost in ribbons, and everyone else had suffered from the eagles’ talons and beaks, not to mention bumps and scrapes as the airship maneuvered. Two of the archers had lost their bows, almost unthinkable for an archer.

The wyverns were nowhere to be seen.

 

* * *

 

After giving his shouted warning, Beorhtwig turned sharply, and kicked Flogdreka. “Fly, boy, fly! The eagles are coming!”

Flogdreka, understanding Beorhtwig’s urgency, or perhaps having seen the oncoming eagles, folded his wings up close to his body, stretched his neck out, and dove at full speed toward the Mohaggers. Beorhtwig leaned forward, grasping the harness with both hands and pressing his face to the wyvern’s neck.

Eagles could dive as fast as wyverns, but they started sooner, and higher... with luck they could get to safety. He caught a glimpse of Fæger: she was doing the same thing, diving as fast as she could after Flogdreka, but the archer riding her back was struggling to hang on, holding the harness with one hand and her bow with the other.

He hurriedly shifted his shield to cover his back, and then there was nothing he could do but hang on, and put his trust in the wyverns.

Flogdreka flashed past a peak almost close enough to touch, banking into a narrow gap between two more, always heading south. They were much lower now than before, weaving between the peaks and ridges with breathtaking speed.

The wyvern moved his very wingtips by microscopic amounts, and at their speed it was enough to control their direction, but in the denser air their speed was dropping fast.

Suddenly Flogdreka’s wings flared out, beating up and down, whishing and booming through the air. With each stroke his body leapt up in the air a bit, then down again.

Flying was more difficult now at the lower altitude, with more obstacles to avoid, and Beorhtwig risked another glance behind.

No sign of Fæger, but the pursuing eagles were closing fast.

He turned so that he was mounted in the saddle, feet in the stirrups, but facing backward—toward the attacking birds.

He swung, missed. An eagle swooped toward his head, talons out to catch an eye, and he ducked just in time, sword thrusting upward for his first kill even as another eagle raked across his exposed side, cutting deep.

He tried to turn, swinging blindly, and missed again.

An eagle was flying next to Flogdreka’s head, trying to tear his eyes out! They were being swarmed; there were too many of them...

The wyvern’s head suddenly darted up and to the side, mighty jaws closing on the eagle with a crunch and a final squawk.

More eagles were tearing at Flogdreka’s belly, his wings, his neck... a cloud of birds circling them in search of blood.

Hopelessly, he swung and swung again, toppling attacker after attacker out of the sky, until...

A black shape hurtled through his field of vision, dropping from above to dive past Flogdreka close enough to touch, smashing through the eagles to leave them fluttering and whirling through the air with broken wings.

Fæger!

She had dived down from above, using her speed and bulk to smash the birds away.

There was a boom from below as Fæger extended her wings, catching the air just short of the mountain face, and beating to rejoin them as they fled south.

The archer was still hanging on, both hands gripping the harness tightly, bow long gone. He couldn’t see her face, but at least she wasn’t covered in blood like he was.

The eagles, over half of their number dead, or fallen to the ground, circled and screamed in rage, unwilling to approach again, and eventually fell behind. The Lake of Sarnath appeared below them, and beyond it, still far, lay Fort Danryce.

Once the eagles stopped their pursuit, the wyverns eased off, exhausted by their flight, beating their wings as little as possible while taking advantage of the denser air near the lake’s surface. By the time they reached the lake’s far shore both wyverns were wobbling with exhaustion, wingtips touching the water now and again, only to be lifted again by sheer willpower driving them up and onward.

They made a bouncy landing on the muddy shore, still far from the fort, and collapsed.

He cut himself loose and tore his tunic in half, wrapping the cloth tightly around his side to stop the bleeding. He looked over at Fæger, and saw Ifechukwu painfully slide off, collapsing to the sand. She looked as exhausted as he felt.

Let the eagles come, he thought. I’m done.

And they slept.

Chapter 11

“Airship approaching!” came the shout from the bell tower, and Captain Nadeen shaded her eyes to get a better look.

It was flying the red-and-gold scorpion pennant, so it was probably de Palma.

She turned to watch how the fort guards reacted, and was gratified to see them moving into defensive positions and getting ready, just in case the airship wasn’t who they thought it was.

As it drew closer and drew to a stop near the cliff wall, she could clearly see Aercaptain de Palma and Captain Ekene. She could also see that they were wounded, as were the archers, and the airship’s sails and pennant were slashed and torn.

She ran down the walkway to the cliff wall to greet them, arriving just as the guards caught the hawsers and moored the airship. The crew threw over the gangplank rope, and the wall guards pulled the gangplank over the gap. It was built like a suspension bridge, with planks for a floor, hanging from a cable above.

“Eagle attack,” said Captain Ekene shortly. “We’ve got to get the injured to the Healer right now.”

Nadeen called to her troopers.

“Dhaval, go warn Healer Dunchanti we’ve got injured coming, and ask Captain Ridhi to get some water boiled.

“Maiza, Erdene, get over there and see if anyone needs help.

“The rest of you, back to your stations! You’re on guard, troopers!”

She walked toward the stern.

“Aercaptain de Palma! Are you alright?”

He was sitting deck, looking blankly at the torn sails.

“I’m fine, Captain... just, uh, catching my breath. Wasn’t sure we’d make it back.”

“What happened?”

“Somehow, Thuba Mleen’s got trained eagles. A whole flock of them attacked us.”

“But you fought them off.”

“Not really. We can fly higher than they can, and I just got above them. They would have torn the airship into pieces if they’d had a chance.”

“What about Beorhtwig?”

“Beorhtwig!”

He shot to his feet, suddenly recalling the wyverns.

“They were chasing him, too! And the eagles can fly higher than they can! Maybe faster, too.

“I caught a glimpse of Flogdreka diving into the Mohaggers, but I don’t know what happened after that.”

“Damn! You have any idea where to look? We have to know what happened to them!”

“Mountains, forest, the lake... they could be anywhere.”

“Can you search from the air?”

“It’s the only way, but... not yet. I need to get new sails up.”

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.”

“We have new sails onboard, but Bridok and Frija are both hurt. We’ll need help getting them raised right.”

Nadeen shouted down into the fort, where people had begun to gather, helping the wounded to the church where Healer Dunchanti waited.

“Get Captain Long! We need help up here!”

Captain Long’s twelve were back at the fort after a two-day patrol. In theory they could relax and do as they pleased today, but this had priority.

She figured most of them were still here, with probably fewer than half slipping off to Cadharna—or the growing castle town below—for more exciting R&R.

“I’m already here, Captain,” came his growl from the wall behind her. “My twelve’ll be here in a minute, those who aren’t off drinking or whoring.”

“The airship is mostly undamaged,” explained de Palma, “but the sails are badly torn, and they’ll rip even more if they catch the wind. We have to take them down for repair, and raise new ones.”

“How do you do that?” asked Long. “I’m happier on the desert than the sea...”

“I’ll show you, and the crew can crack the whip,” said Nadeen. “Aercaptain, show me where you keep the new ones and I’ll get things moving.”

He struggled to get up off the deck, and Nadeen grasped his arm to help.

“This way, Captain.”

He stepped back into the cabin and down into the hull.

“Careful, don’t step on the eagle,” he said, pointing to a bloody heap of feathers near the ladder. “One thought it could get in the solehole before we closed it. It got in, all right, but Clank took care of it.

“The sails are here, all the way in the back.

“We’ll have to open the topside cargo hatch to get them out, though. Long and heavy.”

He pointed out the sailcloth rolls, and the large hatch above. A spare mast was lashed to the other side, balancing the sails.

“And once we get the sails out of here we’ll have to balance that mast somehow... easiest thing to do would be to put the torn sails here for now, and worry about cleaning it all up later.”

“How long’s this gonna take?” asked Long.

“A full crew can do the whole thing in about an hour,” said de Palma, “but I think maybe three hours or so this time, no offense.”

“None taken,” laughed Long. “Let’s get to it.”

They began untying the ropes holding the sails in place.

“Clank? You up there?”

“Right here, Cap,” came Clank’s shout from the deck.

“Get the cargo hatch open, will you? Gonna get the sails out.”

“Yessir,” came the muffled response, and clattering footsteps sounded on the hatch above their heads. “Captain Long? There’s a bunch of your troopers here... where do you want ’em?”

“Send two down here,” called Long, “and put the rest of ’em to work up there.”

“Yessir. OK, you heard the man. You and you, downstairs,” continued Clank. “The rest of you help me get this damn hatch open!”

With Captain Long’s assistance, Aercaptain de Palma and the crew—even Bridok, who had a bandage wrapped around his head—managed to get the job done in only about two hours. Captain Ekene’s archers were gone, to see the Healer or just to rest, but Captain Long insisted on staying onboard when the Cavor took off again in search of the wyverns.

“They were flying due south when I last saw them,” said de Palma, “which would mean they cut right across the Lake of Sarnath, probably right near the gray rock of Akurion and drowned Sarnath. Depending on how hard the eagles pressed them, though, they could have ended up anywhere, even in Ib.”

“Rather not go to Ib or Sarnath if I can avoid it,” said Long. “Can wyverns swim?”

The other man shrugged.

“Hey, Harald!” called Long, “You’re from Daikos, right? Can wyverns swim?”

A youngish trooper with a long sword and a shield looked back from the railing, where he had been watching the scenery float by underneath.

“Swim, sir? No, not swim, but they float,” he explained. “If they get tired they can rest on the water, and take off again later. They can’t handle heavy seas, though, no waves.”

Long nodded and waved him off again.

“There’s an awful lot of ground to search,” said de Palma. “I’m going to head over the Akurion rock to start, and then north from there. Maybe trace the lake shore once.

“If we stay high enough we’ll be able to see quite a distance. Until dusk, anyway. Clear weather.”

“Sergeant Chen!”

A wiry, middle-aged woman trotted over.

“Get everyone spread out along the railings. We’re looking for the wyverns; might be on land or sea. Anyone sees anything, call it out.

“And keep an eye on the skies, too, in case those eagles come calling!”

“Yessir!”

She trotted off, getting the rest of Long’s twelve spaced out around the deck.

“You want me to send one down to the solehole?”

“No, Frija’s got it. A lot of troopers get upset looking straight down; she’ll handle it.”

The airship was quite high now, offering a view of the lake shore and the surrounding forest, with Akurion rock a bit farther away. The broad marshland hid Sarnath, and Ib was too far to see clearly.

The airship paused as troopers examined the shore and nearby fields for any signs of the wyverns.

“No sign of them, it looks like,” said de Palma. “OK, let’s head across the lake, then.”

“The wyverns can float, but Beorhtwig would prefer solid ground, I’m sure,” said Long. “How ’bout we check the shore in little farther, first?”

“OK with me,” agreed de Palma, turning west to bring them closer to Fort Danryce.

A few minutes later there was excitement at the prow.

“I think I see them!” called one of Long’s troopers, pointing. “There!”

Captain Long ran over to look for himself, pulling out his telescope.

“Aercaptain de Palma! That’s them all right!” he called. “Looks like they’re all sleeping... or hurt.”

The airship banked and turned, dropping rapidly. Long’s troopers slid along the deck, unprepared for the sudden tilt, grasping their lifelines with a new urgency.

The airship floated down to the ground, touching down on the beach with a whisper, and Captain Long leapt over the railing, followed by most of his twelve.

“Trooper! Trooper Beorhtwig!”

He knelt next to the fallen man.

“He’s got a bad wound in his side, looks like. Bandage is soaked with blood.”

“The archer’s pretty torn up, too,” added one of the troopers looking at the woman. “Both arms, neck, one leg... damn, those eagles don’t mess around!”

“Aercaptain de Palma! We have to get these two back to the fort!

“You, and you, and you three... get Beorhtwig and the archer—anyone know what her name is?— onto the airship now.

“Harald, you know anything about wyverns?”

“Never a wyver-master, but yeah, worked for a man who was.”

“Sergeant Chen! Stay here. I want your six to take care of the wyverns for now. Ask Harald what to do. I’ll be back later today with supplies, and hopefully someone who knows how to fix them up.”

Chen nodded.

“Talk to me, trooper!” she ordered Harald in her high-pitched, nasal voice. She might look and sound like a middle-aged shrew of a housewife, but the troopers in her six knew what she was capable of.

“Stop the bleeding, wash and cover the wounds to keep them clean, plenty of fresh water to drink, and kill a couple deer or something to get the healing started.”

“Good lad. You get started on fixing them up. Tell Calchas and Mahud what you need. Kassandros, you and Yafeu with me; we’re going hunting.”

Soon the airship lifted with Beorhtwig and the injured archer onboard, by which time Sergeant Chen had vanished into the woods and Harald was cleansing Flogdreka’s injuries.

 

* * *

 

“Airship approaching!”

The guard was expecting the Cavor to be back soon, but they manned the scorpions anyway. They knew Captain Nadeen would tear them new ones if they didn’t treat this like every other airship.

Fortunately, it was the Cavor, and Nadeen found nothing to complain about in their response.

She was far more worried about Beorhtwig and the archer, Ifechukwu. Normally Aercaptain de Palma would moor it in the air off the tower, or along the cliff wall, but he was in a hurry this time. He set it down on the parade ground a bit harder than he’d planned, but the flat bottom should be fine. He hoped.

Captain Long leapt to the ground and ran into the infirmary.

“Healer! Healer Dunchanti!”

The Healer came running.

“They got attacked by eagles. Talons and beaks, it looks like,” explained Long, pointing to the airship.

The crew had the ladder in place now.

“Wait,” called Dunchanti. “Let me see them first!”

He climbed up the ladder with Long close behind, and squatted down next to Beorhtwig. Placing his hand on the injured man’s side, he closed his eyes for a moment, then jumped up to squat down next to the archer.

“The eagle torn up his side pretty bad, but his organs—intestines, lungs—are OK, it looks like. The archer’s dead, I’m afraid... blood loss.”

“Dead...! But she was alive only a few minutes when we picked her up!”

“Too many wounds, too deep. Nothing you could have done to save her, and unless I get to Beorhtwig right now he may follow.

“Quickly, get him to the infirmary!”

“The wyverns are injured, too, Healer... I’ve got my people washing and bandaging their wounds now, but... I know nothing of wyverns.”

“Wyverns are tough, Captain. Keep ’em clean and well-fed; they’ll be fine.

“Now get out of my way... Beorhtwig needs me right now.”

He rushed off after the stretcher-bearers, vanishing into the infirmary.

“Dammit!” spat Long. “Kassandros, you get to the barracks. Find Ginette. She knows something about healing wyverns. Yafeu, hit the mess hall and see if she’s there. Same thing. I’m off to check with the Commander and Captain Nadeen.”

He turned to de Palma.

“Aercaptain, can you handle one more trip out to the lake and back? Just to drop us and some more supplies.”

“Of course, Captain. You need help getting set?”

“Thank you, yes. If you could send someone to see Captain Ridhi, and get supplies for my twelve for one day.”

“Only one?”

“Only one. I’m going to have the rest sent out by horse, so we can get back here easily... I think your airship might be busy for a while.”

The captain nodded. “Clank! You hear all that?”

“Yessir.”

“Captain Long, you’ll handle the horses and other supplies?”

“I’ll talk to the Commander about it,” replied Long. “Thanks.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” de Palma demanded of Clank. “Off with you, man!”

Clank ran off toward the kitchen.

Captain Long turned to go in search of the Commander, and saw him walking toward them.

“Captain, I was in the library. What happened?”

Long filled him in quickly, explaining that he was heading back to the wyverns as soon as the supplies were ready.

“I’m only taking enough for a day, and need to have another week’s worth brought out by horse. We can set up a hunting schedule there, and if we have horses we can stay in touch with you easily. It’s only about two, maybe three hours tops.”

“On the shore, west of Akurion, right?”

“I’d guess about two klicks west; we can just see it in the distance. In any case, on the shore, so we’ll be easy to find.”

“I’ll take care of it. Captain Chinh is patrolling the grassland tomorrow, and I’ll just have him escort your stuff there first. Have to get a new patrol schedule drawn up, though, if your twelve is going to be stuck there for a week...”

“Sorry, Commander. With Captain Serilarinna where she is, and now us stuck up on the lake, you’re going to be short-handed for a while...”

“Do you know what Seri’s situation is? Anything?”

“Nothing... Beorhtwig is unconscious, and de Palma says they were on station but invisible to him.”

“Eagles, huh?” mused Jake. “And you say Seri’s people were down in the rocks... that’s sounds safer than flying around with eagles attacking, but I wish we had more information... Damn!

“Alright, get back to the wyverns. If there’s anyone here that knows anything about healing them, take them with you—I’ll tell whoever needs to know. And your supplies will be there by noon tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Commander. We’ll keep you informed.”

“Go, Captain. You have things to do,” ordered Jake. “Aercaptain de Palma! You have a minute?”

Jake clambered up the ladder, meeting the sergeant at the top.

“Of course, Commander... We’re just waiting for Captain Long to finish, and then we’re off again.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Not much to tell, really... We had a flash from Captain Serilarinna that said they were in position and watching, but we couldn’t see them at all. They were on a mountain overlooking Bleth, but the last we saw of them they were on the far side from the fort. I don’t know how they got around to the near side; the flash was from the far side.

“After we got the flash we drifted a little closer to Bleth so we could get a better look straight down, instead of from an angle, and I guess we got too close because they released a flock of trained—I assume trained; maybe they were just hungry and pissed—eagles at us. Beorhtwig gave us a little warning, but they were right on us. Must have been three, four dozen, I’d guess.

“I can fly higher than eagles so I put the airship into a steep climb and got everyone into the cabin. And since eagles can fly higher and faster than Beorhtwig, he had no choice but to dive and try to shake them off.

“He and the wyverns are still alive so I guess it worked. Archer’s dead, though.”

“But you don’t know if they attacked Captain Serilarinna or not?”

“We were too busy trying to get away, sorry.”

“Damn damn damn!” snapped Jake. “I hope they’re OK.

“Aercaptain, your airship is torn up pretty badly, too, and you’re injured. How long do you think it’ll be until you’re ready to go back out?”

De Palma thought for a moment.

“We can make a short run any time, I think, but ship and crew both need two days of rest, I think. I want the Healer to take a look at our injuries when he gets a chance, but Trooper Ewelike was hurt the worst.”

“Ewelike?”

“One of Captain Ekene’s archers. He’s already in the infirmary.”

Jake nodded.

“The sails need to be secured properly and the whole ship needs to be checked for damage, but the eagles didn’t get a chance to do too much damage... they tore the sails to ribbons, but couldn’t do much to the ship herself in such a short time. Have to check it all, though.”

“Thank you, Aercaptain. Oh, here’s Captain Long.”

Nadeen was walking next to him.

“Commander, one of my troopers named Ginette is from Daikos, and her father was a wyver-master. She has experience in healing them.”

“Good. Any problem cutting her loose for a week or so? To help Captain Long and the wyverns?”

“Of course not. She’s in Sergeant Petter’s six, up on the wall right now. I’ll get her.”

She walked over to the postern and called up to the guards on duty above.

“Tell Trooper Ginette to report to me immediately!”

“Yessir!” came the reply from the wall, and one of the guards ran off toward the corner scorpion.

Ginette, a thirtyish-looking woman with her long, brown hair hanging in a single braid behind, came running.

“Captain?”

“You’ve some experience with healing wyverns, right?”

“Yessir. But only on the farm.”

“Our wyverns are both down and need help. Go get your ruck; you’re temporarily re-assigned to Captain Long. You need anything from the Healer, or the Alchemist?”

“Uh, what sort of injuries?”

“They got into a fight with a bunch of eagles,” explained Long.

“Talons and beaks, so no poison... Yeah, I need to talk to the Alchemist.”

“Go. If you need help grab someone. Double-time!”

She left at a run.

“How are Beorhtwig and the archer doing?”

“The Healer’s still working, but he said they’re probably safe,” said Nadeen. “Ewelike might lose an eye, looks like. Ekene’s staying with him.”

Kassandros showed up next, followed almost immediately by Clank with two of Ridhi’s people in tow. Kassandros had no luck at the barracks, but Clank brought gear and supplies for the twelve.

“Enough for two days at least,” he said. “Last longer if we get any hunting done. Captain Ridhi’s putting together the rest now.”

“Good. Captain Chinh can take that out in the morning,” said Long. “Get those supplies onboard.”

Clank popped open a hatch built into the sloping side of the airship and began loading.

“Did you see Yafeu?” asked Long.

“No sir. Want me to go look?”

“No, it’s good, trooper. Take five,” ordered Long.

Ginette returned with Yafeu and Captain Ridhi.

“No problem getting everything ready,” said Ridhi, “but I’m afraid nobody knows anything about wyverns. Have you checked with the Bagatur?”

“Damn! No, I haven’t,” said Long. “Still... Ibizim lizards are not wyverns. I wonder how much they could help.”

“Worth asking,” said Jake. “Khasar’s out on patrol. When he gets back tonight I’ll find out, and if they have anyone who might help I’ll send them out with Chinh in the morning. Good?”

“Good. Thanks.”

A few minutes later they were ready to go.

Long’s troopers, Aercaptain de Palma and his crew, and Trooper Ginette from Nadeen’s twelve climbed aboard and the airship rose into the sky.

 

* * *

 

“How are they, Healer?”

“Stable for now, Commander,” replied Healer Dunchanti. “Beorhtwig is once again a remarkably lucky man... it looks like he’ll be walking wounded for a few weeks, but should heal.”

“And the archer, Ewelike?”

“If the rot doesn’t set in he should wake up soon, but I think he’ll be blind in one eye.”

“The rest of the archers managed to get into the cabin quickly, and have only minor injuries,” said Captain Ekene, “but Ewelike fell overboard. Got savaged pretty badly.”

“Lucky thing he had his lifeline.”

“If he survives...” said Ekene.

“Sorry to hear you lost the archer with Beorhtwig.”

“Thank you. Her name was Ifechukwu, and she was a magnificent archer. Still only about twenty, I believe... a waste.”

“Something else to add to Thuba Mleen’s bill,” said Jake quietly. “And we’ll collect soon enough.”

A few of Ridhi’s staff were working alongside Dunchanti’s acolytes, cleansing and binding wounds. The Healer himself worked on wounds that looked unusually deep, or serious, but Ewelike and Beorhtwig occupied most of his time.

Most of the injured had already left, back to the barracks to rest or the kitchen to beg for handouts.

Nadeen showed up a little later, and found him sitting on a bench in the church, looking blankly at one of the new glass windows. She stood behind him, massaging his shoulders.

“What do you suppose the stained glass windows showed, originally?” he asked.

She cocked her head, following his gaze.

“We still don’t know who built this church, do we? I mean, pretty clearly the last people to use it before us were some sort of Nyogtha worshippers, but did they build it?”

“Hmm. And the church is connected to that underground city. The lizard people built it, and that tunnel. My guess is that this church was built long before Nyogtha came... but surely it wasn’t a church!”

“It wasn’t?”

“They had a whole city down there, why bother to dig a tunnel all the way up here and just build a little church? Something doesn’t add up.”

Her massaging hands paused.

“It does seem a little strange, doesn’t it? Hadn’t really thought about it before...”

Jake stood up suddenly, and called to Dunchanti.

“Healer, I have to go, but send a runner to me if anything changes.”

“Of course, Commander. Your quarters?”

“Yes.”

“Nadeen, can you leave the guard to Sergeant Petter and join me? Or later?”

“Let me tell Petter to take over, and I’ll be there in a few minutes,” she said. “He should be on the cliff wall.”

Just as she was about to leave the infirmary a shout came from the main gate: “Riders approaching!”

Nadeen and Jake trotted to the main gate, which was open as usual. The guards had already dropped the counterbalanced pole that served as a simple gate during the day. It wasn’t designed to prevent entry in times of war, but it stopped anyone from riding through easily. Once the gate guards had checked, they’d lift the pole and let the visitors ride through the gate, under the wall. The wall itself had two massive defensive gates—heavy wood covered by steel plate—but they were normally left open.

It was a party of five. One of them, an older warrior by his looks, dismounted to approach the gate while the others waited on horseback. His longsword was sheathed, of course.

“Mikhail Stepanchikov, sergeant of Celephaïs, escorting Artificer Muzaffer of Celephaïs and his assistants.”

“Sergeant Stepanchikov, Artificer Muzaffer, I am Jake, Commander of Fort Danryce,” he said, stepping forward to greet Stepanchikov with the standard wristshake.

The others dismounted as Jake came toward them.

“Muzaffer of Celephaïs,” said the architect, a gray-haired man with glasses and a paunch. “And my assistants, Sefika and Fron,” he added, waving his hand at the black-haired woman standing next to him, and the freckled, red-haired man behind her.

“Jake of Penglai,” he introduced himself, then turned to the fourth rider, a young man standing at the rear. He had a cutlass at his side and a crossbow on the saddle, Jake noticed.

“Talib of Xura.”

Jake greeted him, and waved the party through the main gate.

“Artificer, we’ve been expecting you. You must be tired from your journey.”

He led around the church, past the armory, to the barracks.

“The barracks are here; a room has been put aside for you. The bath is at your service, and Horsemaster Turan will take care of your steeds. The mess hall is over there,” he said, pointing, “and the kitchen is at your service.”

“Sergeant Stepanchikov, will you be staying?”

“The trooper and I would leave in the morn,” replied the other. “The King’s business awaits.”

“I guarantee the safety of the Artificer and his assistant,” promised Jake. “I will have Captain Ridhi provide you with trail food in the morning.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Jake turned to the artificer.

“After you have bathed and eaten, please have Captain Ridhi show you to the library, where you can find maps of the fort and immediate region, as well as paper and quill. I will join you there.”

The artificer grunted and entered the barracks, followed by his two assistants.

Jake walked back to his residence, juggling priorities in his head.

The artificer—here for the sewerage and water supplies of the “castle town” below the cliff, and the two temples, had arrived at a most inconvenient time. His wyverns were injured, maybe badly; a number of his troopers were dead, injured, or otherwise unavailable; Seri was in enemy territory, out of touch, and possibly attacked by the same eagles that savaged the wyverns and the airship.

And even if the wyverns recovered, his only wyver-master was lying unconscious, in Healer Dunchanti’s hands.

Back at his residence-cum-office, he picked up the chunks of carnelian and chalcedony that Stonemaster Buka had given him. The carnelian was dull orange at one end and bright crimson at the other, while the chalcedony was a light, almost transparent blue. Buka said he’d look into supply, but didn’t expect too much trouble getting the necessary blocks for the temples. Transport would take a lot of time and trouble: carts drawn by either horses or deinos, which meant improving the roads between the fort and the quarries.

They would be impressive temples, though, especially if accented by less-exotic stone in gray or black, he thought. He’d leave the design up to Muzaffer and the Godsworn, within reason... after all, the King and the temples were paying for most of it between them.

He did want them done as soon as reasonable, though, done and functional, even if minor work continued longer. Hell, they could keep fiddling forever if they liked, as far as he was concerned!

But he wanted them open now.

“They are beautiful, aren’t they?” said Nadeen as she entered. “Have you told the artificer about them yet?”

“No, he’s cleaning up,” said Jake. “I asked him to join me in the library once he’s refreshed. Him, you, Ridhi... anyone else?”

“The Godsworn?”

“I was thinking we should put that off a bit... I want to be sure the architect and I see eye-to-eye first, and then I can let him get started talking to Dunchanti and Rorkaln. They’ll need totally different temples, and having them in two ‘different but equally beautiful’ colors will hopefully keep fights to a minimum.”

“The Healer will want an infirmary, and Rorkaln a school, but other than that they’ll be pretty much the same, won’t they?”

“I think so, but I have no idea what they might demand other than the usual living quarters and kitchen and whatnot. Could get complicated.”

“The Temple of Nath-Horthath in Celephaïs doesn’t have anything unusual that I’ve seen, but it’s enormous. Could have lots of stuff hidden away. And I know they’ve got rooms underground, too.”

“Never been in a temple to Panakeia?”

“Not really,” said Nadeen. “I’ve taken wounded there but never paid much attention to what’s inside... I was more concerned with the troopers.”

Jake nodded. He’d done the same countless times, in this world and that.

“When are you going to tell the artificer about your real plans?”

“I’m not sure I will,” said Jake. “Let’s keep that just between us for now... it won’t affect his drawings any.”

Nadeen nodded.

“I’m really wondering if Seri needs help right now... still no word on her twelve.”

“She’ll be fine,...” said Nadeen “The eagles were after the airship and the wyverns, not her.”

“You hope.”

“Yeah, I hope. And so do you,” she agreed. “She’s fine.”

“Well, let’s go talk to this artificer. Chuang said he’s the perfect man for the job, but I’m not Chuang.”

Nadeen smiled. “No, you most certainly are not.”

They walked over to the main building, and instead of using an entrance closer to the library, where they were to meet Muzaffer, Jake walked through the bakery, picking up a fresh-baked roll as he passed. Ridhi wasn’t there, which was probably the only reason he thought he could get away with it, but the baker looked similarly unimpressed. Not much he could say to the commander, though.

“Can’t beat fresh-baked bread, buttered or not,” he said. “Want a bite?”

“Smells delicious, but no. I don’t want Ridhi jumping me.”

Jake laughed and swallowed the evidence as he stuck his head into the kitchen.

“Captain Ridhi here?”

“No, Commander. She’s in the infirmary. Shall I call her?”

“No, but please ask her to join us in the library at her convenience.”

“Yessir.”

“Thank you. And we’ll need a big pot of tea, at least for six, please,” he said, and turned to go into the atrium, eyeing another roll wistfully as he passed. They went along the covered walkway to the library. It was still empty.

The library had few real books, but did boast an enormous scroll rack full of rolled maps. On one wall was a large map of the surrounding region, ruled off into a grid that helped locate detailed area maps.

Jake pulled out the detailed maps of the fort and the area below the cliff, as well as rough maps of the area stretching from Fort Danryce to Cadharna.

A small table in the corner held Valda’s mapmaking supplies. Jake helped himself to a few sheets of paper and a few pieces of red and black chalk. From his wallet he carefully took out a long, thin rod, holding it up for a closer look.

“What did you call that?” asked Nadeen. “A pencil?”

“Yup. It’s just clay and graphite; the hard part was finding graphite! Chóng took care of that for us, but of course won’t tell me where he got it. This is still a prototype from Mintran, and I thought I’d let the artificer try it out. He’s used to chalk, but the pencil lets him draw much thinner, cleaner lines.

“This one’s still a bit wobbly, though... need to match the lead and the wood better.”

“Why didn’t the King or someone make this long ago?”

“No idea... maybe he prefers pen and ink. Ink’s more permanent, for sure, but for notes and messages pencils are much better. Easier to use, too: no ink!”

Ridhi came in carrying a tray with a large teapot and half a dozen cups.

“Commander, Captain Nadeen. I came as soon as I could,” she apologized, setting the tray down and taking a seat.

“No apology needed, Ridhi. How are they?”

“Stable. Healer Dunchanti is with them almost all the time; has my kitchen boiling water for him right now.”

“Which reminds me,” said Jake. “Nadeen, we have to get that still built. Not only for alcohol, but for water, too!”

“We’re still waiting on tubing from Einar, but the mail has priority. You want to change that?”

“No, get the mail jackets done first. Especially now with our air force out of action.”

“I agree. We’ve gotten along with quills this long; a little longer won’t hurt.”

“Can I have one of those, too?” asked Ridhi. “I think it’d be pretty useful. Ink and chalk are great, but can also be very awkward.”

“Sure,” smiled Jake, and pulled another one out of his wallet. “Careful, they still break easily. Next batch’ll be a lot better.”

“Commander, Artificer Muzaffer,” came a voice from the door.

The artificer and his assistants stepped into the library, and Jake gestured them to chairs at the table.

Nadeen poured the tea and handed the cups out.

“We call it the library, but it’s really just a map room,” explained Jake, waving at the scrolls lining the wall. “We’re making detailed maps of the entire region—the region up there in that big map.”

“The grid corresponds to more detailed maps?” asked Muzaffer, sipping his tea.

“Yes, precisely.”

“Much the same way we handle architectural drawings,” nodded the artificer. “Very sensible.”

Jake pulled over the maps of the fort and immediate region.

“You’ve already seen a little of the area on foot, and of course you’ll be able to see it all yourself at any time, but I thought a short chat with these maps might be a good way to start. No mosquitoes.”

“I’ve been bitten so many times I don’t even notice them anymore,” said Muzaffer. “Poor Sefika is still tender, though.”

He adjusted his glasses and turned the map to be able to read the notations more easily, as Sefika craned her neck closer to see.

“Hmm, hmm... I see the fort has changed quite a bit since this map was made,” he said. “I heard about the battle. You were very lucky.”

“Yes, we were,” agreed Jake. “All in all, though, I think we came out of it better than they did. And the towers will make it much harder to attack next time. We wanted to dig a moat, maybe put up a palisade, but the fort was deliberately built on rock, probably to prevent tunneling. We’d have to either expand the fort quite a bit, moving the outer wall to around here so we have enough dirt to dig in, or spend an awful lot of time cutting holes into the bedrock.”

“Hmm, hmm. Yes, and a larger fort would in turn demand more defensive men and fortifications. Are you expecting a new attack?”

“Not really, but nobody knows what Thuba Mleen may do. And he certainly doesn’t like us,” chuckled Jake. “Not after what we did to him the first time.”

“I recognized the style of the main gate,” said the artificer. “That’s Takatora’s work, is it not?”

“It is. He worked with us for some time after the attack, not only on the gates and towers.”

“But not me.”

Jake tensed. Maybe this artificer wasn’t going to be that easy to work with after all.

“Master Chuang recommended you as the best architect for the growing town, stressing that you would be the ideal choice since we can start from the bottom up. If we start now we can not only build sewerage and water supply, but lay out the entire town properly... he said you were the only artificer he know who could handle such a complex task.”

That should do it. I wish Chuang had warned me he needed careful handling, though.

Muzaffer pushed his glasses up on his nose again.

“Hmph. Yes, I am. Of course Chuang knows that.”

“I would be honored if you would share your suggestions for improving the fort’s defenses, Artificer, but that can wait until after the town design has been completed. It is growing daily, and if we don’t start soon I fear we may not be able to build it properly. It would be a waste to have to abandon parts of your design because someone has built a shack there...”

“Of course, of course,” he muttered. “Let me see these maps now...”

He studied the maps, conversing with Sefika and Fron in low tones before turning to Jake again.

“This stream... where does it come from? The Mohagger Mountains, I assume?”

“Yes, one of several. It eventually flows into the River Mnar. We don’t know where the source of the well is, though.”

“This map shows another one here, and another here,” said Muzaffer, tapping the map. “Are these different streams?”

“Yes, they all come from the mountains, but they merge farther downstream, in the grassland.”

“We’ll need all three. And it should be high enough that gravity will keep the water moving though the town, which means north of the fort. You’ll need at least one cistern. It has to provide drinking water, water for the baths, and also keep the sewage moving. That’s a lot of water, even if you do only expect a grand dozen or so.”

“We have no idea what this town may grow into,” said Ridhi. “A dozen dozens is a minimum; it could be several times larger, especially once the temples are completed.”

“The more people you have living here, the larger the town will be, and the more water you’ll need,” explained the artificer. “Any more streams or rivers you can tap?”

“There are many streams issuing from the mountains,” said Nadeen. “Let us check to see how easy it might be to use them.”

“Good. You mentioned temples.”

“Yes,” said Jake, and pointed to the rock samples. “My stonemaster suggested these for the two temples, but we need to discuss this with the Godsworn—”

“These are fine,” snapped Muzaffer. “No need to seek their approval.”

“I... uh, perhaps we should...”

“One of blue chalcedony, one of red carnelian. Very pretty.”

“Yes, and I was thinking that an accent of—”

“I’m the architect, Commander. I’ll handle the design.”

“Yes, of course. Subject to my approval, Artificer Muzaffer.”

“Your approval!? You would judge my work!?”

“This is my fort and my town, Artificer. I will judge your work, and you will consult me on design issues, or you will not design anything at all. Are we clear?”

Jake’s voice was calm and his pose relaxed, but his eyes held steady even as Muzaffer shifted his eyes in search of escape.

“Artificer, are we clear?”

“...Yes, Commander,” finally came the muttered acquiescence.

“Thank you, Artificer Muzaffer,” said Jake. He took a sheet of paper and picked up his pencil to jot down some notes about the water supply. “How much water do you believe we require?”

The Artificer was staring at Jake’s hand.

“What is that? Is looks like a stilus...”

Jake looked at the pencil in surprise.

“Why, yes. We call it a pencil. We’re just starting to make them...”

“May I see it?”

He held out his hand.

“Sure, here,” said Jake, handing over the pencil and some paper.

“Careful, that’s a prototype and still fragile. The next bunch will be much stronger.”

Muzaffer ignored him, sketching lines and arcs on the paper. He pressed a little too hard and the lead snapped off. He stared at it, a frown on his face.

Jake pulled out his dagger and held his hand out for the pencil.

“Let me sharpen it.”

Taking it from the artificer, he quickly sharpened the end and handed it back.

“This is wonderful!”

“Keep it,” said Jake, although it was pretty clear that the architect had claimed it already. “So, we need to bring the streams together on higher ground somewhere. A dam? A reservoir?”

“A dam would give you much more flexibility,” said Muzaffer. “but also takes considerably more time to construct properly. This close to the mountains I suspect you don’t have much trouble with flooding... do you? Or has this area below the cliffs ever been flooded?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” said Jake. “I can check with the Reeve of Cadharna on that.”

He made a note.

“Do you require a defensive wall around the town?”

“Only a simple one, I think... Thuba Mleen is after us, not the town, and we cannot fortify it enough to actually protect it from his attack. A wall for wild beasts and thieves should be sufficient; if necessary the townspeople would take refuge here.”

“Let us look at the land tomorrow and see,” said the artificer. “Have the Godsworn brought in now, if you would. I’ll call you if I need you.”

Jake exchanged looks with Nadeen and Ridhi.

This architect was going to be a pain to work with, it seemed.

Chapter 12

“So what’s the story with all those birds we saw?” wondered Seri. “Looked like a black cloud flying up from Bleth.”

“Those eagles?” said Kareem. “They have a big bird coop over there on the east side—that building with the reddish roof—but we never knew what was inside. All very hush-hush.”

“So, what, they just escaped?”

“They were after something,” said Yargui. “They were in a flock, which eagles never do, and headed in the same direction. I think they went after the airship, or the wyverns.”

“We wouldn’t have been able to see them from here, anyway, but they’re supposed to be around here somewhere,” mused Seri. “So instead of a new airship or wyverns Thuba Mleen has a bunch of trained eagles... Think they’re intelligent?”

“I hope not! Angry eagles are dangerous enough when they’re just birds; an intelligent one would be even more deadly!”

“And he’s got flocks of them... I hope our air force was alright up there!”

“Nothing we can do about it here,” said Seri. “Just keep watching the fort.”

Over the last day they’d gained a considerable amount of information about the fort: not only detailed maps of the areas they could see plus what Kareem remembered, but also information on how many troopers came and went, guard rotation schedules, a food delivery, and more. Another couple days and they’d have a very good understanding of what was down there, and be able to come up with a plan to defeat it.

Nobody expected trained eagles, though, and they were still worried about being spotted from the air.

 “Damn, Thuba Mleen is smart. Or tricky. Or whatever. First he steals an airship, then gets a pair of wyverns, and hides a Flayed One inside a horse, and now trained eagles!

“What else does he have up his sleeve?”

“I was never called to the palace, but the rumors are pretty wild,” said Kareem. “Some of them were pretty hard to believe, like pet dholes and shantaks. I figured they were all just wild talk, but after that Flayed One I’m beginning to wonder...”

“And we’re not getting much intel from the King, either... I think he gets more from us!”

Kareem nodded.

“Gold runs uphill, shit rolls down.”

Seri laughed.

“Truth, truth!”

Suddenly she straightened up, and shifted her telescope.

“There, the west gate... something’s coming out of the main building.”

Kareem turned his own telescope as directed, scanning.

“Looks like some sort of carriage, or at least a cart with a roof.”

“Team of four horses, though, which is pretty unusual for a cart... it’s something heavy, or valuable.”

“Too hard to see much from above like this... wish we could get lower.”

“I don’t think it’s possible,” said Seri. “And the closer we got, the more likely they’d be to spot us. I’d rather not get a flock of eagles up my ass, thank you very much.”

“Mmm,” agreed Kareem, still studying the growing column below. “More troopers, on horseback. I think it must be something valuable, then. Or someone.”

“They’re forming up now... looks like the guard is two full twelves, plus that carriage and three, no four, other horses near the carriage. Any ideas?”

“With a guard of twenty-four troopers I’d guess it’s one of Thuba Mleen’s lieutenants, but it’s impossible to tell from here.”

“Where’s he off to?”

“The palace, I’d guess, but could be almost anywhere, really. Bleth isn’t their only fort.”

“Can you make out the pennant on the carriage?”

“Nah, too far and not enough wind... whatever it is, it’s got a lot of purple, though.”

“Purple? Means nothing to me.”

“Me, neither... don’t recall seeing any with purple when I was there.”

“I’ll make a note and we’ll just have to ask the Commander when we get back.”

They watched the column pass through the gate, and vanish down the road to the north. To Thuba Mleen’s palace? Or into the wastes of the Eastern Desert, where the Emperor of the Sands held sway?

They had no way of knowing.

There was a scuffle behind them and they turned to see Yargui coming back from the camp. She was due to relieve Kareem.

They filled Yargui in on the column that had just left, and then Kareem slipped back to the camp, a few hundred meters away in a well-hidden location, leaving Yargui in his place. Her eyesight was exceptional but unfortunately the purple pennant was long gone.

 

* * *

 

The Cavor drifted down to the shore, landing without a whisper.

Captain Long shook his head—de Palma was an incredible pilot.

Sergeant Chen walked over to greet him as Long stepped down, followed by his men with the supplies.

“Captain. We’ve got a rough camp set up, and should have weather tarps over the wyverns shortly. No problems, sir.”

“Good work, Sergeant, thank you,” said Long. “Trooper Ginette is on loan from Captain Nadeen’s twelve. She’s from Daikos and might be able to help. Trooper, go on. If you need help, ask the Sergeant or myself.”

Ginette nodded, and trotted to the closet wyvern, Fæger.

The wyvern was awake but lying very still. Trooper Harald had apparently finished his work on Flogdreka already, and had started working on Fæger

“Ginette of Daikos, from Captain Nadeen’s twelve,” she introduced herself. “Clean water?”

“Harald of Daikos. Of course; boiled and cooled. They’re boiling more now, but we really need a bigger pot.”

“I brought one; it’s on the airship. Let me get it set up. Be right back.”

She ran back to the Cavor and shouted up to the crew.

“Throw down that cauldron, Trooper Clank!”

“In a minute,” came his reply from above, followed by thumping footsteps.

He stuck his head out over the railing.

“Heavy little thing, isn’t it?”

He lifted it over the railing and let it drop to the dirt below with a thump.

It was cast iron, a half-sphere some forty centimeters in diameter, black handle to lift or hang it by, and three stubby legs.

“Whatcha need the pot for?” he asked.

“Boiling water,” she answered. “Lots of water”

She grasped the pot with both hands, grunting as she lifted it, and carried it toward Long’s camp and the fire.

One of Long’s troopers saw her coming and walked over to meet her.

“Yafeu of Zar,” he said, stretching out a hand to take some of the weight.

“Ginette of Daikos. To the fire, trooper.”

They set it down close to the fire, where a smaller cookpot was steaming away already.

“You’ll need a stronger support for that thing,” said Yafeu. “We’ve got some poles cut already for the tarps; let me go get a few.”

“Thank you, trooper. It’ll be a lot heavier once we fill it up, so nice, thick poles. Or I can go cut some.”

“No problem,” he smiled, turning to the other troopers. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Would you? I’ve gotta get back to the wyverns...”

“Yeah, go,” he said. “Hey, Mahud, Kassandros! Gimme a hand, would ya?”

Two men looked up at their names.

“Gotta get a trestle set up for this baby,” explained Yafeu, pointing at the cauldron. “Gonna need some pretty thick poles.”

Mahud looked at the cauldron and shook his head.

“Dumb fuck. Just tie three of those together and they’ll be fine.”

Yafeu looked where the other man was pointing.

“Well, yeah, I guess they will,” he agreed. “Still upset because I roll dice better than you, huh?”

“I’ll win it back tonight, no problem. I don’t get upset when morons have a lucky streak.”

“Hah! You wish!”

“Maybe you guys can help me get those poles lashed up and stop squabbling?” asked Kassandros. “Might as well be married to each other, the way you go at it. Neither one of you can roll worth a damn anyway...”

“And fuck you too, Kassandros!” laughed Mahud, picking up a cut pole and checking it for strength. “This one’ll do fine. You got one?”

“Yup, here’s two.”

“And three,” said Yafeu. “Hold ’em and I’ll lash ’em up.”

They had the poles lashed into a single, solid length shortly.

“Now have to get two trestles built. Where’s that axe?”

Yafeu pointed over to where the wood-cutter’s axe was resting against a pile of firewood. “Whaddya think, one-and-a-half, two meters? Half in the ground.”

“Yeah, should be fine,” agreed Mahud. “Why didn’t anyone bring a saw?”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” sniped Kassandros, punching the other in the shoulder. “If you had any muscle this sort of thing wouldn’t bother you.”

They had the trestles built and the cauldron hanging over the fire shortly. After that, filling it with water was a simple matter.

Ginette and Harald, meanwhile, continued to clean Fæger’s wounds. There was very little dirt in them, but there was no way of telling what might have been on the eagles talons and beaks.

“Look at this!” gasped Ginette, reaching out to pick up something shiny from a wound. “It’s a steel... What in the...? It’s a steel sheath, for the eagle’s talons!”

Half covered in blood, the steel sheath was about eight centimeters long, with a knife-like cutting edge and a needle-sharp point.

Harald whistled.

“Damn! Never seen one of those before... no wonder the wyverns are so cut up!”

Ginette poured a little water on the sheath, rinsing it cleaner.

“I think the Captain needs to see this, too. Later.”

She dropped it in her pocket and they got back to washing out the wounds.

“Look at this slash!” said Harald as he washed blood away from Fæger’s thigh. “Must be at least thirty centimeters long, and looks deep.”

“Wow, that’s ugly! Can she still move her leg?”

“Can’t tell... she hasn’t tried to move anything much since I’ve been here,” he replied. “It’s in a bad place; might have cut a tendon.”

“I think she needs stitches...”

“Mmm. Me too. You ever stitched wyvern-hide before?”

“A few times. It’s hard work.”

“I saw someone doing it once. They needed an awl and mallet to punch with.”

“Must not have known what he was doing,” said Ginette. “If you pull a scale it’s a lot easier. Still hard work, but you can usually punch through with just a sharp point. Never seen a wyvern with hide that needed an awl!”

Harald stepped back, waving her forward.

“She’s all yours. I’ll just watch this one.”

Ginette finished washing the wound and examined it more closely.

“If she doesn’t use this leg for a while I think just a couple stitches is enough. Won’t hold under her weight, but if she lets it heal for a few days it should work.

“I brought a set of pliers to pull the scales, but we’ll need some leather lacing for the stitch.”

“I don’t have any, but somebody’s always got some. Comes in handy.”

“Go ahead; I’ll work on the other wounds for now.”

Harald turned to look around the camp.

“Sergeant! Sergeant Chen!”

“What, trooper?” came the high-pitched answer. “I’m a bit busy right now.”

“Leather lacing, Sarge. We have to sew one up.”

“Check my ruck. Right side bottom pocket.”

“Thanks, Sarge.”

“And don’t use it all!”

“I’ll be sure to tell Trooper Ginette, Sarge.”

The sergeant nodded and turned back to getting the overhead tarps set up.

Harald found her ruck and opened the bottom right pocket, pulling out a coil of leather cord.

“Ginette, got the cord, but it’s pretty thick... whatcha think?”

She looked at it, picking it up for a closer look.

“I’d be happier with real braided cord, but this’ll have to do. It’s a little bigger than what I use to use, but I think if we cut this down anymore it’d be too weak to hold the wound closed.”

“No way this’d be strong enough if we cut it narrower,” agreed Harald, “but isn’t braided cord even bigger?”

“Not if it’s braided right,” said Ginette. “Anyway, let’s do this.”

She used her pliers to work eight scales free, slowly rocking them back and forth and gradually loosening them before finally pulling them out.

She took a packet from her wallet, and removed two small balls of something, which she rubbed into the wound.

“Medicine?”

“Snake Tears. It’s a mixture of honey, ginger and a few other things. Helps prevent infection,” she said, taking out her dagger.

“Ah. Isn’t the wyvern gonna get angry if you stab it?”

“Nah,” said Ginette. “She knows we’re trying to help her.”

She twisted her dagger to make the first hole, and pushed one end of the cord through.

Leaving it hanging, she opened the second hole on the other side of the wound.

“OK, I need you to push the wound up from the bottom while I make the stitch. We’ll pull it tighter later, but give it a little pressure now while I run the cord through.”

Harald squatted down next to the wyvern and put his hands on the animal’s flank, then pushed up with steady force, holding the wound almost closed.

Ginette bent over him, quickly punching more holes and lacing the cord through loosely.

“Now we have to try to get the wound closed all the way. You push and I’ll pull the cord tighter.”

“Go ahead,” he said with a grunt, pushing up with all his strength.

The wound was completely closed, and Ginette quickly adjusted the leather cord, pulling it tighter and then tying it tightly.

“That’s good for now,” she said, breathing heavily. “It’ll need some tightening later, though.”

The stitch was ugly, but the wound was shut.

They moved onto the next one. The wyvern was a gigantic beast, and it would take them hours to finish.

“Remind me never to let you stitch me up, Trooper.”

Ginette turned to see Captain Long examining her work.

“Sorry, sir... best I could do here.”

“It’ll do, it’ll do fine. Good work, you two.”

The Captain walked around the wyverns, checking their wounds.

“A couple of those look pretty deep,” he said. “You think they’re OK?”

“Can’t tell yet, Captain,” answered Harald. “At least they’re all clean, and two bad ones are stitched up, but we'll just have to wait and see.”

“They’re gonna need fresh meat pretty soon,” added Ginette. “When’s the hunting party getting back?”

“When they’ve got something,” said Long. “Don’t think they’re many people in this region; should be plenty of game left. They’ll be back soon.”

“We’re about done here. If they recover, it should be within a couple days.”

“And if they don’t?”

“If it takes longer than that they might never recover,” said Ginette. “We’ve treated their wounds, and with plenty of fresh meat and clean water they should be able to fly again with a few days. Their wings aren’t torn that badly, and should heal without any problem.

“Is there a hurry?”

“Yeah,” said Long, looking up at the gibbous moon in the evening sky. “It’s gonna be a full moon in a few days, and I do not want to be on the shores of this lake during a full moon.”

“Ah!” Harald suddenly realized what the captain was talking about. “The Doom of Sarnath!”

“Yep. I don’t know if those moon-creatures still come here, and I don’t want to find out, but if the water starts rising and that rock out there—Akurion—starts slipping into the lake, I want to know about it real fast.”

“You know, Captain,” said Ginette, “their chances would be even better if Trooper Beorhtwig were here, injured or not. He’s their wyver-master, not me, and they know it.”

“The Healer said he’s not in good shape...”

“It’s worth a try, Captain,” urged Harald. “It could make a big difference.”

The Captain nodded.

“OK, I’ll send someone back with Aercaptain de Palma, and we’ll see what Healer Dunchanti says.”

 

* * *

 

“Even with laborers hired from the cities, and deinos for construction, it’s still going to take years, you know,” said Nadeen. “You already know what you want, but even after Muzaffer makes the drawings and we start work, it’ll take time.”

“I know,” said Jake. “A couple years, at least... and it’ll take longer to grow to what we really want. But if we’re going to stay here, the fort is going to grow, and that collection of shacks is going to grow with us. Unless we start it off right, right now, it’s always going to be a disgusting, dangerous cesspit.”

Nadeen laughed.

“Perhaps you should avoid that description when talking to the Godsworn, Jake. They’re planning on putting their glorious temples there, after all.”

“Yeah, I guess, but they’ve seen what it looks like. My biggest problem is getting them to see what it can be, someday. Even the parts I can tell them about now.”

He leafed through his sketches, sighed at how terrible an artist he was. He knew what those scratchings represented, but it would be tough selling the idea to anyone else...his artistic renderings would impress nobody.

He picked up a sketch he’d made of the city main gate, and held it directly under the sunstone for better illumination. The lines were clearly visible, but so were the places where he’d made mistakes and tried to erase something.

Nadeen was quiet for a moment.

“I’ve heard of something called a memory stick,” she said. “I’ve never seen one, but Chuang is supposed to have one.”

“Yeah, I’ve know what a memory stick is... but... wait a sec! How come you know anything about computers?”

“About what? Compu... compu-what?”

“Computers. Memory sticks. You just said Chuang has a memory stick.”

“Uh, yeah, he does. What’s a computer?”

“Something’s off here... what’s a memory stick?”

“You know what a shimmer is, right?”

“Yeah, it smears the view, helps hide stuff.”

“Right. Works on a limited area, and only when the incense is burning.”

“OK. And?”

“A memory stick is sort of like that, but instead of hiding things it shows images while the incense is lit.”

“Shows images? What kind of images?”

“I don’t know the details, but I’ve heard that Chuang’s memory stick has a complete map of Celephaïs, including all the underground passages, and the Palace itself.”

“And you can see this map?”

“So they say. It’s all drawn in smoke, apparently, but you can see everything very clearly.”

“Hmm, hmm... How did he record the map onto the memory stick?”

“No idea,” said Nadeen, shrugging. “But I’ve heard the same thing many times. I doubt it’s just a rumor.”

“So you think we could put Muzaffer’s drawings into the memory stick, and show the Godsworn—and the Reeve—what it’ll all look like.”

“Yeah. Better than paper drawings.”

“For sure,” said Jake, thinking. “Chuang is supposed to be coming again soon. Let’s ask him then about it.”

“OK. But what’s a computer?”

“A machine from my realm. It, uh, can do mathematics, and make images. Not much use here, though, since Reed obliterates anything that uses electricity.”

“Is it better than mathematicians or artists?”

“Not better, just faster. A lot faster,” said Jake.

“You know how to build one?”

“Build one!? Me? Not a chance! I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of how to do it.”

“Magic, huh?”

“Yeah, magic,” shrugged Jake.

“Commander? Beghara.”

“Yes, come in, Captain.”

She walked into Jake’s living room—now doubling as a meeting room—and nodded to Nadeen.

“You wanted to see me, Commander?”

“Yes, thank you. Please, sit.”

After she’d taken a seat and Nadeen had poured them all cups of tea, Jake explained why he’d called her.

“Our airship is damaged, both wyverns are out of action, maybe permanently, we’ve got a few troopers out wounded, and Captain Serilarinna is unaccounted for.”

“When’s she expected back?”

“If all’s well, it should be within a few days. Whenever she feels she has enough info on Bleth.”

“And you’re worried that the eagles attacked them, too...”

“Can you take your twelve up into the mountains and see if you can find anything? She had planned to skirt the lake to the north end, then up into the mountains, but we don’t have good maps of that area yet.

“Here’s what we’ve got,” he added, pushing two maps over to her for a look.

She pulled them closer and scanned them.

“Not very helpful... might as well write ‘Here there be monsters’ on them!”

“Sorry. That’s why Mistress Valda’s been working on it. She’s in the library now, making the latest maps, and I want you to go talk to her and get a good look at her sketches. Apparently she has a pretty good idea of where they were just before the attack. I’ll go tell her you’re coming.”

“When do you want me to leave?”

“As soon as you’re ready, but your safety comes first. I want to know what’s happened to Seri and her twelve, I need you to come back safely with or without that information.”

“Yessir, I’ll get on it.”

Captain Beghara left Jake’s quarters and headed for the officers’ quarters, in the central building. She entered the building through the mess hall, and stuck her head into the adjoining room.

“Sergeant Pouyan here?”

“Nope, he’s off at the bath, I think,” came a voice from the back.

“Thanks.”

She ducked back out and stepped back into the yard again. She’d walked right past the bath a minute ago, and hadn’t thought to check inside.

“Sergeant Pouyan? You in there?”

“Yessir, Captain!” came a shout from the bath. “Be right out!”

“Orders to move out, Sergeant. Get a move on it.”

There was a hurried splashing on the other side and a few minutes later Sergeant Pouyan emerged, adjusting his belt.

“Where to, Captain?”

“We’re off to see what happened to Captain Serilarinna. If we can find her.”

“Did something happen?”

“Nobody knows, that’s why we’re going. Come with me to the library; Valda’s got some new maps that might be useful.”

They walked to the library where Valda was transferring her sketches and notes to more precise maps.

“Mistress Valda? The Commander said I should look at your most recent maps—the ones you’re working on now.”

“Yes, he told me you were coming. The Mohagger range.”

“The Mohaggers!?” breathed Pouyan. “Is that where we’re going?”

“I need to see the region around the north end of the Lake of Sarnath,” said Captain Beghara. “What can you show me?”

“I’m working on them now,” said Valda, waving at a large sheet of paper with outlines sketched in with charcoal, and a number of inked contour lines. “Here’s the Lake.”

“And this is...?” asked Beghara, tapping the fort’s position.

“Yes, that’s Bleth.”

“And where did you last see Captain Serilarinna?”

Valda looked at Sergeant Pouyan.

“Is it alright to discuss this, Captain? The Sergeant...”

“It’s fine. He needs to know where we’re going.”

“Yessir,...” she said, and turned the map so Beghara could read it more easily. “Aercaptain de Palma said they entered the mountains about here, and traveled north. I don’t know what route they took, but we last got a flash from them here.”

“That’s damn close to Bleth.”

“Yes, Captain. It’s on the other side of this mountain, but pretty close. There must be a route over it.”

“Why do you say over?”

“There’s not much point to coming this close to Bleth if they have to go all the way around the mountain... if that were the case, they would have headed that way from the start.”

“Good point,” agreed Beghara.

“What are they doing up there?” asked Pouyan.

“Scouting. The idea was that they’d go and get out again without being seen.”

“Is that what happened to the airship? All the activity all of a sudden?”

“The airship and wyverns were drawing their attention, with the idea that they wouldn’t be looking at the mountain too closely. Eagles attacked the air force; we don’t know what happened to Captain Sarilarinna’s twelve.”

“And that’s our mission.”

“We’re not supposed to fight anyone, either... just see if we can find out what’s happened. If we’re lucky, nothing.”

“And if we’re not?”

“You might have to earn your pay.”

He pursed his lips, staring at the map.

“That’s a lot of mountains...”

“Captain?”

Beghara turned at the voice to see Captain Chinh in the doorway.

“The Commander just told me you’re heading north,” said Chinh “We’re leaving in the morning with supplies for Captain Long, and can give you a ride to the Lake.”

“That’d be a big help,” said Beghara. “I was thinking we wouldn’t be able to take our mounts into the mountains, and wondered if we’d have to leg it all the way.”

Captain Chinh smiled.

“No problem. I’m taking spare mounts to leave with Captain Long anyway, you can just ride them.”

“Great, thanks. When are you leaving?”

“Hour of the Hare. Just after dawn.”

“We’ll be there,” she promised. “Thank you.”

Chinh left, and Beghara and Pouyan turned back to studying the map.

“How did they get there?” asked the sergeant. “They must have walked up this stream—here—from the lake, but that stream doesn’t connect to where they were spotted. They had to cross a ridgeline somewhere—here, maybe, or here.”

“I don’t know, Sergeant. I guess we’ll find out, though.”

Beghara started to roll up the map.

“Hey, you can’t take that! It’s my only copy!” protested Valda.

“Sorry, I need it,” said Beghara.

“No! I’ll make a copy for you by tonight. You can’t have it!”

“I’m a Captain, you know...”

Captain Beghara, I will make a copy for you by tonight. You cannot have that. Sir.”

Beghara laughed.

“Spunky woman, aren’t you?”

She handed the half-rolled map back to Valda.

“I like a woman who doesn’t back down. Keep it. And thank you for the copy.”

She turned to Pouyan.

“Let’s go, Sergeant. We’ve got some preparations to take care of.”

“Have to find the troops and get them ready, too. Some’ll be down in town.”

“Yeah. Drunk or worse... You hit the town; I’ll go talk to the Horsemaster and Ridhi.”

Pouyan left for the thriving “castle town” at the foot of the cliff and Beghara walked over to the kitchen.

“Captain Ridhi?”

“Yes, Captain?” said Ridhi, sitting at her desk in the corner and checking some paperwork.

“The Commander wants me to go find Seri. We’ll ride out with Chinh in the morning, and cut north from the lake on foot. Say, four, no let’s make it five, days for the twelve.”

“By when?”

“We leave tomorrow at dawn.”

“I wish you’d given me more time to prepare, but the Commander does things when he needs to... OK, it’ll be here by dawn. Need anything else?”

“Nothing in particular,” said Beghara. “I’m going to do my best to avoid getting into a fight, so just our usual gear should be fine. I’ll want a couple coils of rope, though.”

“You know where it is. But bring it back, will you? Seri already took a few and we have to buy that stuff somewhere.”

“Thanks, Ridhi,” said Beghara, and left for the stables.

Horsemaster Turan was down in the grasslands with the herd, but one of her assistants, Miníbram of Ilarnek, was currying one of the broodmares.

“Captain Chinh has already told us you need twelve tomorrow morning, Captain, but I’ll make sure they’re saddled and ready for you,” he said. “These are just for riding to the lake and back, right? Not battle-trained?”

“That’s right... just getting us to the lake a little quicker,” replied Beghara. “And when we get there we’ll hand them over to Captain Long.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem, but I’ll tell the Horsemaster at once and get you confirmation.”

“Thank you, Master Miníbram.”

As she left she heard him telling one of the boys working in the stable to take a message to the Horsemaster, and get her reply at once. The boy would ride one of the horses down to join the herd—bareback, no doubt—and she should have here answer within an hour.

Next stop: the barracks.

A few of her twelve were there, lounging, and she let them know they would be leaving at dawn on a scouting mission, expected to last four or five days.

“Pass the word around, too... The Sergeant is down in town now. Is anyone over in Cadharna?”

“I think Nurbolat said he was going there, Cap,” spoke up one of the others. “And Borislaw is down with the herd, as always.”

“Damn, I’d forgotten that... I should have had Miníbram tell him, too,” said Beghara. “Well, he’ll be back later, and I can catch him then.

“So, anyone want to ride to Cadharna for me?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll go if you like,” said Biming, standing to strap on his sword belt. “Tobacco’s too expensive down in town; Cadharna’s still cheap. Anyone else you need me to tell?”

“I don’t know yet... OK, who’s here?”

They ran through the roster, discovering that in addition to Nurbolat and Borislaw, three others were unaccounted for.

“Find Sergeant Pouyan before you go, and see who he’s located. And if anyone’s left, we’ll need to find them. After you check Cadharna, report back here as soon as you can.”

“After I buy my tobacco?”

“Yeah, after you buy your tobacco,” agreed Beghara. “The rest of you, get prepped. Captain Ridhi will provide a few days’ grub, but we’ll probably end up living off the land for a while, so plan accordingly. If you need something tell me or ask Captain Ridhi.

“Where’re we going, Captain?”

“We’re going to take a ride over to the lake, and then a little hike from there,” she replied. “I’ll fill you in on the way.”

“This doesn’t sound like a combat mission.”

“Well, it’s not supposed to be, but you never know when you might be expected to earn your pay.”

By dawn the next day everyone and everything was ready to go, and they joined up with Captain Chinh’s twelve outside the main gate.

Chinh also had some packhorses for the supplies, so the total was more than two twelves.

“I’ll take the lead, you on rear, OK?”

“Sure,” agreed Beghara. “We should be there in the early afternoon, I figure, barring surprises.”

“Don’t worry,” smiled Chinh. “If there are any surprises we’ll take care of them for you.”

“I’m quite happy to let you take point, Captain. Always liked picnics.”

“Sergeant!” called Chinh to his second, Sergeant Sefu. “Move out!”

Beghara held up her hand to hold her own twelve in place until Chinh’s horses were trotting down the road from the fort to the plains, then waved them forward.

“Sergeant Pouyan, you’re on the tail for now,” she called. “We’ll swap later, say, the Hour of the Retreating Snake?”

“Yes, Captain. And a beautiful day for a picnic it is!”

The morning passed without incident, and once they entered the grassland they made good time. In the late morning, as Captain Begahara fell back to replace Sergeant Pouyan as rearguard, the airship passed overhead.

“Looks like it’s heading to the same place,” said Beghara, shading her eyes for a better view. “Wonder if something else has happened...”

“If it was something important they’d tell us,” said Pouyan.

“And the wyverns are Captain Chinh’s problem anyway, not ours,” she agreed.

After a rest for lunch and to let the horses rest, they passed their horses to Chinh, who would take them onto the lakeside encampment for Captain Long, and set out on foot, north.

“OK, listen up everyone,” said Beghara. “You’ve all heard about the eagle attack. What you don’t know—probably—is that the airship and the wyverns were up there to draw Thuba Mleen’s attention away from Captain Serilarinna, who’s been scouting Bleth.

“We know the eagles attacked our air force, but we don’t know what happened to Captain Serilarinna’s twelve. That’s what we’re here to find out. We know they went north through the forest to the north end of the lake, and then they entered the mountains somewhere, moving up toward Bleth.

“The airship confirmed their position shortly before the eagles attacked, but we don’t know exactly how they got there or where they are now. Or if they’re alright.

“We don’t think they’ve got any airships or wyverns, but we know they’ve got eagles, so stay in the woods as much as possible. And if anyone sees any sign of Captain Serilarinna’s twelve, speak up!

“Sergeant, I’ll take point again.”

 

* * *

 

“They’ve been on the same schedule for a few days now,” said Seri. “I don’t see much point in hanging around any longer... we’re running out of food, too.”

“Not much hunting in the mountains here,” agreed TiTi. “A few ibex, but they’re better at mountain-climbing than we are. And we really don’t want Thuba Mleen to notice us.”

“Let’s plan on starting back at dusk, then. Pass the word back to the rest.”

“Yessir,” he said, and crouched back to the passage to the other side of the mountain. “I think they’ll be happy to get moving again.”

Seri kept her telescope focused on the fort below, constantly checking for changes.

The sketches they’d made of the fort had been refined multiple times until they were confident of their accuracy.

Bleth would be a tough nut to crack.

It was significantly larger than Fort Danryce, with higher, thicker walls, a much wider cleared space outside the walls well-covered by scorpions and other machines, dry moat and palisade outside the wall, and worst of all: a garrison of at least two grand dozens... In TiTi’s mind that meant twice one hundred and forty-four, or about three hundred men.

Even assuming he could field every last trooper, Jake could only count on seven twelves and half a dozen wyverns—against at least twenty-four twelves in a highly defensible fort.

Not good odds. Not good at all.

They could probably use Thuba Mleen’s own strategy against him, dropping bombs from the air, except even if the walls were down there was still too much of a disparity in the number of troopers on each side. And those eagles, whatever they did, didn’t bode well for their air force... nobody had seen the wyverns or the airship since then, and it was possible they’d been chased away. Or killed.

They still had no idea who had been escorted from the fort earlier, the mysterious person with the purple pennant. Probably a lieutenant, they agreed, but there was no way of telling.

There were also a few structures in the fort that they couldn’t identify. Kareem had never been allowed into the “off-limits” area of the fort, the central keep with its own walls and defenses. They knew about the eagle coop now, but there could still be some surprises in the others.

Seri thought they had about as much as they were going to get, though, and there was no point in pushing their luck too far. The Ibizim of Y’barra had given them the perfect place to observe the fort from, but even hidden in the shadows here somebody would notice them eventually. Or some eagle.

She stayed with Kareem, watching, for another hour.

“I think we’re done,” she said, putting her telescope away and rising to a crouch. She’d tried to stand up straight a few times, and after a few collisions with the low ceiling had finally learned.

“Pack it up and go?” asked Kareem.

“Yup, let’s go home.”

It felt good to stretch her legs again as she emerged from the passage on the other side of the mountain. The sun was already beginning to slip down toward the horizon, lengthening shadows—and making them even more obvious from the sky.

They returned to camp, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.

There was no sign of their air force—airship or wyverns—and no eagles that they could see.

“Let me see that sketch of the area again, Sergeant,” she asked. “I want to be sure we can locate this lookout again if we have to.”

TT took an oilskin packet out of his ruck, and pulled out one sheet.

“We don’t want to mark the entrance itself, for obvious reasons, so there are a few obvious landmarks, like that pointed rock over there and the three potholes in a triangle over there. I think it’s more than enough, as long as they know how to get to this valley.

“We scouted out the valley, just to get a better idea of where we are... turns out it has only one exit, which is over a cliff about a kilometer east of Bleth. I’d be tough to climb from down there, but probably not impossible. And the only other access is the hidden passage we used, the first one the Ibizim showed us.”

He pulled out a second sketch.

“Here’s the sketch we made of how to locate that passage.”

Seri looked it over.

“It looks good, but I want to have a second look when we get to the other side. If we can.”

“Nobody’s seen anything up there,” said TT, eyes flicking up to the sky. “No airships, no eagles, damn near nothing at all except clouds.”

“I don’t think we have to be scared of the clouds,” grinned Seri. “But let’s hope our luck holds.”

“If Mistress Valda managed to make maps of this area, we can probably combine these sketches with her maps to make the route absolutely clear.”

“If,” said Seri. “I’m a little worried we haven’t seen airship or wyvern since...”

“Everyone is. We’ll all be happy to get more distance between us and Bleth.”

“OK, we’ll move out as soon as the shadows provide enough cover on the passage to the next valley. Just to be sure, in case there’s something up there we don’t know about.”

TT squinted at the western horizon.

“Hmm. Another ten, fifteen minutes? About that.”

“Yeah, I think so. Check everyone, will you?” asked Seri. “I’ve got a little business to attend to.”

She walked off behind a nearby rock, out of sight for a minute while TT talked to each trooper, and checked the camp to see if they’d left anything stupid behind. They couldn’t erase every sign of their presence, but they wanted to make it look like a hunter had passed through, not a scouting party. If it rained that’d take care of it.

A short while later Seri gave the word to move out, taking the lead herself.

The raptors were a bit on edge, probably because they hadn’t been able to hunt anything but a few small lizards. They’d take care of that as soon as they got back to the forest.

The entrance to the passage was obvious from this side, and she sent three of the raptors through first, waiting a minute and listening to hear if they were fighting anything.

Just some quiet snorting and claw-scrapes; obviously nothing to worry about.

The valley on the other side was a bit brighter, the sun still peeking over the western mountains here. It should be gone entirely in only a few minutes, she thought.

She pulled out the second sketch TT had given her, and quickly compared it to the mountainside. More local landmarks, good rendering of the mountain’s profile, excellent.

She thought it would do just fine.

She folded it back up and handed it to TT to put away.

Everyone knew the way back to Fort Danryce. It was a long march, but hopefully they’d complete it without running into a giant snake this time. Or Thuba Mleen’s troops.

They marched for about three hours, raptors spread out in front, until it got too dark to continue safely, and then stopped for the night. No campsite this time, just sleeping in the rough. At least it wasn’t raining.

They were up and marching by the Hour of the Hare, when the sun finally crested the range to the east.

Now some distance from Bleth, and heading away from it toward the Lake of Sarnath and distant Fort Danryce, she felt a little safer continuing the march in daylight. They still hadn’t seen anything unexpected in the sky, and while she wasn’t happy about the idea of trying to fight off eagles, she grew more confident as the day progressed.

The raptors were happier, too, as the streams became larger and the underbrush grew thicker. They were happiest when they could snack on the road, and there were more and more snacks to be found.

“Captain! Captain Serilarinna!”

The shout came from halfway up the mountainside, well ahead of her. She didn’t recognize the voice.

The raptors immediately trotted toward it, and Seri’s twelve shifted to face a possible threat.

“Captain! It’s Roach, from Fort Danryce! Call off your raptors; I’m coming down.”

A small figure stood up on the slope, then slid down toward her.

She hurriedly waved to Mudge to hold the raptors in position... there was only one person, and it did indeed look like Roach.

“Sergeant, you see anyone?”

“Nope. Not a sign. That’s Roach, though.”

“Look out for archers. I’m going to meet him.”

TT turned to the others.

“OK, spread out and find some cover. The only way anyone can ambush us here is with arrows, so keep an eye on the slopes!”

As Seri advanced to meet Roach the rest found boulders or scrubby trees for cover.

“How did you find us, Roach?”

“I’ve been trailing you since you left, Captain, but that’s not important,” he said, and continued speaking over her surprise. “Captain Beghara is nearby, searching for you, and about to be ambushed. You are in position to attack the ambushing force from behind, but we have to hurry.”

“You...? What? You’ve been trailing us...? Captain Beghara?”

She sputtered for a second, then turned back toward her troops.

“Sergeant! Up here!”

TT came running.

“Captain?”

“Listen to this, TiTi, tell me what you think.”

Roach ran through it again.

“I trust Roach, Captain. We can talk about the details later, but if he says Captain Beghara’s in danger, I’d say go.”

“Did you know Roach was following us?”

“Nope. Commander told me he was staying there.”

“Hmph. Roach, how many raptors did we start with?”

“Seven. You lost one in the woods in the battle with the snake.”

Seri nodded.

“If you know that, you’ve been with us all the way.

“Sergeant, it’s time to earn your pay. Roach, can the raptors get there, too?”

“Yes. They’ll have a tough time in one place where there’s only smooth rock, but they should manage. About ten minutes from here. We’ll be coming in from the north end of a valley, and Captain Beghara is advancing from the south. Thuba Mleen’s troop is in the middle.”

“How many?”

“I counted a full twelve, mostly archers.”

“So they plan to shoot first, and then clean up the rest with swordwork... good, if they’re archers and looking the other way the raptors should be able to give them quite a surprise.”

She turned to TT.

“Get everyone up to speed on the plan, and let’s get moving. I have to get the raptors ready.”

She waved Mudge over and explained the plan. She wanted the raptors to attack, but she also needed them to wait until her twelve was in position so they everyone could attack at once.

Shock value.

Roach double-timed them down the valley, and then over a shallow rise into the adjacent one, where another stream surrounded by bushes and small trees ran down the middle.

“They are about one kilometer downstream,” explained Roach, “hiding in a fairly thick patch of scrub. There was no lookout in this direction when I checked.”

“And how far away is Captain Beghara?”

“They should be here in under half an hour; no sooner than fifteen minutes or so.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“I’ve been scouting the area all day.”

“That’s a few kilometers ahead of us, and in the mountains.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty fast.”

She just looked at him.

“Sergeant, you heard him. I want to hit those troops in no more than fifteen minutes, ten if we can.”

“We’ll make some noise if we’re running, especially in this terrain,” he objected.

“Roach, can you get me a better idea of when the Captain will get there?”

“Not in time, sorry.”

“Damn. OK, I want you to move out ahead and stop us when we get within five hundred meters of the enemy. We’ll approach quietly from there. Go!”

Roach left at a lope, vanishing from sight in only a few seconds.

“OK, let’s get a move on, people!”

She waved to the twelve and the raptors, and they began moving downstream at a good clip, much faster than marching but slow enough to be safe through broken rock and brush.

Roach was waiting, and when they saw him they slowed down abruptly.

Thuba Mleen’s troops were up ahead of them somewhere, and they needed to keep the element of surprise.

She gestured to Mudge to take the lead, and the raptors slipped on ahead. They could run with their necks bent down, making it almost impossible to see them over the short scrub growing around the stream.

Seri followed, sword out. She checked her throwing knives to be sure the belt was in position.

A chorus of shouts erupted from a small grove up ahead: Shouts of alarm, screams of pain, growing and snapping raptors, a bowstring...

And they burst through the trees on top of the enemy, ambushing the ambushers. The raptors had already downed several troopers, at the loss of one of their own, and the battle had broken down into individual combats.

Thuba Mleen’s troop had been planning to start the ambush with a flight of arrows, picking off as many of Beghara’s fighters as possible, then immediately rush in to finish the job with sword and axe. As a result, most of them were holding bows and arrows, not swords, and that cost them dearly when the raptors and Seri’s twelve burst out of the underbrush behind them, at close quarters.

Seri took one enemy out with a throwing knife to the shoulder while she was still running toward them, which was enough for the attacking raptor to make the kill. Between the raptors and the sudden attack by her twelve, the enemy had no chance... in under a minute they were dead or sitting on the ground, unarmed and bleeding.

“Sergeant, go stand in the road and make sure Beghara sees you.”

He raced to the other side of the trees, hands held high, shouting “Captain Beghara! Captain! Coming out!”

Seri turned her attention to the captives.

“Who’s in charge here?”

One of the wounded men spoke up as he wrapped a rag around his bleeding arm.

“Nobody. Damn raptors killed Sarge first.”

“And you are?”

“Rayyan of Thuba Mleen.”

“Do you yield?”

“I do.”

She asked each of the prisoners if they yielded. Five of the twelve still lived, four of them wounded and one of those—his guts open to the air—likely to die shortly. They all yielded.

“Well, well, well... strange place to run into a friend, eh, Seri?”

She turned.

Beghara had come.

“Hi, Beghara... we were in the neighborhood and thought we’d say hello.”

Captain Beghara looked around.

“Quite a party... glad you were nearby.”

“Thanks to Roach,” said TT.

“Roach?”

“He warned us of the ambush, and led us here in time to stop it,” explained Seri. “They would have cut you down with bows first.”

“Weren’t supposed to be any of Thuba Mleen’s men out here...”

“Apparently nobody told them that.”

Beghara turned to the wounder prisoner.

“Why were you here?”

“Just scouting, like always. Corwalla over there saw you coming and we set up an ambush. Yours was better.” He spat.

“You know, Thuba Mleen hasn’t been having too much luck against Scorpius Company lately,” drawled Beghara.

“What the fuck is that?”

Beghara leaned in close, face only a hand’s breadth away from his.

“We’re Scorpius, and we’ll cut you down every time you stick your head up.”

She turned back to Seri.

“So? What do we do with them?”

“What’ll it be, Trooper? Give your bond and you’re free to go, but never again raise arms against Scorpius Company.”

“There can be no bond!” shouted the other, leaping to his feet and pulling a dagger from his tunic. “Thuba Mleen! For the Emperor!”

At his shout all five men attacked, even the severely wounded one, pulling daggers or grappling with nearby troopers to grab a weapon.

Captain Beghara stepped backward, her huge axe flashing around flat as she did, chopping into Rayyan’s waist and cutting half-way through with a spray of blood, a scream, and he was knocked sideways to collapse in a broken pile on the ground.

Beghara looked up—all five of their prisoners were down, dead or dying. Surging from their positions seated on the ground, they had been unable to even pose a serious threat to their guards, standing ready.

They all chose death over surrender.

Beghara shook her head, and reached over to a nearby corpse, tearing off the man’s tunic to wipe her axe clean.

“So stupid... I would have taken his bond, all of them... what a waste.”

Seri sheathed her own sword, thin and light in contrast to Beghara’s massive axe.

“They all chose death,” she said. “Their fealty to the Emperor of the Sands is... unbelievable. It is no dishonor to lose in battle! No need to die for it!”

She turned to her twelve.

“Anyone wounded? Anyone missing?”

She and Beghara checked both their twelves: a few cuts and bruises, one slice to a shoulder that looked bad, but nothing out of the ordinary for a quick fight, and better than usual.

One of the raptors had fallen, a dagger blade straight through its mouth and up into its brain... the raptor’s fangs had closed, though, biting off the hand that held the dagger. She and her killer died together.

The raptors, excited by the smell of blood, were getting restless. They had already been hungry, and Seri knew Mudge wouldn’t be able to control them much longer.

“We have to leave, now,” she said, then turned to her troop. “Take what you want and leave the rest for the raptors. Hurry!”

She knelt over the corpse of the sergeant, taking his wallet and checking his tunic for papers. There was nothing, and she let it drop to the ground again, walking away downstream without a backward glance.

She heard footsteps behind her as both twelves followed, and then the scrabble of claws on rock, and the grunting and squealing of the raptors as they argued over choice selections. The sounds of tearing flesh and bones shattering into fragments.

The terrifying sounds of raptors, feeding.

Chapter 13

“Thank you, Artificer,” said Jake, nodding his head. “We looked over your proposal and were very impressed. An excellent first draft.”

“First draft!?” sputtered Muzaffer, pushing his glasses up his nose once again. “That is a masterpiece of design, complete and glorious!”

“Yes, it is a spectacular design in every way, we agree,” soothed Jake, silently regretting agreeing to work with this architect. “We wondered if it wasn’t a bit too grand for such a small, indeed as-yet non-existent town such as this... we are, after all, a tiny fort in the middle of the wilderness, and not on any trade routes, or even near any. The Lake of Sarnath will ensure that we have few visitors, I think, and the beautiful city you have shown us here would be a waste amid the cornfields and herds of cattle and horses surrounding us.

“For example, I note that your market is enormous, but for the foreseeable future the only market we are likely to need is collecting food from the local region for sale to the fort. Cadharna already offers an excellent marketplace that serves the people well, and building a second one here would only serve to weaken both.

“Or this defensive wall, for example... it is indeed a strong defense, and would withstand attack or siege far better than even the fort, but as you’ve drawn it, it encloses an area far larger than the reasonable area of the town for the foreseeable future. We lack the troops that would be needed to defend fortifications of that size. Surely, if we are to build six-meter walls at all it would be better to build them around the fort than the town!

“If the fort falls, an enemy would be able to bombard the town from atop the cliff regardless of walls or other defenses.”

“Well, I can see that this masterpiece would be wasted here in the country as we are... nobody would come to see its beauty! You’re quite correct... I shall save this design for a more sophisticated site, perhaps at the crossroads of two or three major trading routes.

“You obviously lack the background to appreciate the genius of this design, though, if you feel my masterpiece should be slashed to tiny pieces. It would destroy the delicate balance of my genius. Like all peasants, you cannot see past the end of your nose.”

Jake motioned to Nadeen to stay still as she started to argue.

Muzaffer stood up abruptly.

“I believe we are done here,” he stated, and stalked toward the door. “We will be leaving in the morning; please arrange for my travel to Pungar Vees.”

“Of course, Artificer,” smiled Jake. “I will be happy to.”

His two assistants, Sefika and Fron, rose with him. The young man, Fron, followed the artificer to the door, but stopped when she saw that Sekifa had not moved.

“Sefika?”

“I will not be accompanying Artificer Muzaffer,” she said quietly.

“You’re staying here?

“Yes. You are now first assistant.”

Fron smiled, bared his teeth, spun and trotted after his master without another word. He was delighted.

Sefika stood silently, staring at the empty doorway.

“Please, sit, Mistress Sefika,” invited Nadeen.

After a pause, she did, and turned to face Jake.

“And now I work for you, Commander.”

“Welcome to Scorpius Company, Artificer Sefika.”

“...thank you... I... Did you just call me ‘artificer’?”

“Yes, I did. And you are.”

“But I have not completed my apprenticeship!”

“Ah, but you have, Artificer. You are now a journeyman, by Royal Grant,” said Jake, picking up a small scroll and untying the purple ribbon holding it tight.

He handed it to her, and she unrolled it slowly, hands trembling.

The simple sheet of parchment had a few short lines written on it in ink, followed by a huge and decorative signature, and a seal of red wax bearing the impression of King Kuranes.

She held it unrolled on the table, staring at it in disbelief as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I... You asked the King... Thank you, Commander!”

Jake smiled, nodded.

“You have been a pleasure to work with, Artificer. When you mentioned you would be willing to work with us instead of for us, it was the least we could do.”

“But won’t Artificer Muzaffer contest this?”

“Against King Kuranes?” laughed Nadeen. “I doubt he would be so foolish.”

“That’s... that’s quite a relief,” she said, with a small, tinny laugh. “I was a nervous wreck.”

“You’re one of us now, Artificer,” said Nadeen softly.

“Thank you. Thank you, Commander!”

“Maybe some hot tea would be good?” wondered Jake aloud. “Captain Ridhi!”

Ridhi must have been waiting right outside the door because she was there, with a fresh pot of steaming hot tea and new cups, as soon as he called.

She poured the cups herself, handing the first one to Sefika.

“Welcome, Artificer.”

Sefika took it gingerly, more from a sense of wonder than because it was hot.

“Thank you.”

After the fresh tea was distributed and the used cups cleaned up, Jake brought the meeting back on track.

“I’m glad you’re here to help. Artificer Muzaffer is no doubt an excellent architect, but it was obvious that he had little understanding of what we needed, or wanted. And he had no interest in listening to our suggestions.”

“I see you have kept a set of plans...”

“Of course. Much of his work is excellent: waterworks, sewerage, public baths—although they need to be scaled down a bit in both quality and quantity—housing, the guard, temples... he is a talented architect, but he never seemed to grasp the fact that this is really a just a town yet, at best, with perhaps one or two thousand people at most.”

“So this is my first job, then?”

“Yes. The waterworks and the broad layout are the most important parts. The temples will need to be OKed by the Godsworn, but they’ve already seen the initial sketches, and the samples. Once the stonework is done, pretty much everything else is built on top and can be changed later without too much problem. Keep in mind that we may want to expand in the future, and make sure that we can do it without having to rebuild what we already have.”

“I think you’re oversimplifying the problem, but I understand what you want.”

She pulled the general layout over, and pointed to the marketplace.

“This marketplace, for example. It’s enormous, but there are no trade routes here, or even very near. The closest cities are two days’ travel, at least, and have little interest in the goods we might provide.

“I think it would be more reasonable to assume something on the scale of the market in Cadharna, albeit a little better organized.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Jake. “With room to grow.”

He tapped the temple complex, a walled area with the two temples inside.

“The temples are also far too large. No doubt the Godsworn would be delighted, but they’d have to bring in a lot more people to run temples of that size, and that’d probably boost the population a good deal. After a couple years I think we’d be a city for real, not a village.”

“Agreed,” said Nadeen. “The Godsworn are paying for most of the temple costs, but even so... these are enormous! We could build something far more modest, and it would still be a vast improvement over the wooden temples they’re building in Cadharna. Probably as good or better than most temples in the cities, for that matter, because we can build it from scratch.

“Suppose we make this... and this... and here... all future expansions, and just start with these sections?” suggested Sefika, pointing to the drawings as she spoke. “We can leave the land empty for now, or just make it a garden, and let the temples build them later if they want to.”

“I like it!” said Nadeen. “And if we give the entire temple complex its own wall, we won’t have to care too much what they build in there... putting it off a few years is a great idea. If the town grows as we think it will—and Fort Danryce with it—then it’ll make sense to go ahead with the temple expansions, and if not...”

“If not it would mean we have other problems,” said Jake. “Or we’re dead.”

“You said you’d ask Chuang about a memory stick, so we could show the Godsworn pictures of the temples instead of architectural drawings,” said Nadeen.

“Still plan to.”

“So, do you want to show them the drawings piecemeal as Sefina makes them, and maybe the images later? Or wait until we can do it all at once?”

Jake pursed his lips.

“...not sure which would be better,...” he said. “If they can understand the drawings, the sooner the better, so we can get their feedback and ideas soonest, but I don’t want to get them all upset, either.”

Sefina scrabbled through the drawings, searching.

“Wait a sec...”

She pulled out the drawing of the temples.

“Yes, as I thought... neither of these has underground rooms, only connections to the waterworks. If they don’t need anything underground then we can change the temple design pretty easily. Have to make foundations, of course, but that’s about all.

“There’s no real need to fix the temple design right now.”

“You’re right! We can put it off until much later, and it might take a year or so to get the underlying stonework done anyway. But I will ask them how they feel about drawings, and if they’re happy, then we can get them started on finalizing their temples, and start collecting all the fancy rocks.

“Let’s make new drawings first, though, to indicate the parts we plan to build now, and the possible additions for later. I don’t want them to decide to build a massive temple complex right from the start!”

“Understood, Commander. I’ll get some more paper,” said Sefina.

 

* * *

 

The Horsemaster bent down low over the horse’s neck as it galloped, enjoying the smooth ripple of muscles, the breeze on her face, the warm musk of her steed’s sweat.

She could hear the other horses following, spreading out into a narrow wedge trailing the leader like the wake of a boat.

“Good, Meatball, good! Now tell Thunder to cut in from the other side,” she whispered into his ear. “Thunder, go!”

The horse cried out, a strange combination of whinny and grunt, and Horsemaster Turan lifted her head to see the other column of horses, led by a young, pitch-black stallion, turn towards them, racing to meet them on the wide plain.

Between them was a twelve of archers, bows taut with arrows ready to fire at the oncoming stampede.

The thunder of the horse’s hooves grew louder as the two columns approached each other, finally coming into arrow range.

The archers aimed, held position, waiting for their targets to close...

and the charging horses broke off abruptly, veering right to encircle the archers, gradually slowing down until they came to a trot, a walk, halting to whinny and snort in suppressed excitement.

“Very impressive, Horsemaster!” called Captain Ekene, waving his archers to lower their bows. “If I hadn’t been expecting it we would have been terrified. I think I was terrified even so!”

“You have no pikes, Captain,” she laughed. “These horses would have ridden right over you!”

“I think you underestimate the power of our bows,” he replied. “We could reach the horses with many shafts before you got this far.”

“Yes, but even if you get lucky and manage to hit one of my steeds, it’s still charging right at you... and when eight hundred or a thousand kilograms of horse hits your line, dead or alive, it’s going to make a hole.”

“Oh, it would have cost us, to be sure, but I think it would have cost your horses more,” he said. “Good practice for my archers, though! It’s not every day they get to survive a cavalry charge unscathed.”

“And good for my horses, too... they have followed my orders to attack, and not suffered an injury. Now to feed them and reinforce the lesson.”

She slid down off of Meatball—a chestnut stallion—and pulled an apple out of her bag.

He nuzzled her, whickering softly as he reached for the fruit.

She held it out on the palm of her hand, scratching his cheek with the other.

“You did well, Meatball. Thank you,” she said quietly. “Now let me feed everyone else, you greedy boy!”

He bounced his head up and down, baring his teeth. His idea of laughter, she knew.

She walked through the herd, patting and praising all of the horses one by one, helping them relax after the excitement of the charge.

Only Meatball and Thunder were intelligent enough to teach complex commands—on the level of a good sheepdog—but the rest were young, active horses full of curiosity and humor. And as far as horses went, pretty smart, too.

The breeding program was proving to be a success, much as they had hoped. She and Master Chuang had worked on the broodmares and their offspring together, Chuang working his magic on the yet-unborn and she raising the colts with love and training. No, not training: education!

Meatball and Thunder were the first two, and ready to go to work. And there were seven younger colts following in their footsteps, with more on the way.

Pity about Storm... he had seemed perfect in every way, and then that black slime... she shuddered.

Master Chuang was expected shortly, and they planned to make the final decisions together: to release the two stallions to battle service, or to keep them close at hand to lead the herd, and serve as teachers for the younger ones.

The two still hadn’t claimed leadership of the herd—obviously only one stallion could be leader, and they’d have to work it out themselves—and neither one had attracted the attention of the alpha mare yet, either. She expected herd structure to change dramatically within a month or two, at the latest, as they gained confidence and began to compete with each other, and with the current herd leader, an older but “dumb” stallion named Cloud.

She wasn’t worried about the outcome; it was unlikely any of the horses would be seriously injured in the process, and it really made little difference whether Meatball or Thunder ended up on top. Personally she thought it would be Meatball, but she had no experience with what intelligent horses might do.

Neither did anyone else.

It might be better to split them into two herds, and run them in different areas of the grassland... she’d have to see what Master Chuang thought. With all the horses they’d been sending out with the twelves, the herds were not as large as she would have liked, and she thought she’d rather keep them all together for now.

The only question was whether Meatball and Thunder could work together with each other after one of them became herd leader.

“Captain, I’m going to take the horses down to the river now. Tomorrow I hope we can try that hunt-and-seek exercise we talked about.”

“Have a good swim, Horsemaster!” called Captain Ekene. “We’ll meet you at the main gate at the Hour of the Advancing Dragon, or down here at the Standing Stone at the Hour of the Dragon.”

“The Standing Stone is best for me, I think... I want to get the horses warmed up a bit before we start.”

“See you then,” he nodded.

The Standing Stone was an ancient monument erected in the grasslands untold centuries ago. Nobody knew who had erected it, or why, and the glyphs inscribed on its black granite surface were almost entirely weathered to illegibility.

It was visible from quite a distance, however, standing tall over the shallow hills and lush grasses of the plains. It was an ideal place to meet, and one of the few fixed locations in the grasslands.

She decided to ride Thunder this time, and checked the harness and girth before stepping up into the saddle. She had planned to get one of the twelves riding them, getting the horses used to riders and reins, but with all the troops out of the fort on one mission or another they were stretched awfully thin.

Captain Ekene would be heading back to the fort shortly to relieve Captain Nadeen’s twelve on fort guard duty.

Hopefully they’d be back soon—Chinh should be back today, after delivering supplies to Captain Long and wyverns, and Serilarinna or Beghara could be back anytime, in fact, but it was still unclear just where they were.

She’d just have to keep training them herself for now, until there were some troopers to help with the next stages of training. Borislaw of Eudoxia, the lancer now in Beghara’s twelve, had been enormously helpful, but he was off on a mission with Captain Beghara... In theory her twelve was to be cavalry, but unless they were here at the fort long enough to actually train together—which would take time—it’d never happen.

The river was an old one, one of the many tributaries feeding into the mighty Mnar. While young and wild closer to the mountains, it slowed and tired as it wended its way through the grasslands, twisting and looping down toward the River Mnar, and the sea.

The horses loved this spot, where the river widened into almost a lake, with a gentle, rock-strewn bank that sloped down to the deeper, colder water farther in.

She let them race, splash, graze on the clumps of grass and flowers spouting through the rocky ground, and drink their fill. It would be more drills later, but for now she wanted them to enjoy themselves.

 

* * *

 

“Party on the road!”

The shout rang out from the cliff wall where it overlooked the ruined slope gate. The roadway curving up the slope from the plain to the fort had once been blocked by a massive gate and walls, guarding against enemies from the grassland, but it was in ruins now. Nobody knew whether it had been toppled by enemies or merely fallen to the passing of time, but Jake had decided there was no point in trying to rebuild it with so few troops.

Nadeen’s twelve, on guard duty most of the time these days, had noticed the approaching party when it was still quite far out, but as it got closer they were able to identify captains Beghara and Seri.

“It’s Captain Beghara and Captain Serilarinna,” announced the guard to Nadeen as she came running. “Looks like both twelves are all there... and one extra? Damn raptors won’t stop running around, though; can’t count them properly. More than four, though.”

Nadeen took out her own telescope.

Yes, that was Beghara, and Seri, and there was TiTi.

She didn’t even see anyone limping, hard as that was to believe after the way the Beorhtwig and the airship had been cut up.

“Notify the Commander,” she ordered, and then leaned over so she could see the main gate. “Captains Beghara and Serilarinna coming through!”

The two guards at the main gate raised the counterbalanced pole that served as barrier during the day, and pushed the villager arguing with one of Ridhi’s people about the price of spinach out of the way.

Nadeen climbed down the ladder and walked over to greet them.

“Beghara! Seri! Welcome back! And not a trooper lost!”

“Not a single one,” smiled Seri. “We did lose two raptors, though... and of course we have injured.”

“But everyone’s walking,” added Beghara, “in spite of the fact that Seri smashed her way through an ambush for us.”

“An ambush!?”

“We took care of it, thanks to Roach.”

“Roach? Why was Roach with you?”

“Yeah, good question... he says we need to ask the Commander about that, and I intend to,” said Seri.

She turned to her twelve.

“Dismissed, everyone. Hit the barracks, the bath, and the bar.

“Sergeant, I want you with me. You and the Commander are going to tell me what’s going on.”

“Captain? You coming?”

Nadeen shook her head. “No, I just left Jake a little while ago... My twelve is on duty now and I need to be here with them. I’ll catch up later.”

“Ale tonight?”

“Done,” agreed Beghara. “Seri? You too?”

“Sure, I’m in,” said Seri. “Girls’ night!”

Laughing, they walked to Jake’s quarters.

He was waiting at the door.

“Good to see you all back safe,” he said. “We can do this later this afternoon after you clean up, if you like.”

“No, I’d rather do it as soon as possible, while everything’s still fresh,” said Seri.

“Good, I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, ushering them in. “Captain Ridhi! Tea all around!”

He led them into the meeting room.

Seri dropped a sheaf of paper onto the table: sketches of the fort, and other details.

“We were worried that the eagles had gotten you, too, Seri,” he said.

“They didn’t even see us,” said Seri. “Beghara told me what happened to Beorhtwig and wyverns. And Captain Ekene’s archers: one dead, one badly injured!”

“Beorhtwig’s out with the wyverns now, in spite of his injuries. Captain Long says they won’t eat anything unless he’s with them, and the Healer said it’d probably be alright. The airship flew him out the other day—the same day you left, in fact, Beghara.”

“So that’s what it was doing,” she said. “It flew right past us; we wondered why, since Captain Chinh was taking all the supplies there already.”

“Aercaptain de Palma and his crew are getting some well-deserved rest now... they did a magnificent job, and need time to recover. The airship needs repairs, too.

“So what happened to you?”

Seri gave a detailed commentary of their journey, mentioning the giant snake in passing and concentrating most on the Ibizim they had encountered—Lonagon of Y’barra—and Bleth itself. Together with TT and Kareem, she explained all the drawings, adding details of various things they’d noticed or guessed.

They’d already written down much of their observations, and Jake was writing everything down as they spoke now... his new pencils seemed to be working well.

“Well, we knew Bleth was big already,” he sighed, “but I would have been happier if it weren’t quite this big. That’s a hell of a lot more than we can handle...

“So what about these Ibizim? I thought they were just in the desert?”

“We talked to Yargui about that,” said Seri. “They’re the same people, just they ended up living in the mountains instead. The language and traditions are all the same; they are allies, of course. She has no idea where Y’barra might be, except that it’s somewhere in the Mohaggers, and probably half underground like the desert Ibizim.”

“So there’re tunnels under the Mohagger Mountains, too?”

“I’d guess so,” said Beghara. “We know there’s an underground city down there, and the Bagatur said it must have had quite a population before Nyogtha came. If they bothered to dig a tunnel here, makes sense they’ve got tunnels in other places, too.

“I asked Nurbolat—the Ibizim in my twelve—if he knew anything more and he said no.”

“Just like in the desert,” mused Jake. “Except that those tunnels were mostly unused, except for animals, whereas the tunnel Bagatur Khasar explored was used by Nyogtha... and maybe they all are, out here.

“The Bagatur is on patrol out through Cadharna and the southern tip of the range; should be back this evening. I think we need to talk to him for some more information.“

“Why didn’t you bring Trooper Kareem? He knows the fort better than anyone, right?”

“I thought it might be better to keep this between us, for now.”

“This?”

“Commander, what was Roach doing there?”

Jake laughed.

“Surprised you, did he?”

“To say the least... so you knew about it?”

“Oh, yes. I didn’t tell TT, though, or anyone else... only people that knew were Roach, Nadeen, and me.”

“Why?”

“He asked me. He said he could follow any of my captains without being seen, and bring back a full report. So I told him to prove it.

“Judging from your surprise, and the fact that he detected and prevented the ambush, I’d say he succeeded.”

“Oh, yes, he certainly did. And since he was there at the same time, he may have seen things that we didn’t note, and I’d advise debriefing him as well.”

“I fully intend to, and I’ll also meet with Roach and TT separately to discuss other matters.”

“Good,” said Seri. “He damn sure surprised the hell out of me, and everyone in my twelve, too. We didn’t spot any sign that we were being observed, and even worse, neither did the raptors! We’ve sort of been lured into thinking that they would be the perfect watchdogs, but clearly they aren’t.”

“Yeah, that occurred to me, too,” said Beghara. “We really need to debrief the raptors, except of course that we can’t because we can’t communicate fully. At the very least, though, we must talk to Roach and find out how he did it, and how to prevent it in the future.”

“Or if it can’t be prevented, well, we need to know that, too,” commented Jake. “Good point.

“OK, let’s do that in the morning, then. Say, Hour of the Snake? I want to see Roach, you two, Kareem... who else?”

“I’d like to hear what Mudge has to say, but that’s just not very effective.”

“You know, we really need someone with experience raising and training raptors. Cornelia, Mudge and the other two can understand us, which is enormously helpful. But we can’t understand them hardly at all. If we could really communicate it would be incredibly useful.”

“The Zarites are known for their bows and their raptors... I think we should have Captain Ekene join us tomorrow, and ask him to bring someone who really understands raptors. If there is anyone.”

“Can we talk about Mudge in front of Kareem and Roach?

“Good point. I suspect everyone already knows, one way or another, but we might as well try,” said Jake. “So we talk about Bleth and how he avoided the raptors first, with Ekene, and then we can talk about communicating with Mudge later.”

“Well, can we really get any useful information from her? Or Cornelia?”

“Let me talk to Ekene today, and see what he thinks. If he says we should bring Mudge in, I will,” decided Jake. “So, the full debrief on Bleth and Roach at the Hour of the Snake, and then a meeting on communicating with Mudge at the Hour of the Horse.

“OK, what else?”

“We never did find out who left Bleth. The mysterious purple pennant,” said Seri.

“Pity you couldn’t see more of it,” said Beghara. “Means nothing to me, though.”

“Put the word out to the troops and see if anyone has a clue. Even a rumor would be a start. Be sure not to mention where we saw it, of course... that stays secret.”

“That it for now?”

“I think so. I’m done,” said Seri.

“Me too,” agreed Beghara.

“OK, thank you all.

“I’ll see you back here tomorrow morning, then,” nodded Jake. “Would one of you arrange to have Captain Ekene drop by at his convenience?”

“I’ll tell him,” said Beghara. “I have to talk to him about something anyway.”

 

* * *

 

Bagatur Khasar returned to Fort Danryce shortly after sunset, approach through the darkening sky slowly and noisily to alert the guards. His twelve was on foot, and dead tired after a two-day patrol through forest and mountain terrain.

He was accompanied by four unknown people—two women, two men— and took pains to escort with respect. He guided them to the meeting room, requesting refreshments for his guests, and sent one of his troopers to fetch the Commander.

Jake arrived in minutes.

“Bagatur Khasar, welcome back,” he said, entering the room to see the Bagatur and the four visitors seated comfortably, with untouched tea and fruit in front of them.

“Commander,” replied Khasar. “Allow me to introduce Matriarch Biwashaa.”

The eldest of the four visitors nodded her head: “Biwashaa of Y’barra.”

“Jake of Penglai. Welcome, Matriarch.”

He carefully poured a cup of fresh spring water, and holding it with the fingertips of both hands, passed it to the Matriarch. She accepted it, holding the cup the same way, and drank.

Jake repeated the ceremony for each of the four Ibizim, naming himself and receiving their namings in turn.

Once the ceremony was done he could relax, talk freely, and invite them to enjoy the tea and fruit. Nadeen entered and joined them. He’d already waived the usual pricking test, to make sure they weren’t Flayed Ones.

“This is the first time that any of Y’barra have visited Fort Danryce,” he said.

“The fort, yes,” answered the Matriarch, “but not the first time to be on these grounds... the Ibizim came here long ago, once, in anger.”

“Ah. The Ibizim, then, destroyed the monastery?”

“Yes. And its hideous masters.”

“You speak of Nyogtha.”

“We do not mouth that name. Yes, the Haunter of the Red Abyss, and its Stain. We purged them, and thought the monastery abandoned for good.”

“It is no longer a monastery, as you have seen.”

“We watched you come, and worried that the Haunter’s minions had returned, but your actions proved you were not a worshipper. You survived Thuba Mleen’s attack, and defeated even a Flayed One. The deciding factor was the presence of Ibizim among your troops.”

“What deciding factor?”

“Whether to actively work with you or not.”

“I see,” said Jake, taking a sip of tea to give himself time to think. “And since you’re here, I see you have decided we are trustworthy.”

“We have.”

“I noticed that you introduced yourself as Matriarch Biwashaa of Y’barra... May I ask, do you represent Y’barra, or all of the Ibizim of the Mohagger Mountains?”

“I believe you have met Matriarch Geriel of the Ibizim of the Desert, Commander, have you not?”

“I have.”

“I represent Y’barra, but all of the Ibizim of the Mohagger Mountains have agreed with me. Y’barra is closest to your fort, and situated roughly between it and Bleth.”

“Where, I wonder?”

“Wonder away,” she laughed. “We hold our secrets close.”

“When you speak of the Mohaggers, what extent do you mean?”

“The entire range from Drinen and Tsun in the east to Poltarnees and Arvle Woondery in the west.”

“You are already working with the King.”

“We have been for many years, as I believe Matriarch Geriel explained.”

It was Jake’s turn to laugh.

“It seems Matriarch Geriel has been talking about me.”

“I was tasked with judging how far we should go in that cooperation, Commander. And after recent events, including the unexpected encounter between one of your Ibizim troopers and Lonagon of Y’barra, it was clear that we may walk this path together.”

“I thank you for your trust, Matriarch. Your knowledge of the mountains, and of Thuba Mleen’s forces, will be invaluable.”

She nodded.

“How do you suggest we proceed?” asked Jake.

“Perhaps it would be a good idea to ask for her assistance in detailing our maps,” suggested the Bagatur. “The Matriarch knows every aspect of these mountains, and would vastly improve them.”

“An excellent idea, thank you.”

“I agree,” said the Matriarch. “I will arrange for an experienced hunter to come tomorrow, to work with your mapmaker.”

“Thank you, Matriarch. That would be wonderful. And what can we do for the Ibizim in return?”

“There is one thing, actually, that I have been pressed to ask,” she replied. “Your fort continues to grow, as does the village below the cliff, but hunting in the mountains has increased dramatically as a result. Too many of our ibexes are being killed.

“You have easy access to the lush plains of the Mnar; we would ask that you raise your own cattle and sheep there, and leave the mountains to us.”

“A reasonable request, Matriarch. I can promise that my troops will no longer hunt in the mountains, but it will be more difficult to restrain the people of Cadharna.”

“Cadharna was never a problem in the past, and is unlikely to become one. The situation has changed because of your garrison.”

“You have my word.”

“Thank you.”

They fell quiet for a moment, sipping their tea.

“You have a sunstone,” said the Matriarch, looking at the sunstone in its container, casting bright sunlight over the meeting room table.

“We do. The Bagatur brought it back, at great cost.”

“Back? Back from where?”

“You didn’t know? The tunnel? The Haunter?”

“Tunnel? What tunnel?”

Jake turned to Bagatur Khasar.

“Bagatur, maybe you should take over. Tell her what happened.”

The Bagatur told her of their exploration of the tunnel, and what they had discovered—the underground city, built by the lizard people but abandoned to the black slime of Nyogtha, their sacrifice and escape, the sunstones, and the final filling-in of the tunnel.

“So there was a tunnel after all,...” said the Matriarch finally. “The tales told of a tunnel, but there was no mention of it being found, or destroyed. And you have done both.

“The city... tell me of the city!”

The Bagatur described it in detail, still beautiful even abandoned by its builders for so long, overgrown and wild: the ornate buildings, the statuary, the spacious estates and parks.

“Truly, that is the Home of the Shining Star... we once lived there, generations ago... long after the Children of the Night left my people lived there, until the Stain came. Nobody I know of has ever seen it, although many have tried to find it. The tunnels are forgotten, or destroyed—as you destroyed yours.

“Once they were protected by star-stones, but as the star-stones were destroyed or stolen, the tunnels became too dangerous to use, and were lost. How many star-stones do you possess?”

“How many what? Star-stones?” Jake was at a loss.

“The five-pointed star-stones of Mnar! Carved from a rough, gray stone in various sizes, they are marked with the hieroglyphs of the Elder Gods, and protect against the dholes, the Voormis, the Tcho-Tcho, and other foul creatures.”

“Star-stones,...” mused Jake. “Bagatur Khasar, why didn’t you mention them?”

“They are so rare, almost legendary... I didn’t...”

“The Bagatur has probably never seen one,” said the Matriarch. “Could we but find the ancient quarry of Mnar we could, perhaps, fashion more, but the quarry itself has been lost to time.”

“So a star-stone would keep Flayed Ones out of the fort?”

“Oh, yes. And much more.”

“I think I’ll have a chat with Chuang next time he comes,” said Jake “And maybe Chóng, too.”

“They are very rare,” advised the Matriarch, “and expensive.

“In these times sunstones are also so very rare and expensive,” she said, looking at the radiant globe. “The luminous lichen makes it possible to see in Xinaián, but do not provide enough light for our crops to thrive. Sunstones bring all the energy of the sun to our caverns.”

“Captain Nadeen, would you bring six sunstones for the Matriarch?” asked Jake.

Six! You have six more sunstones!?” gasped the Matriarch.

“The Bagatur brought back many, and I would be pleased if you would accept half a dozen as a sign of our friendship.”

“A priceless gift indeed! Not only your friendship, but six sunstones would be enough to buy a kingdom!”

“I have a King,” replied Jake, “and no need of a kingdom. I could use a star-stone, though... do you think that someone might trade one for a sunstone?”

“Quite possibly. If you can find someone with a star-stone who is willing part with it...”

A portion of the sunstones were kept in Jake’s quarters, and it only took Nadeen a few minutes to bring them back.

She handed them to Jake in a reed basket, who in turn presented offered it to the Matriarch.

“In thanks for your friendship, and in the hope that these may contribute to the continued prosperity of the Ibizim.”

“We accept your friendship and your gift with our deepest thanks,” replied Matriarch Biwashaa. “In return, let me offer you some information you may find useful.

“Bagatur, I believe you are familiar with the peak called Foxnose?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I think, if you approach carefully, you will find a detachment of Thuba Mleen’s troops on the eastern flank, in a small grove. They’re scouting the region, looking for a good place to set up a new observation post.”

“Mount Foxnose,” thought Khasar aloud. “If I’m not mistaken, there is only one direct route from there to the fort, although there are other routes that are far longer. How many are they? And do you know when they expect to move?”

“A six. They will move in the deepest part of the night, at the Hour of Advancing Tiger.”

The Bagatur turned to Jake.

“Commander, with your permission I would like to make ready for them. My twelve is just back from patrol, but we saw no action. They’re ready.”

Jake considered whether it would be better to send Khasar or another captain, but decided it would be best to show confidence in his Ibizim.

“Take care of it, Bagatur. Use horses to reach the vicinity.”

He turned to the Matriarch.

“Matriarch, may I ask one of your guards to accompany them, to make sure they reach the right spot in time?”

“Of course. Taluaat, guide them there, and back again if they require it. Return to Y’barra after.”

The younger male guard nodded.

“I am at your command, Bagatur,” he said, “but will require the loan of a horse if I am to accompany you.”

“Bagatur Khasar, provide Trooper Taluaat with a horse when you ride. Go.”

He left with the Matriarch’s man.

“I believe we shall also take our leave, Commander,” said the Matriarch. “There is yet much to discuss, but perhaps those discussions should involve other people not present today.”

“Indeed,” agreed Jake. “We look forward to them.

“Allow me to provide an escort...”

“That will not be necessary,” said the Matriarch, cutting him off. “Merely lead us outside your walls; that will be sufficient.”

“As you wish, Matriarch,” acquiesced Jake, and stood.

“In that case, allow me to escort you to the main gate.”

Shortly after the Matriarch and her two guards left the fort, the Bagatur’s twelve trotted through on horseback, together with the Ibizim trooper.

“Good luck, Bagatur,” called Jake.

“We don’t need luck,” smiled Khasar. “We are Ibizim!”

 

* * *

 

Beorhtwig leaned on his cane. One of Sergeant Long’s troopers had made it for him from a handy sapling with a useful bend in it, and it fit him perfectly. They’d even whittled a sort of wyvern-like shape into the knob on top, although you had to use your imagination to see it.

His side still hurt every time he breathed, let alone tried to walk.

He hobbled over to Flogdreka and collapsed next to his head.

One eye opened to see who it was, and closed again as he stroked the wyvern’s head.

He took a chunk of fresh deer liver from his bag and waved it under the wyvern’s nose, rewarded with a quiet rumble from somewhere deep inside. The wyvern’s maw gaped wide, and he threw it in, gratified to see it vanish in an instant.

“Eat, Flogdreka, eat and get better.”

He turned to face Fæger, who had awoken and was watching his hands closely, waiting for more delicious liver to appear.

He pulled out another chunk and lobbed it to her. She caught it neatly, and made it vanish as quickly as Flogdreka had swallowed his.

“So are you two going to eat a proper meal now, or do I have to keep feeding you liver all day?”

Flogdreka gave a low grumble of displeasure and Fæger just closed her eyes; if there was no more liver she might as well go back to sleep.

“Can you slit it open down the belly, and bring it over here?” he called to Kassandros. “Better yet, drag it over and cut it here, so we don’t lose any blood.”

Kassandros, one of Long’s young troopers, grabbed the fresh-killed deer the hunting party had just brought in, calling to the other guard.

“Hey, Mahud! Gimme a hand here, will ’ya? Carcass is damn heavy.”

The other stood, brushing the dirt off his tunic.

“What’s a matter, Kassandros? Too heavy for you?”

“Fuck you, Mahud. Any time you wanna wrestle just speak right up.”

“Bah, wrestling. Young pups like you always think wrestling proves something.”

“Younger than you, true, although that wouldn’t be too tough seeing how old you are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said the other, taking the other leg. “Ready?”

They dragged the doe over close to Fæger, and turned the carcass so the belly faced her.

“That’s good, yeah. Right in her face. Give her something delicious to look at.”

As Beorhtwig asked, they dragged it up to within an arm’s reach of the wyvern’s nose. Kassandros pulled his dagger, punching it through the deer’s hide, then using both hands to saw up the belly, blood and guts spurting out of the wound.

Fæger’s head moved suddenly, and Kassandros jumped back, almost losing his balance.

“It’s OK, she won’t bite you,” laughed Ginette, silently observing the wyverns. “Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Thanks, that’s very comforting.”

Fæger’s jaw closed gingerly on the doe’s rear leg, and slowly, ever so slowly, pulled it closer. The wyvern sniffed the blood, and then her head snapped forward, jaws snapped shut, and half the deer was gone. She crunched bone once, twice, three times, swallowed noisily, and gobbled down the rest of the deer in another snap, half throwing it up into the air to fit it into her mouth better.

The deer was gone, only bloody earth left to show where it had lain... it couldn’t have taken more than a minute.

“Maybe I’ll just keep away from that thing, if it’s alright with you,...” said Kassandros slowly. “You sure it doesn’t eat people?”

“No worries. They just nibble here and there, maybe a finger at a time,” said Beorhtwig. “Quite friendly.”

“Yeah, sure... you want another deer for the other one, too?”

“Oh, please, thanks, that’d be great.”

As Kassandros slowly backed away from Fæger, Beorhtwig collapsed on the ground next to her, leaning against her enormous head, and patted her on the cheek. She flicked her tongue out, long, thick, and forked, and licked his arm.

“Finally, I think they’re on the road to recovery,” said Ginette. “I was worried there for awhile.”

“Yeah, me too,” replied Beorhtwig. “Thank you for getting them to let me out here.”

“I don’t think they’d have pulled through without you. They just refused everything. Maybe they thought you were dead.”

“Not dead, thank goodness, but not very lively right now, either.”

“I think maybe they saved your life as much as you saved theirs.”

He laughed.

“Could be! C’mere, Ginette, let me introduce you to Fæger properly.”

* * *

Jake opened his eyes.

The room was black, only the faintest glow visible through the window, the light of the oil lamp burning near the kitchen dozens of meters distant. The moon was almost full, but there was heavy cloud cover, and most of the fort would be pitch black.

What had wakened him?

He listened, not moving.

He could sense Nadeen next to him, and her breathing was as quiet as his—she wasn’t sleeping, either. She must have sensed the same thing that had awakened up.

He slowly moved his left hand toward her, creeping until it encountered her own. Fingers touched, pressed.

Yes, she was awake and alert, too.

There! He heard the faintest rustle of cloth, the swish of something through the air, a muffled grunt of surprise... or pain.

Ever so quietly he rose from the futon, grasping his sword with one hand and his Glock in the other. He saw Nadeen moving in the darkness out of the corner of his eye.

They didn’t bother getting dressed.

They’d talked about this possibility, and Nadeen knew what to do. She reached into the box next to the door and pulled out something, glanced at Jake, raised an eyebrow.

He nodded.

She kicked the door open, rolled out what was in her hand, and leapt out with Jake.

The sunstone, removed from the water that kept it dormant, rolled across the dirt. As it dried off it began to shine brighter and brighter until it shone with all the brilliance of the noonday sun, revealing four black-clad bodies, splashes of blood, swords and daggers... and a fifth black-clad figure staring at them in surprise, kneeling on one leg while wrapping a bandage around her arm.

It was Ridhi Chabra.

She slowly stood, looking at Jake steadily.

Keeping his eyes and the pistol trained on her, he waved Nadeen forward with his sword.

“Disarm her and bring her inside.”

Nadeen, her own sword out, approached cautiously as Ridhi pulled the bandage tight with her other hand and her teeth, then held her good hand up, palm out and fingers splayed to show she was unarmed.

“Turn around. Slowly,” commanded Nadeen, staying out of reach. “Drop that bag.”

Ridhi did as ordered, pulling the strap of the bag over her head and dropping it on the ground.

“Step away from the bag, in that direction,” said Nadeen, gesturing with her free hand. “Now strip.”

Ridhi was wearing a tight-fitting black tunic and pants, belted tightly to her body. With her good hand she carefully loosened her belt and let it drop to the ground, pulled open her tunic. Using only the one hand she managed to tear off her clothes, finally letting them fall atop the belt.

Other than a small pouch hanging from her neck she was naked.

“The pouch. Drop it.”

She pulled the cord over her head and let the pouch drop.

“Commander? What’s the problem?”

It was a voice from one of the guards on the wall, the night watch.

“No problem, trooper!” called back Jake. “Just checking on something...”

He lowered his voice again.

“OK, we are all going inside my quarters now. I am going to back up slowly, and you are going to come after me. Do not move suddenly, and do not approach me, or Nadeen. I will shoot you.

“Nadeen, follow her in. Keep your distance, and pick up the sunstone on the way.”

He took a step backwards, and the two women followed in a slow-step dance.

Inside, he waved her to a chair—one of the few chairs in the room, generally only used by older visitors who had trouble getting up off the floor—and told her to sit. Nadeen placed the sunstone in the pan on the center table, half-filled with water to reduce the radiance to a reasonable level, then bound Ridhi to the chair with leather cord.

Jake kept the pistol aimed at Ridhi’s face the whole time.

Once their prisoner was safely bound, he laid the pistol down on the table and sat next to it.

“Who’s the guard captain tonight, Nadeen?”

“Captain Beghara.”

“Call to the guard and have her come here.”

Nadeen stuck her head out of the door and called up to the night watch to summon Beghara, then returned to stand behind Ridhi, sword still unsheathed.

It was a small fort: she came running in under a minute, sliding to a stop when she saw the bodies in front of Jake’s quarters.

“Commander?”

“In here, Captain,” he called.

She stepped inside, axe in hand, and stopped again when she saw Ridhi Chabra tied to the chair.

“Would you drag those bodies inside for a minute? And then we can talk.”

Beghara nodded and carefully leaned her axe against the wall, just outside the door. It took her only a few minutes to drag the corpses inside, one in each hand, two trips plus a third trip to pick up the abandoned weapons and one left-over hand.

“Now, then,” said Jake. “Suppose you tell us just what’s going on here, Ridhi Chabra.”

“They were assassins sent to kill you. I killed them first.”

“You’re all dressed in black; how do I know you’re not an assassin, too?”

“Compare the clothing. They’re amateurs.”

“Suggesting that you are not,” said Jake, picking up his pistol again. He stepped carefully around the room to get a closer look at the bodies, and her discarded clothing.

“There is elastic in your clothing,” he said, stretching it with his fingers.

Next to him, Beghara quickly checked the four bodies, then held up the hand of one of the men. It was missing the ring finger.

“They’re all missing their ring fingers,” she said. “Thuba Mleen’s fanatics.”

The most fervent of Thuba Mleen’s followers, those who swore their lives to him and believed him a god, cut off their own fingers to demonstrate their faith. Most chose the ring finger, as losing it had the least effect on their grip when holding a weapon.

“You still have all your fingers, Ridhi.”

“Yes. I’m not one of his people. I killed them to protect you, and Nadeen.”

Jake sat down on the table again.

“You’re answering very promptly for a spy...”

“I think I can be prompt and honest, or dead.”

“I think you’re right. So tell me, why are you wandering around outside my quarters in the middle of the night protecting us?”

“I’ve been protecting every night,” she said.

“Hmm. And here I thought you were wounded and unable to walk without limping.”

She sighed.

“My limp is long healed,” she admitted.

“And?”

Ridhi’s silence stretched for a long minute, until

“...and I work for Mistress Mochizuki.”

“Do you normally reveal that to people you spy on?” Jake’s voice was very quiet, conversational.

Ridhi shook her head.

“If you believe I work for Thuba Mleen I am dead; if you believe I work for the Mistress I may live, but only if I convince you that I am not an enemy.”

“Nadeen?”

“Collecting information is what Mochizuki does. I figured she had a spy here. Probably more than one.”

“Captain Beghara?”

“Me, too. Wonder where her loyalties lie, though...”

“Good point,” agreed Jake. “So how long have you been spying for Mochizuki?”

“After I joined Captain Feng’s twelve... And afterwards, when I was recovering in Thace, I was approached again. They promised me that you’d keep me on.”

“She promised you that I would keep you on!?”

Sputtering, Jake tried to recall where the idea had come from to employ Ridhi Chabra. He hadn’t even begun thinking about the future back then, really... he and Nadeen were just doing what Chóng told them to.

Had Chóng suggested it? He didn’t think anyone had suggested anything, but... then why could Mochizuki promise Ridhi employment?

He’d have to talk to Nadeen about that later, in private. She’d helped him develop his plans.

“Are you the only spy here?”

Ridhi shrugged, winced in pain from her wounded arm.

“As far as I know. I thought Roach might approach me with some message, but he never has. And I’ve never seen anyone else.”

“So if not Roach, then who does bring you messages? And carry them?”

“I don’t know. There’s an empty hole in a tree near Cadharna, and we exchange messages that way. But I was told to never watch to see who else uses it, and I never have.”

“What about Aashika Chabra, in Seri’s twelve? She’s what, your sister? Is she a spy too?”

“She’s my cousin, and no, she does not. As far as I know.”

Jake thought for a moment.

“Captain Beghara, have someone wake Seri, and bring her here. Find out where Aashika Chabra is and have her brought here unarmed and under guard. Use Seri’s twelve if you need them.”

Beghara trotted out the door. Jake could hear her calling one of the night watch.

He turned back to Ridhi.

“So what are we going to do with you, Ridhi... I see three possibilities: kill you, throw you out, or pretend nothing happened.

“I think I need a drink, and I’d like to put some clothes on. Nadeen, you watch her a minute?”

“No problem, Jake. She’s not going anywhere.”

Jake grunted and put on tunic and sandals, keeping well away from Ridhi and making sure his Glock was close at hand at all times.

“OK, go get dressed, Nadeen,” he said, strapping on his leather holster.

“Commander?”

It was Serilarinna, at the door.

“Come in, Seri,” he invited. “We have a little problem you need to know about.”

Stepping inside, Seri halted when she saw Ridhi bound to the chair.

“Beghara didn’t tell you anything?”

“No, only to report to you at once...”

“Well, Ridhi here says she killed those assassins over there, and is one of Mochizuki’s spies.”

Seri looked at the piled bodies, then back to Jake.

“And her cousin is in my twelve,” she said finally.

“Yes. Aashika Chabra will be here shortly. Ridhi says she doesn’t know of any other of Mochizuki’s spies here, and that her cousin is not a spy.”

“As far as I know,” interjected Ridhi quietly.

“As far as she knows,” echoed Jake. “Get you some tea?”

Seri remained standing, looking at Ridhi with a frown.

“No thanks.”

Jake poured one for himself and another for Nadeen, who had hurriedly dressed and rejoined them.

Jake heard footsteps outside the door again, and turned to see Beghara and trooper Girardus escort Aashika Chabra into the room.

She stopped in surprise.

“Cousin Ridhi! What...?”

“Be quiet. Stand still,” commanded Jake, picking up his pistol again. “Trooper! Find Sergeant TT and have him report to me immediately, at my command. He is to wait outside. You will not tell him or anyone of anything you have seen or heard here today.”

Girardus, still taking in the unexpected scene in the Commander’s quarters, nodded and left.

“Beghara, strip and search her.”

“Ridhi, you are to remain silent. If you speak without my permission I will put a bullet through your leg,” said Jake. “Nadeen, strip and search her.”

Nadeen, sword at ready but not directly threatening—Jake’s pistol was fearsome enough—stepped over to Aashika and held out her hand.

“Your tunic, please.”

Bewildered and surrounded, Aashika slipped off her tunic and stood there, hiding herself.

“Any blood or other signs that she was in that fight?”

Nadeen signed to the woman to turn in place, staying out of Jake’s line of fire.

“None.”

“OK, she can get dressed again,” said Jake, and she did.

There was a knock on the door. It was Captain Ekene.

“Seems to be a lot of activity here tonight,” he said. “May I?”

“Enter,” replied Jake, waving him in. “Any other captains at the fort now?”

“No. Captains Long and Chinh are at the lake, and the Bagatur left on a raid.”

“Sit there, Trooper,” continued Jake to Aashika, pointing at a second chair.

Aashika sat, eyes wide.

“Trooper Aashika, tell us exactly where you were for the last three hours. In detail.”

“I... I was in the barracks, Commander. Sleeping! Just sleeping!”

“Was anyone with you?”

“No, of course not!”

“Who was in your room with you?”

“Just Yargui. Ndidi should have been, but she was, um, with a friend.”

“Captain Ekene, trooper Yargui is an Ibizim. Please question her as to Aashika’s whereabouts for the last three hours, and get back to me.”

“Yessir,” he snapped, and stepped out.

Jake turned back to Aashika.

“We will check your story, Aashika,” he said, “and if you have lied you will be executed. If you are telling the truth, however, there is something you should hear.

“Tell us everything again, Ridhi,” he ordered.

He listened carefully to see if her story changed at all, but it didn’t.

“Trooper Aashika, you’ve heard your cousin’s story. What say you?”

“I... I know nothing of this!” she said, shaking her head. “Ridhi left Shiroora Shan eight years before me; I know nothing of the Kingfishers.”

Jake cocked his head, looking into her eyes.

“I’m tempted to believe you, Trooper Aashika,” he said. “You know, I don’t think it’s a violation of bond to have two masters, but I’m pretty sure you have to tell them. And I’m also pretty sure that the punishment for failing to do so is death.”

Aashika nodded.

“So I’m going to ask you once. Have you given bond to Mochizuki, Thuba Mleen, or anyone else other than me?”

“Only you and Captain Beghara, Commander. No one else.”

“What do the rest of you think?” asked Jake, looking up at the assembled captains.

“Commander, Sergeant TiTi’s here,” broke in Beghara.

Jake walked over to the door and opened it to look outside.

He spoke through the crack in the door, holding it so that TT could not see inside his quarters at all.

“Sergeant, I want you to find Roach and bring him here immediately. Unarmed, if possible. Halt outside these quarters and call.”

“At once, Commander,” he replied, and trotted off toward the stables where Roach usually slept.

“So, we will know more in a few minutes,” said Jake. “Captain Serilarinna, Trooper Aashika is in your twelve. Do you have any questions for her?”

“Not yet, Commander. You asked the important one.”

Jake poured himself more water.

“More tea, anyone? Ridhi, do you want some tea?”

Silent, she just shook her head.

Nadeen refilled her cup, and everyone relaxed a bit, taking a breather.

Captain Ekene was the first one back.

“Trooper Yargui was sleeping, and until Captain Beghara burst into their quarters can’t confirm where Trooper Aashika might have been. She said that she usually wakes up when anyone enters or leaves the room, though, and believes her roommate was also asleep.”

“And you believe her?”

“I do.”

“Thank you, Captain. I’m waiting for Sergeant TT to bring Roach in for a chat; want to hear what he has to say. Tea?”

About five minutes later, TT called from outside.

“Commander? I’m here with Roach.”

“Seri, would you handle it?” asked Jake. “I don’t want to leave the room.”

Seilarinna stepped outside. They could hear her voice clearly.

“Thank you, Sergeant. Roach, we need to search you, and ask you some questions. Disarm.”

“I only have my dagger,” said Roach.

“Put it down. And your bag. Sergeant, wait here. Roach, inside please.”

The door opened and Roach stepped through.

“Come in, Roach,” invited Jake. “You are familiar with my Glock, I believe. You are very fast; my pistol is much faster.”

Roach’s eyes flicked around the room, memorizing every detail in an instant.

“Strip, please,” ordered Jake, lifting the Glock slightly.

Roach silently complied, dropping the only piece of clothing he was wearing, a simple dhoti around his waist. He stood, at ease, and pointed to the thin wire wrapped around one leg near the crotch, almost invisible. He turned to show that his gymnast’s body had nothing else to hide. No tattoos, all his fingers, and a few scars Jake hadn’t seen before.

“Thank you. Put the wire down, too, then get dressed, and sit there,” he directed. “Tell us, in detail, exactly where you have been for the last three hours.”

“I have been assisting the Horsemaster with a birth all night,” Roach said without hesitation. “The foal did not turn properly, and its hind feet were visible. We—the Horsemaster, two of her assistants, and myself—worked to assist with the birth. We saved the life of the broodmare.”

“But not the foal?”

“The foal was dead at birth.”

“I see... Have TT check that, would you?”

Seri, standing closest to the door, stepped outside to order Sergeant TT to ask the Horsemaster what Roach had been doing all night, and confirm the location and condition of the broodmare and the dead foal.

“I doubt that you’re lying,” said Jake, “because we can check your story so easily.

“You are here for training, but are bonded to Mistress Mochizuki.”

“Yes.”

“Are you aware of any of her agents here at the fort?”

“No, but I have no doubt that they are present. She is everywhere.”

“Do you believe that Captain Ridhi could be one of her agents?”

“It is possible, yes. I’ve seen no evidence of it, however.”

“And Trooper Aashika?”

“Less likely, but still possible.”

“Why do you say less likely?”

“Captain Ridhi is usually here at the fort, and so able to follow all developments here. Trooper Aashika often leaves on patrol and could be killed in combat at any time.”

Jake nodded.

“You’re pretty smart. Mistress Mochizuki teach you that?”

“No, Sergeant TiTi.”

“Hmph. He teach you how to answer questions, too?”

“Yessir.”

“Hmph,” he repeated. “What were your instructions for your time here at the fort?”

“Only to better understand what you—excuse me, what everyone at the fort does.”

“You corrected yourself. Why?”

“I realized that you could misinterpret my usage of the word ‘you’ to suggest I meant you personally, rather than everyone at the fort.”

“How long will you be here?”

“Until I am told to go, by either Sergeant TiTi or Mistress Mochizuki.”

“And you don’t know when this will happen?”

“No.”

“You may leave, Roach. You are forbidden to speak of what you have seen or heard here.”

Roach left.

“I believe Roach is telling the truth, although perhaps not the whole truth,” said Beghara. “He is known to be a Kingfisher-in-training, and for that reason alone already a suspect—which means he is not an effective spy.”

“I agree,” said Jake. “Anyone else?”

“I doubt he’s involved,” nodded Nadeen, as did the others.

“OK, Nadeen, I want a dragolet to Celephaïs immediately after we’re done here. Roach’s training here is done, and I want him transferred out immediately. And say that we have captured a spy and require an urgent meeting. Don’t mention Ridhi or anyone else by name, though.

“Next question: What to do with Trooper Aashika. Seri?”

“She’s my trooper. I’ll watch her until we hear back from the Mistress.”

Jake glanced at the others; there were no objections.

“She is to be accompanied at all times, Captain Serilarinna. As soon as Sergeant TT returns, he is to escort her back to the barracks, and stay with her there until you relieve him.

“And now we wait for the Sergeant.”

Jake brooded, staring at Ridhi with a frown.

“You know, Ridhi, I’m a bit surprised that you didn’t just tell me that you were a Kingfisher,” he said. “I’ve figured she had spies here keeping an eye on us, but we’re all on the same side. Aren’t we? The King’s side?”

“Yes,” replied Ridhi with a sigh.

“Have there been other assassins?”

“Yes. Once before an assassin was waiting in your bath one night. I killed her with a throwing knife.”

“What did you do with the body?”

“Stripped it, cut it up, and fed it to the hogs.”

“What hogs? The swine down in the village?”

“Yes. There are now about a dozen swine there now.”

“The pork you prepare for meals?”

“Yes. I invited the farmer to move closer—he used to be in Cadharna—so that it would be easier to buy from him.”

“Doesn’t bother you to feed a corpse to the pigs and then eat the pork?”

She shrugged.

“It’s just pig by then. Same as any other pig.”

TT knocked on the door.

“I spoke with the Horsemaster, and she confirms Roach’s version of events, Commander.”

“Good, thank you, Sergeant TT.

“Please escort Trooper Aashika back to her room at the barracks, and make sure she stays in it until relieved by Captain Serilarinna.”

“Yessir.”

“Trooper Aashika, you may go. Do not speak of anything you have seen or heard this night,” warned Jake.

“Yessir.”

Aashika and TT returned to the barracks.

The Commander looked at the assembled captains: Nadeen, Beghara, Serilarinna, Ekene, and of course Ridhi.

“We don’t have a jail,” he said to nobody in particular. “I’d like to hear what Mistress Mochizuki has to say, but I don’t want her running around until then.

“Chain her up? What do you think?”

“I am usually in favor of killing spies immediately, but in this case it looks like she hasn’t broken bond, and that she killed four assassins,” said Seri. “I’d like to see what the Mistress says, too. Anklet and chain.”

Beghara grunted assent.

“I agree,” said Ekene. “She doesn’t look like one of Thuba Mleen’s troops, and those four do look like Thuba Mleen’s assassins. But what is she spying on? You report to the King regularly, and surely the Mistress has access to all those.”

“Interesting point,” said Jake. “Tell us, Ridhi... what’s your mission? To be sure I tell the King everything? What?”

“I am to report on everything that happens,” explained Ridhi. “In particular, she wanted me to report immediately on any developments involving firearms, gunpowder, or explosives.”

“Oh, she did, did she?” smiled Jake. “And what did you tell her about our developments?”

“That you have improved the range and accuracy of muskets significantly by using a new steel alloy for the barrel, putting a spiral groove in the inside to spin the round, and are now working on something called cartridges.”

“Did she ever instruct you to interfere with one of our projects?”

“No, Commander.”

“Do you have any poisons, Ridhi? With you, in your quarters, in the kitchen, anywhere?”

“No, but...”

“But what?”

“I do know how to make poison from various plants and mushrooms available in the local area,” she explained. “I have never made any here at the fort.”

“When did you send your last report?”

“Yesterday.”

“And what was in it?”

Ridhi hesitated.

“What, Ridhi? Something you can’t tell us?”

“I... I reported on your meeting with Matriarch Biwashaa of Y’barra, and the growing cooperation between you. And...”

“And?”

“...and I reported that Nadeen is with child...”

What!?” Jake shot up off his bench, pistol in his hand but forgotten, looking at Nadeen.

“Is this true?”

“It is true,” mumbled Nadeen, looking at the floor. “I wanted to wait before telling you.”

“That’s great news!” shouted Jake. “That’s wonderful! You should have told me as soon as you knew!”

Beghara coughed.

“Commander, Captain Ridhi...”

Jake dropped Nadeen’s hand and turned back to Ridhi.

“Fuck it,” he said. “Yeah, anklet and chain. Sorry, Ridhi, but I just can’t take the chance... It all depends what the Mistress says.

“Captain Serilarinna, would you escort her to the Armorer and take care of it? Ridhi, if you are quiet I will make sure you are well cared for; if you cause trouble you will be treated like a captured spy. Understood?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“I think I’ll have to keep her in the storehouse for now, with a guard,” said Seri. “Everyone will know soon enough, but I’ll announce she’s sick with something contagious. Maybe that’ll work for a few days.”

“Thank you. Uh, let her get dressed again, too. Nadeen, would you give her some of your clothes for now? I don’t want to give her clothes back: there might be more wire or something hidden in them.”

Nadeen left the room for a moment and returned immediately with a simple cotton tunic.

“This should do fine. And I don’t need it back.”

She handed it to Ridhi, who quickly slipped it on.

“And now, if you all don’t mind,” continued Jake, “Nadeen and I have a few things to talk about. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

The four captains—three of them surrounding Ridhi—left.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant, Nadeen?”

“It is still early, Jake, and I may yet lose the baby. I didn’t want to get your hopes up...”

He pulled her close.

“You were pretty hot last night... sex doesn’t worry you, with the baby?”

“Not yet,” she smiled. “I need the exercise.”

He led her back to the futon and sat down with her.

“I’ll ask Nolan to come out and have a look at you, just to be sure,” he said, holding up a hand to stop her objection. “I know, you’re a healthy, independent woman and you don’t want anyone’s help. But let him check you out, please. Just for me.”

“If you insist,” she muttered, grimacing.

“Maybe we should think about accelerating our plan... the idea was to have a lot more up and running before you got pregnant, so you wouldn’t have as much on your plate.”

“I can handle it, Jake. And it won’t hurt to have the child see how things are changing. Help him grow into the role.”

“You’re sure it’s a ‘him’?”

She smiled.

“Hey, you’re the one who said you wanted a prince... I’m fine with either!”

“And we’ll have to find someone to take over your twelve. Your heavy twelve, I should say, now that you’ve been increased to eighteen. I’ve been thinking we really need to boost the garrison to two full twelves, at least... If we hadn’t had reinforcements the last time, Thuba Mleen would’ve killed us all.”

“I’m still captain!” she snapped.

“I know, I know, but someone will have to be in charge while you’re having the baby, when the time comes, and we need to start thinking about it now.

“What do you think of your Sergeant Petter?”

“He’s a very good Sergeant, competent and efficient, doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty, gets along with his troops great, all of that. But he’s just not as imaginative as he should be. Give him a specific task or goal and he’ll get it done it if it’s humanly possible, but he’s too predictable.

“If I promote anyone over him, though, he’ll be pretty angry. I would suggest either making him captain of one twelve and putting a new captain in charge of a second twelve, or leaving him as one of two sergeants under a new captain.”

“You think he’s better as a sergeant than a captain?”

“Yes, I do. He’s a good man to have handling garrison.”

“So either make him one captain and find a second for the new twelve, or leave him sergeant and find a new sergeant and a new captain both. Any preference?”

“I haven’t really thought about much yet. Captain Long’s sergeant—Sergeant Chen—is very good and would make a great captain, I’ve thought.

“I don’t think we can touch anyone in the Bagatur’s twelve, or Chinh’s troop, which is too bad. After that, um, Maiza in my twelve would make a good sergeant. Ginette would also make a good sergeant, I think. She knows wyverns, which could be useful, but she’s pretty young—I’d prefer someone with more experience under their belt.”

“I’m downright impressed with Yargui. She’s supposed to be a liaison from the Ibizim, but I think she would be perfect as sergeant, or captain,” said Jake. “What do you think of her?”

“Oh, definitely, but she’s Ibizim. I figured it would be impossible.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Let me talk to her, and the Matriarch—maybe the Bagatur—and see. I’m thinking Petter and Yargui as sergeants under Chen, as acting captain until you’re back on your feet.”

“We’ll need a wet nurse, too,” said Nadeen quietly. “When the time comes.”

“Maybe you should just lie back down and catch up on your sleep, since we were rousted out of bed in the middle of the night.”

“And you?”

“Of course,” he said, and snuggled down beside her.

Chapter 14

Jake was up at dawn, as usual, but was only just in time to greet the Bagatur returning to the fort. The ambush had been successful, with his force suffering only one walking wounded while killing or capturing all six of the enemy. He returned with four prisoners, two of them wounded, and the bodies of the other two.

They held the four outside the fort walls, under guard, while Bagatur Khasar came to speak with Jake.

“They walked right into it,” he laughed. “Only six of them and no scout! Just waltzing down the trail like they were on a picnic!”

“Excellent! You sent the Ibizim scout back home?”

“He left as soon as we were in position; didn’t even stay for the fun part,” said Khasar. “I think there were more Ibizim around, though... I heard a lot of bird whistles later.”

“So now we have eyes in the mountains. I had been wondering if we needed to build an advance outpost to watch the trails, but I guess we don’t need to know.

“They know the mountains far better than we do.”

“Thank you, Commander, for working with them. I am an Ibizim of the Desert, but they are Ibizim, too. I will get word to Matriarch Geriel of your decision, although I suspect she will find out through other channels even faster.”

“What do you mean, ‘they are Ibizim, too’? You make it sound like they are somehow different.”

“You don’t know? The Ibizim of the Desert and the Ibizim of the Mountain were once the same people, but have been separated now for generations. We share a common tongue and traditions, of course, but we have been growing apart for a long time. Once brothers, perhaps, and now cousins.”

“So Matriarch Gerial is only the Matriarch of the Desert Ibizim?”

“That’s right. The Matriarch of the Ibizim of the Mountain is a woman called Tara. The two Matriarchs do meet on occasion, I know, although I have never seen Matriarch Tara. I imagine they cooperate in many ways; I know we have extensive trade with each other.”

“No, I never knew,” said Jake. “I shall have to meet this Matriarch Tara one day. Perhaps Matriarch Biwashaa can arrange it one day.”

“People can wait months for an audience with the Matriarch,” warned the Bagatur.

“I met Matriarch Geriel with no wait at all, and spent a few days in idle conversation on the airship with her.”

Khasar shook his head.

“I could never...”

Jake laughed.

“I guess I have the advantage over you, Bagatur... I’m from a different world entirely, and never learned how to be scared of kings and matriarchs. It hasn’t gotten me killed yet!”

They walked through the main gate to look at the prisoners.

“So what are we going to do with them? The last batch yielded and then attacked Seri’s twelve. Got killed for it, too.

“You think these four can be believed if they give bond?”

“Three of them—those two there, and the one with the head wound lying down—are trustworthy, I think. No tattoos, no missing fingers, and quite willing to give up instead of fighting to the death.

“The fourth one... I don’t know. He seems to have all his fingers, but he spent all his time coming here studying everyone and everything. I think he’s still studying you and the fort right now.

“Seems more interested in collecting intelligence than giving bond, is my take.”

“If he gives bond, can he be trusted to keep it? Or do people ever break bond here?”

“Of course there are people who break bond, but they’re all either dead or legends,” replied Khasar. “Soldiers, even mercenaries, kill oath-breakers on sight, because if it became common then all captives would be slaughtered. And everyone loses at least one battle.”

“Ah, so that’s how it works. I wondered how you could trust someone’s bond so lightly here.”

He walked over to the captives.

“I am Jake of Penglai.

“You were sent to spy on us, and failed. You failed because you always fail when you try to fight us. Thuba Mleen’s attempt to kill me in the desert of Thace failed. Your attack on this fort failed, and you lost your airship and your wyverns both. And then your attack on our airship and wyverns failed.

“The Bagatur tells me you are good soldiers, though, and I hate to waste good soldiers. You have yielded, and now I ask if you will give bond to me, and swear an oath never to attack this fort or its troops ever again.

“If you so swear you will be free to go. Or, if you wish, we will consider hiring you.

“What say you?”

There was silence for a moment, and then “What if we refuse to give bond?”

“You die.”

“That’s not much of a choice, is it?”

“Would you prefer a life of slavery?”

“Death to slavery!”

“And so it is. Will you give bond or no?”

The wounded man lifted his head, half-hidden by the bloodstained rag around it.

“Nariman of Pungar-Vees. I give bond to Jake of Penglai.”

“Tauret of Khem. I give bond,” said the sole woman.

The other two men were silent.

“You two are welcome. Master Nariman is be taken to the infirmary and treated. Mistress Tauret, you are free to go.”

“I would join Scorpius Company, Commander,” she said as two of Khasar’s troopers helped the wounded man to his feet and led him off to the church.

“Bagatur, she is in your care,” said Jake. “I will abide by your decision in the matter.”

“Yessir. Mistress Nariman, I believe you were using a scimitar? Trooper Tsogbayar, give her back her weapon, and take her to the yard. I want you and Trooper Tümen to find out if she’s good enough for Scorpius.”

“Yessir,” said the two women, both Ibizim troopers in Khasar’s twelve, and led her away.

“And what about you two?” asked Khasar. “You have not given bond, or refused it.”

“Must we decide now?”

Jake thought for a moment.

“I suppose not, although it doesn’t strike me as a complicated decision... Bagatur, chain them up and let them ferment. Food and water, of course. Take them to the Armory for chains, and then put them in the stables for now. Make sure they are far away from each other, and they’ll need guards.”

“Yes, Commander,” replied the Bagatur, and ordered his men to escort the pair to the armory for chains.

“We’re really going to need a jail if this keeps up,” muttered Jake. “First Ridhi and now this....”

“It usually isn’t a problem,” agreed Khasar. “As you said, it is not a difficult decision, although each makes their own choice in the matter.”

“If you were to be captured by Thuba Mleen, Bagatur, which would you choose?”

“Death.”

“You didn’t hesitate.”

“I made my decision long ago, Commander, as I believe all my troops have.”

“Well, good job, Bagatur Khasar, and welcome back.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for the meeting with Captain Ekene about the raptors. And get some breakfast!”

“We haven’t eaten yet either, Commander. Or slept, for that matter.”

“Were you on a duty roster today?”

“No sir. We got back yesterday and were to have the day free. Lucky thing, too, because now I can get some sleep.”

“Get your troops settled, and arrange guards on our new guests with Nadeen.”

“Yessir.”

Jake header back to his quarters, only to be stopped by one of the Armorer’s assistants.

“Commander? One of the prisoners is asking to speak with you.”

He turned and headed for the low building that served as both smithery and armory, and saw that one of the captives had already been fitted with shackles and was being led off to the stables. That meant the man who wanted to speak with him was the one Bagatur Khasar had thought most unlikely to swear bond.

The Armorer, Einar Ibrahimson, had just closed the lock on the shackles, making it difficult to walk and impossible to run. In the stables, the end of the chain would be secured to a bolt in the wall, preventing the captive from escaping.

“You have something to say?”

The man motioned him closer.

Jake, suspicious of the man’s motive, stepped a bit closer and stopped well out of the man’s reach.

“If you can’t trust me, at least ask the smith to step out of earshot,” said the captive.

Einar raised his eyebrows.

“The shackle’s on, all you have to do now is bolt the chain to the wall. I think I need some air.”

He grabbed the captive’s guard by the arm and pulled him out of the smithery, leaving Jake and the prisoner alone.

“OK, we’re alone. What?”

“You have to kill me.”

Jake was taken aback.

“You could have asked that when the Bagatur captured you. Why take all the trouble to drag me here and get shackled first?”

“No, no, I don’t mean actually kill me. You have to say you’ve killed me, and let me go.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I’m a spy of Queen Caila of Perinthia and not one of Thuba Mleen’s troopers at all. I am sworn to the Queen and will willingly die for her, if you must, but would vastly prefer to live, and continue to serve her. I am Guillaume of Perinthia.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“You shouldn’t, of course. But if you ask the Queen, or Commander Jean of her Guard, I think you will find that I speak truth.”

“Perinthia is a long way from here; we have no dragolet to fly there.”

“But you can get messages to her via Celephaïs, or even Counselor Chuang when he visits next week.”

“You know he is coming next week?”

“Of course! Thuba Mleen has his own spies.”

“What else does Thuba Mleen have? Does he have an airship?”

“After your little surprise last time? No, I doubt it,” replied Guillaume. “If you will guarantee my safety until you receive confirmation from the Queen I will be happy to provide you with more information on Bleth, and Thuba Mleen.”

“And why must I make it look like I killed you?”

“If I’m dead then Thuba Mleen will stop looking for me, and the Queen can send me somewhere else—perhaps Lhosk, or Xura—until people forget what I look like.”

“I will guarantee your safety until I hear from the Queen,” said Jake. “Until then, though, you will remain shackled and under guard.”

“Thank you, Commander. If you keep me far away from Tanawat—the other captive—I can tell you what I know.”

Jake studied the other, thinking of how this could possibly be a trap. The man could be lying, but what could he gain from it? If the Queen denied knowing him he’d be killed. It was possible he was just trying to inject false intelligence and confuse him, of course, but he’d still be dead.

Unless... was it possible that the Queen herself was allied with Thuba Mleen? That would make a little sense, at least. And he knew next to nothing about Perinthia, or Queen Caila.

“I’ll think on it,” he said, finally. “Until then don’t go anywhere.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” countered Guillaume, rattling his chain.

Jake walked back to his quarters. Nadeen was already gone, up on the wall somewhere with the guard. Captain Ekene would be here soon to talk about raptors, but first he needed to write a message to Chuang in Celephaïs.

Today Captain Chinh was supposed to return to the fort, too, which would give them a little more manpower—they were stretched pretty thin, with Sergeant Long and the wyverns off at the lake.

He wrote a long letter to Chuang, and coded it using the copy of De Generibus Artium Magicarum Anglorum by Sutton-Grove that Chuang had given him—along with a stack of other largely useless books on magic and monsters. Chuang advised him that anyone looking at his library of “dark books” would laugh and dismiss him as a rank amateur. Which he was, of course, but the books were on his shelf for use in coding messages, not for reference. His messages would be easy to break if anyone had the same edition of the same book, but without it they were almost unbreakable. The book cipher.

He’d glanced through the book a little, and in spite of being written in 18th-century English found he could read most of it. It was incredibly boring.

His letter detailed the capture of “Guillaume of Perinthia” and his strange request. He asked Chuang to help him verify the man’s claims through Queen Caila, and asked Chuang direct how trustworthy the Queen was: any chance she was allied with Thuba Mleen?

He rolled the message up and sealed it into a waterproof oilskin pouch, and walked it over to the stables to hand to Horsemaster Turan personally. They still hadn’t built a special hutch for the dragolets, and Turan was still stuck with taking care of them.

He really needed to get that built one of these days...

* * *

Captain Long scratched his side again.

Something had bitten him, and whatever it was must be living in his bedroll, he figured. Second morning in a row he’d woken up with a big, red splotch on his body. Damn thing itched for hours, too, yesterday.

Normally he wash it or smoke it or something, or maybe just buy a new one, but he really didn’t have that luxury out here.

This was a field camp, and a very rough one at that. The waters of the Lake of Sarnath were as gray and turgid as always, and that peculiar smell—it reminded him of wet dog—permeated everything even with the sun out.

They couldn’t see the ruins of drowned Sarnath from here, but the gray rock of Akurion was plainly visible offshore. Devoid of vegetation, it was grayish-green, covered in lichen and fungus.

Captain Chinh walked over to greet him.

“Another quiet night,” he said. “except for something jumping around out in the water. Never could see what it was, but it made a hell of a big splash every time.”

“You’re probably better off not being able to see it,” said Long. “I don’t like being here at all, and even less at night.”

“And tomorrow night is a full moon.”

“Yeah, I know. I hope the wyverns are a little better because I really need to get everyone moved away from the lake today. Or at least get started today, so we aren’t here for the full moon.”

“You ever see any of Bokrug’s spawn?”

“Never, and don’t intend to,” spit Long. “I’m not much on big green moon-creatures.”

“Mmm. Me neither,” agreed Chinh. “You need help getting things moving?”

“Nah, we’re OK. My twelve can take care of itself, and if the wyverns can’t walk I don’t think we can move them anyway. We’d need to build a whole damn road and move ’em on rollers, I think.”

“Heavy beasts... I’m still surprised something that big can fly, to be honest.”

“Shantaks are even bigger.”

“Never seen one up close. You?”

“Nope. I think you’d be dead if you had...”

“Hmph,” said Chinh. “Well, you’re in charge now. We’re out of here and back to Fort Danryce.”

“Thanks for the supplies, Captain. Safe journey.”

“Safe journey, Captain.”

Chinh walked off to get his own twelve in order, finishing up preparations to return to the fort. The horses they’d brought—the ones Captain Beghara had used on her mission north—were now Captain Long’s problem.

“Listen up, everyone,” called Long. “Captain Chinh’s headed back to the fort, and today we have to get moved back from the lake. It’ll be a full moon tomorrow night, and I do not want to be stuck here when that happens.

“Sergeant Chen has already found a good spot, with water—clean, fresh water!—and green grass, and I can’t fucking wait to get away from this lake.

“The problem is the wyverns. If they can fly even a little it would be great, because the new camp is only a few klicks from here. If not, I want to get them started walking. We might have to rough it tonight if we can’t get them there, but whatever happens we are not going to spend tonight here, so get your gear together and kiss your froggy friends goodbye.

“Captain Chen, would you get it all ready? I’m off to talk to our wyvern-master.”

“I’ve got it, Cap’n,” responded Chen. “We’ll be ready before they are.”

As Captain Long walked over toward Beorhtwig and the wyverns, he heard Sergeant Chen shouting at one the troopers who was still lounging on their bedroll.

“Trooper Beorhtwig!”

“Morning, Captain.”

“How are the wyverns this morning?”

“They seem a little better... finally ate a good meal yesterday, a whole deer each, with a few rabbits for dessert. If they keep that up they should be healed soon.”

“And you?”

“I can ride,” said the other. “Still hurts like a son of a bitch, but I can ride.”

“Can they fly a few klicks?”

“Fly... I don’t know. If they were up in the air already they could stay up there without too much trouble, but getting up off the ground takes an awful lot of effort. Wounded as they are...”

“Yeah, I was afraid you’d say that,” scowled Long. “Can they walk?”

“A couple kilometers!? Not in one march, that’s for sure. They aren’t really designed to walk, you know.”

“We have to get away from here. Tomorrow’s the full moon and we can’t be here then... Just look at Sarnath!”

“I saw something yesterday... out there... crawling over the tumbled blocks,” said Beorhtwig quietly. “Not sure what it was, but I’d rather not stay here myself.”

He turned to Ginette.

“What do you think, Ginette? I think they can walk if we take it slow and let them rest. But no flying, not yet.”

“No, no way they can fly yet. They’d tear something open for sure. They should be able to walk without too much pain, though... most of their injuries are to their bodies, especially the neck, and not the legs.”

Beorhtwig turned back to Captain Long. “OK, let’s try it. When do you want to get started?”

“Depends on you, really... we’re only here for you and the wyverns,” said Long. “If you’re going to need a lot of breaks maybe you should start early and plan on resting every thirty minutes or whatever. I don’t think we need to try flying, yet, but depending on how things go today we might need to fly a short distance tomorrow to get away to safety.”

“Will it really be that dangerous tomorrow?”

Captain Long just waved at the lake and the scattered ruins of Sarnath poking up through the dark water here and there.

“Yeah, I get it,” said Beorhtwig. “Let me grab some food and see if these two’ll eat anything, and then we’ll start. Where are we going?”

“Call me when you’re ready and I’ll get you a guide. Thanks.”

He turned to the troopers looking after the wyverns. “Kassandros, Mahud, Trooper Ginette... Make sure he has whatever he needs, and if you don’t have it come ask me. Getting the wyver-master and these wyverns to safety is our top priority.”

“Yessir,” they replied in unison, and turned to their tasks.

Long returned to the main camp to get his own gear in order as Beorhtwig talked to his charges.

“And how are you two today? You feeling better? Had a big meal yesterday, didn’t you?”

There was no reply, of course, but Flogdreka batted him playfully with the side of his head, and he could hear Fæger rumbling contentedly behind him.

“We have to do a little walking today, Flogdreka. You up for it? Fæger, how about you?”

Fæger was nuzzling Ginette, who had discovered that she loved getting scratched between the eyes.

“Hey, Mahud! We have any more fresh deer?”

“You must be kidding!” came the response. “You know how heavy those carcasses are? And then your little friends there scarf them down in ten seconds... I might be able to shoot some rabbits or squirrels for you, but not a deer. Not right now.”

“Yeah, I figured as much... Well, wyverns usually don’t eat all that often anyway,” said Beorhtwig. “Maybe we’ll see something nice and juicy on the way, huh Flogdreka?”

“We’re really ready to start anytime, Mahud,” he said. “They’re as rested now as they’ll ever be, and the day’s still cool. I’d like to get started as soon as possible.”

“We’re all traveling light here... the Cap’n’s prob’ly ready, too. I’ll go see.”

He talked to Captain Long and shortly thereafter Yafeu, the Zarite archer, walked over with a string of horses.

“I rode with Sergeant Chen when we found the new site. I can lead you there,” he said. “The rest of the twelve will follow your lead... I think we’ll be a lot faster on horse than your wyverns.”

“Thanks, Yafeu,” said Beorhtwig, climbing to his feet. “Which one’s mine?”

“I’m riding the chestnut; my stuff’s already strapped on. Pick whichever one you like.”

Beorhtwig grabbed the nearest one, a white mare with splatters of black across her flanks, and threw his bedroll and ruck over here rump, lashing them down securely.

“One of you guys give me a hand up? Still hurts like a bitch.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Kassandros, and laced his hands together into a step. “Up you go!”

“Thanks.”

He trotted over to the wyverns.

“OK, you lazybones! Up on your feet! Time to get a little exercise!”

Grunting and wheezing the two wyverns slowly stood. With two enormously powerful legs and a thick armored tail, they stood taller than the mounted man.

They balanced on the tripod thus formed, their wings moving and unfolding a little bit as they got used to standing again.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” he asked.

Flogdreka threw his head up and gave a long growl of displeasure, but Fæger just kept moving her feet up and down in place, one at a time, as if checking they still worked.

“So I guess that means you’re good to go, then.”

Beorhtwig twitched his reins and his mount began walking away from the lakeshore.

“Come on you lazies! You’ll get fat if you don’t exercise once in a while!”

Ponderously, Flogdreka waddled after him, grumbling deep in his belly and obviously not in the mood to walk right now, while Ginette and Fæger traipsed ahead having a wonderful time.

He might be grumbling, thought Beorhtwig, but I see he stepped over the fire neatly. Not in that much pain, then...

* * *

Captain Ekene brought one of his troopers with him, a woman named Kosarachi. Jake figured she must be in the late thirties, maybe forties. As with most of the Zarite women troopers he’d seen, her hair was cropped short.

“Trooper Kosarachi has worked with raptors all her life, as I said before,” he explained. “I mean, almost all Zarites have raptors for hunting or battle, but her family breeds and trains them.”

“Jake of Penglai,” he said, waving her to a stool.

“Kosarachi of Begama of Zar.”

A strong woman, he thought. Average face, average build, but she was perfectly at ease talking to her commander. She looked competent and confident.

“The family business?”

“Yes. We’ve been breeding raptors for generations; probably one of the oldest families in the trade in Zar,” she replied.

“Begama raptors are widely recognized as one of the best breeds,” added Ekene. “They’re generally smart, and always very well trained.”

“Why didn’t you bring your own raptors with you when you came, Captain?”

“Master Chuang suggested that we not, because we needed to bring some raptors for you. I think he wanted us to concentrate on learning your methods rather than worrying about our raptors.

“When we return to Zar we’ll start integrating your ideas with our own. To be honest I feel pretty exposed out on patrol without a brood ranging out ahead of me.”

“Trooper Kosarachi, you are here today because the Captain believes you know how to keep your mouth shut,” said Jake. “We need to talk about some things that are not common knowledge, and I need to know you can keep them quiet. It will all leak out eventually—you’ve probably figured it out yourself already—but for now, you don’t talk about this with anyone.”

“I can keep it to myself, Commander.”

“You’ve seen our raptors in action, right?”

“The raptors we brought? Yessir, several times.”

“And what did you think after you saw them here?”

“They are being controlled far more effectively than I’ve ever seen. But it can’t be training because we trained them.”

“No, it isn’t training,” explained Jake. “Mudge and a few other raptors are smart, probably as smart as people, and the smart ones can control the other raptors. We don’t know if they have their own language, but they can understand a lot of common speech.

“There are still problems, though: they lack knowledge of what people do and how we do it, and that interferes with their understanding. Most of all, we can’t understand them when they bring us intelligence. There are a few gestures that we understand, things like enemies and rough distances, but we need far more.

“We need to be able to talk to them.”

“And you want me to help with that?”

“Yes. Captain Ekene has already agreed to release you, if you’re willing to take the job.”

“So I wouldn’t be in the Captain’s twelve anymore? Would I still be a warrior for the High Chief?”

“I’d need to discuss that with the High Chief,” broke in Ekene, “but I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t be assigned to work with the Commander and retain your status.”

“You would be a sergeant, with two troopers under you to start. If necessary you can add more people in the future. Special quarters near the raptors, special meat ration, and anything else you can convince me you need.”

“Well. This is all quite... unexpected,...” she said. “I mean, I noticed there was something off about your raptors, and there have always been stories about smart beasts, but... They can understand us, you say?”

“Short, direct sentences. Simple words, simple grammar, no idioms or abbreviations. Yeah, they understand it just fine.

“Captain Serilarinna just returned after a combat mission using the raptors, and can provide details on what worked and what didn’t.

“The best thing would be to work with Mudge and the others yourself, though.”

“And the goal is to find a way to understand them, right?”

“And to make sure they understand us. It’s not always easy to use clear, simple language, especially in the heat of a battle. We need better communication both ways.”

“Where did they come from? I mean, my raptors were smart, too, but that was smart enough to play fetch or bring back an arrow-shot bird or something. Nothing even close to communication.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, trooper,” advised Jake. “We have four now, and will get more in the future. That’s enough.”

“Well, wherever they came from, people there might have some ideas, too.”

“Apparently they haven’t come up with anything that works very well, either. Sure, they are some human-raptor pairs that seem to understand each other very well, but unless we can come up with a way for any trooper to communicate with any raptor, they’ll never be the success we need.”

Kosarachi turned to her captain.

“Captain, you’re OK with all this? I swore an oath to the High Chief, and it feels... strange.”

“I am. I understand how you feel, but if there is such a thing as a smart raptor, I want Zar to be involved. And right now, that means you.”

She fell silent for a moment.

“Commander, I accept.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Kosarachi,” grinned Jake. “I was hoping you would.”

He poured more tea for his guests, and water for himself.

“Now, we’re housing the raptors outside the fort walls for now, in a stable just inside the trees north of the fort. Cornelia didn’t raise any objections that we could see, but the very first thing I need you to do is find out if they need anything. I want to keep them happy and make it clear that we are their fellow warriors, not their masters or whatever.

“I don’t understand them, and I don’t know how well they understand me, and I need to be sure that we understand each other well enough to cooperate fully.”

“And restrictions on how to approach this?”

“Try not to interfere with the rest of the fort, and try not to get anyone killed. If you’re unsure check with me first, or Captain Nadeen. If you need meat check with the kitchen staff; I’ll tell them.”

“Yessir.”

“Go get your gear from the barracks, Sergeant, and go meet your new friends. Get back to me tomorrow with some initial ideas about who you want for assistants, and what else you might need. Good?

“Yessir,” she replied, standing. “I’ll check in with the Captain tonight and let him know how things are going.”

“Excellent. Don’t hesitate to come talk to me!”

She nodded and left.

“Made your own tea this morning?”

Jake grimaced.

“I’m happy someone killed those assassins,” said Jake, “but would have been happier if things had turned out differently.”

“You sent the dragolet already?”

“Yeah, to Chuang in Celephaïs. I have no idea how long it’ll take to get a response from Mochizuki, though. Or even where she might be, for that matter. Hopefully Chuang will prioritize it.”

“So who’s in charge of the kitchen now?”

“Her second was a woman named Portrisha. She’s a herbalist from Cadharna, but turned out to be a hell of a good manager. Works here now, and except for sticking weird leaves and shit into people’s tea every so often does a good job.

“Nadeen told her she’s in charge now until ‘Ridhi recovers from her sickness’.”

“Are you sure she’s safe?”

“No, but she was born in Cadharna and has been here ever since, long before I ever got here. Nadeen’s keeping a close eye on her anyway, but I doubt she’s involved.”

“Hope you’re right,” said Ekene. “Everyone knows Mochizuki has spies everywhere, but it’s still a shock when you find one in your home. Especially when you trusted her.”

“Mmm, yeah,” mumbled Jake, then “How are you doing with the horses?”

“We’ve played defense for about a dozen charges, and the horses are outstanding. The Horsemaster is not the best tactician I’ve seen, but she can control the herd flawlessly.

“If it were for real I think they’d lose half a dozen horses to my arrows, but we’d be virtually destroyed. If we had pikes we could defend ourselves much better, but then we wouldn’t be Zarite archers.

“There’s no end to it, of course. If the horses were combined with an infantry force the equation is much different, too.”

“But it sounds like you’re quite impressed with them.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Ekene. “Unquestionably. They are a new weapon for the battlefield, and even though pikes help against a cavalry charge, smart horses is a whole new dimension, and it’ll mean new tactical options for the commander.”

“They should be even more useful when the whole herd is intelligent, not just the alphas.”

“For sure. In addition to learning how to control them and building up the horses’ confidence, this is also building up my troop’s confidence. Most of them have never been on the receiving end of a cavalry charge before, and now they ‘survived’ a dozen of them.

“They all know it’s not the real thing, since the horses veer off at the last minute, but getting used to seeing a thousand kilograms of angry horse charging at you is a good investment. They won’t freeze if it ever happens for real.”

“I’ve never been in a cavalry charge myself...”

“I have. Scared the shit out of me,” said Ekene. “I was a fresh recruit, positioned off to the side, and was lucky. Real lucky, in fact, since surviving that charge and managing to get a few arrows off got me promoted to acting sergeant for a few days, since so many of the troop were dead or injured. Guess I must have impressed someone because they came back to me and made it official a few months later.”

“You should get together with Trooper Borislaw. He’s the Eudoxian lancer in Captain Beghara’s twelve, out here to get a look at how we do things, and I know he’s been working with the Horsemaster. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt for all of you to get a better understanding of cavalry tactics. Wouldn’t hurt me, either—where I come from, ‘cavalry’ means we ride tracks—ASLAVs or Bushmasters or what have you.”

“Tracks? Bushmasters?”

“Sorry. Armored carts, machines, with big guns. My pistol fires 9-mm rounds, but the ASLAV has a dual 25-mm gun. Almost three times larger, and firing like two hundred rounds a minute. Range of two, three kilometers.

“Horses are not used on the battlefield anymore,” he ended bleakly.

“Two or three kilometers!?” gasped Ekene. “That’s... That’s... That’s insane! You can’t have a battle at that distance! That’s slaughter!”

“Things change,” shrugged Jake. “When your enemy has the same weapons, people adapt, and find new ways to kill and not be killed.

“I prefer your style of war... fewer civilian casualties.”

“There are no nations in the Dreamlands, except maybe Thuba Mleen’s Empire of the Sands, so the only armies belong to individual cities, and actions tend to be pretty small. There have been a few times when a city has been besieged, though, and any siege can be real hard on the inhabitants. And the whole region around the city.”

“Believe me when I say even that is better than where I came from,” said Jake. “They have weapons that can...”

He broke off abruptly.

“It’s a different realm. Let it be.”

Ekene, obviously curious to hear what Jake was about to say, pursed his lips but didn’t ask. If the commander says to drop it, a wise captain drops it.

“We’re growing with phenomenal speed,” said Jake, changing the subject. “We’ve got a whole pile of projects underway, including trooper and officer training; smart raptors and horses; improved firearms, optics, and compasses; safer ways to store and use thalassion fire; the new town we’re building; aerial mapping; improving the literacy rate, so much more... and TT and I keep coming up with new things we need to do but just do not have time for.”

“Why?”

Jake stopped and stared at Ekene.

“Why? What do you mean, ‘Why’?”

“The Dreamlands has existed forever, and will no doubt continue to do so. Why do you need to change it so?”

“Why do I...? Change it...? I... Because Thuba Mleen is trying to conquer the Dreamlands, killing everyone who opposes him, and I have to stop him!”

“What would your ASLAVs and Bushmasters do to the Dreamlands, if they were here?”

“With one ASLAV and ammo I could take down Thuba Mleen and all his men in a few weeks.”

“And then what? He ensures that his people have enough food and water, even in times of famine or drought, keeping the caravans moving. Will you continue providing them?”

“So what, you suggest we just let him run rampant?”

“Of course not! But perhaps he is not as wholly evil as you seem to think.”

“The Ibizim seem to share my views.”

“Thuba Mleen is probably Ibizim.”

“He’s what? Ibizim! How is that...?”

“I don’t think anybody really knows, but I’ve heard that the Ibizim and Thuba Mleen both came to the Dreamlands at the same time. The story goes that they were once a single nation, and when they realized they were in a new realm, Thuba Mleen determined to conquer it as he had his own world. Some of his people followed him, but others felt a new realm should mean a new beginning, and broke off to become the Ibizim today.”

“How long ago was this?”

Ekene shrugged.

“This is the Dreamlands. Who knows? Ancient history.”

Jake rotated his empty water cup on the table between his fingertips, around, around, making a tiny scratching noise.

“I’ve never heard that before...” he said finally. “It does explain why the Ibizim and the Emperor of the Sands seem to be primarily fighting each other in the desert, instead of heading for more productive lands.

“You ever hear any rumors about where Thuba Mleen came from?”

“Some say Wakeworld, some say the Eastern reaches, but that’s not much help.”

“Nobody named Thuba Mleen in Wakeworld that I know of. Not under that name, anyway... and if he was as successful a warrior there as he is here, I’d know.

“I’ll ask Nolan and the others if they have any ideas, next time I see them.”

“Master Chuang might know. Or the King.”

“They might, but they never even told me about this Ibizim connection... The Bagatur never mentioned it, either.”

“Would you, if he were one of your people?”

“Well, no, probably not,” agreed Jake. “Well, to get back on subject here, Kosarachi’s going to leave a hole in your twelve for a while. Do you want to get someone to fill it?”

“How long do you expect?”

“I don’t really know, but unless she’s a miracle worker a couple weeks, minimum. Probably a couple months, I’d guess.”

“That’s a long time for Sergeant Kachiside to operate with only five instead of six. Let me talk to him, but as Captain I know I’d want to plug that hole if it’s going to be weeks or more.”

“I figured you would. Are there any good prospects out there?”

There was usually a number of new faces down in Cadharna, or the castle town, hoping to be employed by Scorpius Company. They’d been building a reputation for themselves, and stories of how they defeated Thuba Mleen’s attack and highly exaggerated descriptions of Jake’s pistol only heightened the interest.

Most of them were not good candidates, but the Company always had a hole that needed filling, and every so often the right person for the job would show up and be hired. Paying troopers regularly was a major mark in their favor.

“There are, in fact, but they aren’t from Zar... A good archer is a good archer no matter where they come from, but my twelve is sworn to the High Chief and I can’t just sign people on my own.

“There are a few good troopers at the Zar mission in Rinar, though, and I’ll see if any of them want to give up the city life for an exciting country adventure.”

“Think they will?”

“If they prefer the city life they’re not the sort of person I’d want in my twelve,” laughed Ekene.

“You’re only supposed to be here for another month or so, right? TT’s training program will be done, and then you’re off again to wherever.”

“That was the intent, but to be honest I’ve already asked to stay on here... you’re revolutionizing war, and we can learn so much here. Not to mention see some action.”

“I have no objection, certainly. In fact, I’d been wondering if you might be willing to make it semi-permanent, and maybe even bump it up to a heavy twelve.”

“Another six archers—seven, counting Kosarachi’s replacement? It’ll take me some time to find that many good people, and integrate them properly. Need a new sergeant, too... Is this something you want me to look into for real?”

Jake nodded.

“Yes. Yet another expansion, and we’ll probably need more barracks and a bigger kitchen and six other things if this keeps up, but we also need more archers.

“When do you think you can be set?”

“Depends on how easy it is to find people,” mused Ekene. “I think I’d be better off hiring in Zar than looking here. Long ways from here, so it’ll take weeks at least.”

“Good. That’ll give me time to get set up. Do it.”

“Yessir, I’ll get started on it right away.”

“Thank you, Captain.

“I’m going to call another captains’ meeting for tomorrow, by the way. Working lunch.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Good. Captain Chinh will be back today, and Captain Long will be here for the meeting, too.”

“Haven’t had a full meeting for some time.”

“Won’t be full tomorrow, either, Captain.”

Ekene nodded, face suddenly grim as he recalled Ridhi.

“No word yet from Celephaïs?”

“Hardly. Be another couple days at the soonest.”

“It’s hard to believe that Ridhi...”

“Yeah, but we’re stuck with it even if we don’t like it.”

Jake stood.

“Well, thank you for coming, Captain Ekene. Keep me informed on the heavy twelve.”

“I will, sir.”

Ekene left.

* * *

The wyverns made almost two kilometers before they halted for the last time. Another kilometer or so and they would have reached the new campsite, but they were obviously exhausted, and so were Beorhtwig and Ginette. They’d stopped about a dozen times to let the beasts rest: they were obviously in pain but struggling along because their master—Beorhtwig—asked it of them.

“We can finish it tomorrow,” he said. “It means camping here tonight, but I don’t imagine we’ll have any trouble with cats once they notice the wyverns.”

“Hardly! Any predator that sees a wyvern is going to head the other way very quickly, or end up dinner!” laughed Ginette. “You think it’s worth setting up a tent?”

“I’m beat,” he said. “How about just a tarp overhead?”

“Works for me,” she agreed. “Hey, Kassandros! We’re just gonna put up a tarp and stay right here. You guys staying, or going on to the new camp?”

“We were just talking about it,” he replied. “We’re gonna go to the camp now and let them know, but come back here later to share guard duty with you tonight. You’re gonna be already until then?”

“Yeah, we’re fine, Kassandros. Thanks,” said Beorhtwig. “See if you can bring us back one of those ducks they shot, would you? I could really go for some roast duck with my beans.”

“Will do. Might be a couple hours. We’ll be back by sunset, though,” replied the other, and rode on with Mahud.

Beorhtwig walked around Flogdreka, carefully checking his healing wounds.

The exercise had loosened a few of the stitches, but nothing serious. He slathered more ointment over the wounds to keep the bugs off and make sure they didn’t get infected, and looked over to Ginette.

She was almost finished checking Fæger.

“Flogdreka’s all good.” he called. “Just a few loose stitches, and he’s dead tired. You need the ointment?”

“No, I’ve got some,” she replied. “Fæger’s about the same, but I think she probably could’ve walked all the way... She’s being pretty protective.”

“They’re a mated pair, so I’m not surprised.”

“How’d you manage to end up with both of them? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone doing that, except in the stories.”

He explained how it had happened. Ginette hadn’t seen most of it, being too busy defending the wall near the front gate, and nobody had seen the aerial combat when he stole Fæger.

“I wondered why you still have so many fingers,” she said. “Wondered if maybe Flogdreka had bitten off something else...”

He laughed.

“No, I’d be a bit upset at that. I’m all in one piece still, but a lot of me hurts.”

“Let me take a look at your injury, too,” she said. “Plenty of ointment left.”

“Thank you. It’s hard for me to see properly,” he said, stripping off his harness and pulling open his tunic. He had a cloth wrapped around his abdomen, keeping the poultice in place over the wound.

Ginette helped him remove it, and carefully lifted off the poultice.

She looked at the wound closely, placing the palm of her hand on his side near the injury and pressing.

“That hurt?”

“Not really. Doesn’t look inflamed now, either.”

“I think it’s healing up nicely,” she said. “Let me wash off the old stuff and put on some more.”

She poured drinking water over the injury, wiping off the majority of the ointment. The wound was healing clean, it looked like. She pushed and prodded a little to confirm it didn’t hurt much, then applied fresh ointment, and wrapped the cloth around Beorhtwig’s body again.

“Maybe I’d better check if that other appendage is still OK, too. Wanna make sure Flogdreka didn’t bite it off,” she said, sliding her hand down his side and between his legs.

“Hey! That’s...”

His protestations were smothered by Ginette’s lips, and shortly they confirmed that the injury to his side didn’t hurt very much even when he exercised.

Later they lay side by side, surrounded by snoring wyverns, watching the sky slowly dim with approaching dusk.

“I think Fæger really likes you,” he said, tracing a finger down the profile of her cheek. “You haven’t been feeding her fingers or anything, have you?”

“Still have all ten,” she said, and proceeding to prove it by drumming her fingertips over his bare chest. “I dunno, I guess we just fit. She always seems to love it when I scratch her.”

“Or you always know just where it itches. Were you ever a wyver-master?”

“Hardly!” she laughed. “Still have all my fingers, remember? But my pa was a wyver-master, and I pretty much grew up playing with Jamat. Jamat’s his wyvern. Pa was missing two fingers, but he never talked about what happened to the other one.

“Anyway, I used to take care of Jamat all the time, and she’d fly me around. I spent all my spare time with her.”

“You know, I’m pretty much out of Captain Seri’s twelve now. I’m the Scorpius wyvern-master, and it looks like I won’t be going back. With two wyverns, though, I’m gonna need someone to help me...”

“Are you offering me a job?”

“I’m sorry,” he laughed, hugging her close, “I thought that’s why you seduced me!”

Seduced you!?” she laughed, pushing his down and straddling him. “I was just attending to your injury! And you took advantage of me!”

“You mind if I do it again?” he asked, reaching up.

“I used to hate officers who did this to their troopers,” she said, “but somehow it doesn’t seem to bother me too much anymore. Yes, do it!

By the time Kassandros and Mahud returned they were both asleep.

“Well, looks like they’re getting along just fine, doesn’t it?” chuckled Mahud, glancing at their naked bodies, glistening reddish in the sunset.

“Doesn’t look like we’ll get much help on guard duty tonight, though,” agreed Kassandros. “Lucky bastard.”

They woke to the aroma of roasting duck, and sheepishly joined the other two troopers at the campfire.

“The wyverns are just snoring away, aren’t they?” said Mahud. “Must be pretty tired after that walk.”

“They’re built for flying, not walking,” said Beorhtwig. “But they made it this far in spite of their injuries. We’ll make it the rest of the way tomorrow without any problem, I’m sure.”

“It’s not far at all,” said Kassandros. “We really didn’t need the horses to come back here; could’a walked it in about the same time.”

“Good. Tomorrow we can enjoy a real tent, then.”

Kassandros and Majud exchanged glances.

Ginette coughed into the silence. “You know, the wyverns are only supposed to live in the north, where it’s cold... That’s what I was always told, anyway. And there aren’t many wyverns down here, if any, except this pair. And the one that died.”

“It isn’t really tropical around here, but it sure isn’t glacier country, either,” agreed Beorhtwig, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “I was wondering about that myself, then things got busy and I forgot all about it.”

“So where did Thuba Mleen get them? How come they’re not dead of the heat?”

“And if he found them somewhere, are there more of them?”

“But how can we... Of course! Once the wyverns are healed, we should be able to get them to fly back ‘home,’ wherever home is,” cried Ginette.

“What if that’s Bleth, or worse, Thuba Mleen’s palace?”

“Would they fly back there?”

“We don’t have any idea how they were treated there,” said Beorhtwig. “There aren’t any scars like that on their bodies, but who knows? Maybe he fed them fresh liver every day!”

“Did they show any interest in Bleth before you got attacked?”

“None. And Fæger showed no loyalty to her rider before I killed him.”

“Stupid man. How can you fly a wyvern and not attach your lifeline?”

“Well, he paid for it. But they came after me from the top of Mt. Thartis. And I heard that someone had seen smoke from high up on the mountain... I wonder if they were being kept there?”

“Thartis is snow-capped all year... plenty cold enough for wyverns!”

“I think once they’re better, I’ll fly up that way and have a look... want to see if they’ve been using it since, too. If they don’t have any more wyverns or airships, nobody should have been there since the battle at the fort.”

“You thinking of using it yourself?”

“Why not? Thuba Mleen can’t use it if he can’t fly, and these two would love the cold, I’m sure.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why they can withstand the heat down here,...” said Ginette. “Um... when you go, can I go with you?”

“Fine with me, as long as Captain Nadeen says OK.”

“I’ll convince her,” she said. “And besides, I think Fæger likes me.”

“She does, doesn’t she? She doesn’t let many people get up close and scratch her like that...”

“I wonder if it’s because we’re... you know...”

“But we weren’t, before.”

“Maybe because I’ve been taking care of you all? Or maybe she just knew it before we did.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “Have you ever tried mounting her?”

“You mean, up in the saddle? No, never!”

“Let’s try it. There’s still enough light... Bareback, too much trouble to put the saddle on.”

He walked over to the wyvern and patted her on the neck.

“How about it, Fæger? You in the mood?”

Ginette joined him, stretching out her hand slowly.

A huge forked tongue rasped across her outstretched palm—Fæger obviously liked her.

“OK, up you go!” said Beorhtwig, interlacing his fingers to form a step.

She stepped up, leaning against the wyvern’s flank, and scrambled to her back, pulling herself up by the wyvern’s dorsal spines. They weren’t very big, but they were hard, bony, and more than strong enough to support her. The saddle was designed to protect the rider from the spines, and without the saddle she really couldn’t sit atop Fæger very easily.

Instead, she lay down along the wyvern’s back, one arm and one leg hanging onto the spines, her head tight against its scaly back.

“Well, I’ll be damned...” breathed Beorhtwig. “She’s purring!”

* * *

“Bagatur? You have a minute?”

“Of course, Commander,” he said, tapping the dottle out and dropping the pipe into its pouch. He was never without pipe and tobacco, but, strangely, rarely smoked. “I was just admiring the sunset.”

Jake sat down on the wall next to him, looking out over the road up from the grassland toward the sunset. The sun has already dropped below the Mohaggers but the sky was still streaked with red and orange.

“I was talking with Captain Ekene earlier, about the raptors, and he said something that I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

“He said that Thuba Mleen was an Ibizim.”

Khasar was silent.

“You ever hear anything like that, Khasar?”

“It could be true,” admitted the Bagatur slowly. “Or almost true. It’s not something we like to talk about.

“We Ibizim have always lived here on the eastern continent. The lands known as the Eastern Desert were once green forests and plains, and the Ibizim lived mostly in peace. Thuba Mleen came here from somewhere, else, some say Wakeworld, some say the East, and lived among us.

“But now you’re enemies.”

“Yes. Something happened. It is said that he tried to make himself ruler, killing matriarchs and building his own army. There was civil war as factions fought, and many died. Our forests and plains were destroyed by some magic, leaving only the sere desert.

“We—my Ibizim—fled, hiding in Xinaián, the Sunless Roads of the Children of the Night. Others fled to the mountains, hiding in their crags and gorges. Thuba Mleen hunted us for years, until we reached a stalemate of sorts, and began his program of conquest, razing and looting cities that did not pay his price.

“We purchased peace by paying a ransom, a tax, to Thuba Mleen, but never trusted that our compact would hold. And over the years he has gradually raised that tax until it threatens our very existence, and our choice is to fight or wither away.

“We know the Sunless Roads, but we cannot withstand his forces, and must strike from the shadows. Revealing ourselves to him might mean the destruction of yet another Home, the death of so many of my people.”

“Where did he come from?”

“Wakeworld, I thought, but nobody knows.”

“I don’t know the name Thuba Mleen from my realm. Certainly no famous conqueror or ruler!”

“I have heard that he was once a god.”

Jake snorted.

“Yeah, well, I’m not much of a believer in gods. Magic, yeah, I’ve seen it with my own eyes, but gods? Nah.”

“Matriarch Geriel would know, I imagine, if she will tell you.”

“She never mentioned it, either. The Matriarch knows the facts of the matter?”

“Oh, certainly. She was there.”

“There? What do you mean, ‘there’?”

“She was one of the matriarchs who survived Thuba Mleen’s attacks, and fled with her people.”

“Just how long ago was all this?”

“Generations upon generations... I think about three grand dozen of years.”

Jake did the calculations in his head. A grand dozen was one hundred and forty-four, so three of those would be almost... five centuries!

Which meant that the Matriarch was at least five hundred years old, maybe a hell of lot older.

He stood, looking out at the dark red sky.

“Thank you, Bagatur Khasar, for being honest with me.”

“Always, Commander, always.”

* * *

Captain Long arrived at Fort Danryce early the following morning, and promptly reported to Jake.

“The wyverns seem to be recovering well,” he said, after sitting down and accepting a cup of tea. “Yesterday we managed about two kilometers from the lake, on foot, and my troop is getting the wyverns over the last kilometer now. The new camp is ready and waiting, but of course it’s only temporary, too.”

“Can they fly?”

“Trooper Beorhtwig says it would strain their wounds. Too dangerous yet. Trooper Ginette, on loan from Captain Nadeen’s twelve, agrees with him. They, um, seem to be extremely close to each other... I think there’s going to be a problem there.”

“Is someone jealous about it? Or do you just mean in general?”

“In general, as far as I know, but I’d like to check with Captain Nadeen or her sergeant to make sure there isn’t anything I need to know.”

“Is she needed?”

“I think so. The wyverns trust her, and eat from her hand. One of the them—the bess—even let her climb up on her back. The bull doesn’t seem to mind her, either.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Trooper Beorhtwig has been on an indefinitely extended leave from Seri’s twelve, and she must be getting pretty tired of that. He’s obviously the best man for to handle the wyverns.

“Have you thought of making it permanent? Transferring him out of Seri’s troop officially, and setting him up as his own command? Maybe even as a sergeant?”

“It had crossed my mind but it didn’t seem to be an urgent issue... sort of got forgotten.”

“Might be a good time to consider it. And transfer this Trooper Ginette to the same unit.”

“One from Nadeen’s twelve, one from Seri’s twelve... a wyvern brigade!”

“Or possibly an air force, if you want to think about integrating the airship, too.”

“The airship is on loan from the King. As is the crew.”

“Another indefinitely extended temporary position,” countered Long. “I wonder if the King would object to transferring it to you officially.”

Jake pursed his lips.

“I know there are other airships, airships not owned by the King. Factor Chóng mentioned it to me once; I think he has been asking the King for one himself.

“Master Chuang is expected here next week; I’ll ask him about it. For now, though, I like the idea of making Beorhtwig and the wyverns independent. With this Ginette, if you feel appropriate. I’ll have to check with Nadeen and Seri, of course, but I suspect they’ll be happy to plug the holes in their troops.

“When do you expect the wyverns will be ready to fly again?”

“I can’t say for sure, Commander, but based on what I’ve seen so far I’d guess another week or so. They recover phenomenally quickly.”

“Good, good.”

“I must leave now. The full moon is tonight, and while the new camp is well away from the lake, I want to be there just in case.”

“Need anything?”

“Alright if I take a keg of ale?”

“Help yourself!” waved Jake.

i>

* * *

Captain Long got back to the camp in the late afternoon, and was welcomed back with a round of cheering as everyone saw the keg of ale strapped to his saddle.

It was still a rough camp, but since they didn’t expect to be attacked out here in the uninhabited grasslands, they’d been able to spend more effort on making it comfortable instead of making it defensible. There were still two troopers on guard, of course, but they also had a proper firepit and latrine.

“The Commander suggested we might enjoy this since we’re stuck out here in the wilds,” he said as he dismounted. “There’s not enough to get drunk with unless one of you pigs takes the whole thing, but there’ll be a cupful for each!”

“Always nice when a captain thinks of his troops,” said Sergeant Chen. “Pity you didn’t bring a couple kegs, but this’ll do just fine.”

“I should’ve asked Captain Ridhi for more,” said Long. “Come to think of it, she wasn’t there. Portrisha was giving out all the orders and looked angry... She told me to help myself to one.”

“Probably off buying turnips or something... whatever, as long as you got it!”

Long set the keg down and started walking through the camp, inspecting the defenses, minimal as they were.

“You expecting trouble?”

“Not really, Sergeant Chen, but we’re still too close to the lake for my comfort... I don’t know what happens on the night of the full moon, and don’t know what those moon creatures look like or do, but I find it very disconcerting that nobody else knows, either.”

“Disconcerting? Why?”

“The Lake of Sarnath should attract people: it’s got water, fish, maybe even sunken treasure. And I’m sure lots of people have come looking. So why isn’t there anyone alive who knows what happens during the full moon?”

Chen chewed that over for minute.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll add another trooper to the guard tonight...”

The two of them checked the perimeter, altering the troopers to the possible dangers of the night, and making a few changes to the perimeter.

They also stopped to check on the wyverns, of course, which is why they were out here in the first place.

“Any problems from the march?”

“Not that we’ve noticed, Captain,” said Beorhtwig. “They seem largely unchanged, and since they ate well yesterday they’re probably just going to sleep all day and night.”

“Must be nice... eat and sleep all you want,” muttered Chen.

“I’m sure it is,” agreed Ginette, “but of course you also have to fight off a couple dozen eagles every so often.”

“Yeah, there is that...”

“Let me know if anything changes, Trooper. We don’t know what to expect tonight, so be careful.”

“Yessir,” nodded Beorhtwig.

“What do you think, Chen?” asked the captain as they walked back toward the firepit. “Anything I need to know?”

“We’re all good, Captain. The troops are acting like they’re on holiday, but they’re keeping their weapons sharp and at hand.”

Long nodded.

“What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Wild pig,” smiled Chen. “They wanted to argue with the hunting party.”

“Not too used to hunters, then.”

“Nope. Maybe all the smart ones took off when we arrived.”

“Smart, dumb, whatever... roast pig all tastes the same.”

The moon was already rising in the west, hanging enormous over the Mohaggers, and as sunset approached it was framed by reddish clouds. Blood red, thought Long, but kept the thought to himself.

As it began to grow darker, Beorhtwig approached.

“Captain, the wyverns are acting strange. They keep raising their heads and sniffing the air. They don’t look scared, I don’t think, but they’re nervous about something, or scent something unknown.”

“This happen before?”

“Not like this! Both of them are acting strange.”

“What do you think?”

“No idea; I’ve never seen them get this agitated before... and they’ve seen a full moon before, many times.”

“But they’ve never been on the shores of the Lake of Sarnath for a full moon,” mused Captain Long. “Sergeant Chen! We might be in for an interesting night... you and your six get some sleep, and I’ll handle guard duty with mine.

“Keep your weapons at hand.”

“Yessir,” said Chen, and went to spread the word.

Long turned back to Beorhtwig.

“You need anything from me?”

“Not now,” answered the other, “but no way of telling where this is going.”

“Keep me informed.”

“Yessir, I will.”

Captain Long walked over to the fire and doused it. It wasn’t so cold they couldn’t do without a fire, and the light would make them visible for kilometers to anything looking down. Like a ship from the moon.

A few hours later the moon was at zenith, glaring down on the campsite with harsh, silver light that sapped color from everything, painting the world in black and grey.

“Captain!”

It was Yafeu, the Zarite archer, known for his phenomenal eyesight.

“Some sort of mist is rising from the lake,” he called. “And there’s something up in the sky.”

Long looked up.

He couldn’t see anything, but suddenly he noticed the stars winking out: something black was moving across the heavens, hiding their light. He followed the blackness as it traveled across his field of view, flying toward the increasingly dense mists from the lake. They couldn’t see the lake at night, of course, or even the rock of Akurion that soared up out of the waters in daylight, but the mist was making it hard to see anything to the north at all, even the distant mountains and the night horizon.

A long, whistling shriek cut the night. The wyverns!

He ran toward them. Both wyverns on their feet, shuffling, wings folding and unfolding, heads sniffing the air.

Beorhtwig and Ginette were there, trying to calm them down.

“What is it?”

“Something in the sky!” shouted Ginette. “They’re getting angry at something!”

Chen’s six was up now, awakened by the noise. He’d been about to wake them anyway.

The blackness vanished into the mist, and Long strained his ears to hear what was happening.

He heard nothing. No, wait... there was something, just at the edge of his hearing... Singing? Crying? A high, shrill sound, drilling into his skull.

He shook his head to clear it, and the keening sliced into his thoughts, drowning them in a a jumble of light and sound and taste, sensations jumbled together in a maelstrom.

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t...

His feet! He was walking, shuffling toward the lake!

He tried to stop, but his body wouldn’t obey him.

It belonged to the moon creatures, calling him to them.

He strained, struggled, helplessly, until... another shriek cut through the fog in his brain.

The wyverns!

They shrieked again and again, driving the fog back, louder than the singing from the lake, giving him time to think.

He looked around.

Two or three troopers, the ones closest to the wyverns, were still, shaking their heads and trying to recover, but the rest shuffled north, toward the lake, mouth hanging open, hands drooping at their sides with weapons forgotten, eyes bulging, twitching left and right in search of escape, helpless.

“Rope! Use rope and tie their legs together!” he shouted to everyone, and tackled the nearest dazed trooper, knocking her over and quickly tying her ankles together with his rope belt. “Beorhtwig, Ginette! Bring the wyverns up, closer!”

He had no time to see what they did, and ran toward the next trooper. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mahud, who had been near the wyverns, knock over another trooper and tie him up.

He heard stamping behind him. The wyverns were coming, shrieking as they came, driving the hideous song farther and farther away, and as they approached, more and more of the troopers stopped, suddenly in control of their bodies, collapsing where they stood.

He counted... his troopers, plus Beorhtwig and Ginette. Two missing. Who was missing?

Erden and Nafiz, both young swordsmen who had been on guard that night.

“Can you see anyone still walking?” he shouted, and the troopers who could turned to look into the tall grass, swaying back and forth in the breeze.

There was no one in sight.

About half an hour later the wyverns grew still, fell silent, and the sounds of the grassland at night filled the air. The insects, the frogs, a bird... the high-pitched piping of the moon creatures was gone.

And with it went Erden and Nafiz, gone without a trace.

* * *

“TT, got a sec?”

“Yeah, what’s up, Jake?”

“Walk with me a second, will you?”

TT fell in beside Jake as he walked down the vegetable field. It was after the evening meal, and the full moon painted the world in black and white. There was no one around to hear them.

“Nadeen and I have been talking,” he started. “Our plans have changed, now that she’s pregnant.”

“Yeah, I figured you had plans you hadn’t told us about. And getting pregnant changes a lot of things.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen until some other things were done,” said Jake. “And it means we have to accelerate some things.”

“Like?”

“You’ve been a good friend to me, TT, and not just because we’re two guys from our world stuck here.”

“Yeah, I think we’re solid.”

Jake stopped.

“Can I ask you to look after Nadeen if anything happens to me?”

“Jake, you didn’t even have to ask,” said TT, sticking his hand out and clapping Jake on the shoulder with the other. “Of course I will, but let’s hope it never comes to that.”

“Thank you, TT. I hope it doesn’t, too, but you never know... After a few problems are cleaned up, there’ll be a lot of changes around here, and you’ll be right in the middle of all of them. I don’t want to go into details just yet—it’s just me and Nadeen right now—but maybe this will convince you I really trust you.”

He pulled two small, heavy items out of a bag and handed them over.

“That messenger from Chóng gave them to me yesterday. Took him a hell of a long time to find them. Or get them.”

“Holy shit, Jake! Two boxes!”

“.40-cal ammo, factory-fresh for your convenience.”

“A hundred rounds. Damn!”

“Now aren’t you glad you kept that pistol clean?”

“Jake, I... thanks, Jake. I owe you.”

“Consider it payment for services rendered, TT. And an advance, if needed.”

“Will do, Commander. Are there more where these came from?”

“Chóng said probably not, but I asked him to keep looking. Got some for myself, too. 9 mil.”

“Good. Let’s see those fuckers try another attack now. Might come as quite a surprise.”

Jake chuckled.

“As long as they don’t have any of their own,” he warned. “Chóng warned me that firearms have been showing up here and there. He says they’re doing what they can to buy, steal, or destroy them, but it’s an uphill battle.”

“But they trust us?”

“I think so. For now at least. And we have to keep it that way.”

“You plan on getting more for the captains, or the troops?”

“Not now. Maybe later,” said Jake. “I think that would piss the King right off, and considering all the things he says he did, I don’t want to piss off the King anytime soon. Or Mochizuki.”

“Yeah, good move.”

“Keep it to yourself, TT.”

“I will, Jake. And thanks for trusting me.”

“Good night, TT.”

“Good night, sir.”

Jake walked back to his quarters and joined Nadeen on the futons.

He reached down to lay his hand on her abdomen.

“You can’t feel anything yet, you silly man,” said Nadeen, placing her hand atop his.

“I know. But I like it here,” he said, circling her navel with his fingertip.

The bright moon shone in the window, illuminating the room and their futons.

“I talked to TT, and gave him the ammo,” he said. “He’s with us, but I asked him to wait until later for the whole story.”

“He doesn’t mind trusting us blind?”

“He’s a Marine. They always work blind; he’s used to it.”

“I trust your judgment,” she said, and snuggled closer.

* * *

The gong was sounding the alarm, and the fort boiled up like a beehive under attack.

Nadeen was first out the door, shouting for an update as she ran toward the wall, and Jake dashed after her only to skid to a stop.

The trooper in front of him was standing still, looking up.

He looked up, in the same direction.

Something huge.

Was it a bird? A wyvern?

God, it was enormous!

There was a man riding it, and if he was Jake’s height, that thing must be the size of a house!

Huge wings stretching out, gray scales flashing in the sun, a head that looked more like a horse than a bird... what the fuck?

“A shantak!” breathed the guard standing next to him. “We’re doomed!”

The aerial nightmare drew its wings in, pointing its hippocephalic head at the fort, and dove towards them.

END

Jake: Bleth

Chapter 1

The shantak circled lazily around the fort, wings barely moving as it drifted downward.

There was a crash as the scorpion a few meters away let loose, sending a bolt into the air. Jake watched it rise ever so slowly to impact neatly on the shantak’s chest.

It would have been a kill shot on any other animal, but on the shantak it merely glanced off the scales, falling impotently to the grassland far below.

“Hold your fire!” he shouted, holding up one palm.

Eyes still fixed on the creature, he heard Nadeen shouting at her troopers to hold fire. Behind her voice, a hubbub of shouts, the sounds of running feet, horses galloping.

The gong began to sound, alerting everyone within kilometers who didn’t already know they were in deep shit.

Its long neck was balanced by a long, ropy tail, all black and scaly, suspended from huge black bat-wings that stretched out for dozens of meters on either side. As the creature drew closer Jake could make out the elongated, almost equine skull, with its jagged teeth and forward-facing red eyes.

The creature turned closer, heading almost straight at him, and Jake suddenly noticed the rider. A large man, and judging by the way those robes bulged, quite fat. His face was sun-burned, clean-shaven, slightly shadowed under a large, electric-blue kaffiyeh. His robe was a very dark blue—looks expensive, he thought.

He instinctively ducked as it swooped just over his head, even though he knew it must still be quite high. It felt like a 747 passing overhead, but quieter.

It glided low over the fort, banked, and came in low over the main gate. One outstretched wing barely grazed one of the flanking towers, knocking half a dozen stones out of the crenellation before it dropped into the vegetable fields in front of the gate.

As it dropped out of sight on the other side of the wall, Jake slid down the ladder, ignoring the splinters in his hands. Nadeen was right behind him.

“Get Mintran!” he shouted to one of the troopers running in the same direction. “Help him get his thalassion fire ready!”

The trooper changed direction and raced toward Mintran’s laboratory without a reply.

The main gate was still open, and Jake leaped the simple bar that was across it to prevent travelers from entering, or animals from leaving.

He skidded to a stop, and Nadeen came to a stop at his side.

A dozen troopers spilled out of the gate behind him, spreading out to face the shantak.

“K’shalah Dun, emissary from His Imperial Highness Thuba Mleen, Emperor of the Eastern Desert.”

Jake took his hand off his pistol and straightened up.

K’shalah Dun was standing between the shantak and the main gate, quietly waiting.

Jake noticed a purple pennant on the saddle—this must be the person they saw leaving Bleth that day.

“Jake of Penglai.”

A bellow of pain erupted from the direction of the shantak—Jake saw that it was holding two of the fort’s cows in its claws. Both were struggling to escape, one already gushing blood around the deeply sunk talons.

The shantak’s neck twisted around, head tilting one way and the other, before plunging down to slam its enormous jaws tight on the cow.

A scream, a crunch, and the front half of the cow was gone. The head snaked down a second time and nothing was left but the red, sodden soil.

The other cow was struggling furiously, eyes white, bellowing in fear, but the shantak just held it in place nonchalantly, almost ignoring it.

“I bring you an offer from the Emperor, Commander,” continued the emissary as if nothing had happened.

“I’m listening.”

“Your Scorpius Company has attained considerable fame in the field, Commander. The Emperor would like to hire your services.”

“I am not for hire.”

“The Emperor is most generous with those who serve him,” said K’shalah Dun, and held out a bag.

Jake held out his hand, just a little bit short, forcing the other to raise his arm and reach a little farther. The bag was quite heavy.

“And this is?”

“Proof of good faith,” replied the emissary. “A gift.”

Jake opened the bag, revealing a mass of gold coins.

He hefted it in his hand.

“A kilogram or so?”

“Yes. Payment for your services would also be in gold. Payable in advance, if you prefer.”

“I see,” said Jake. “A gift, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Very kind of you.

“And what services would Thuba Mleen be interested in?”

“You would have to discuss that with the Emperor, of course, but nothing you and your company is unfamiliar with, I assure you.”

“And when do you require my reply?

“Two weeks,” said the emissary, then turned to the shantak and waved his hand as if shooing it away.

The shantak’s head reached out again and almost daintily bit the middle out of its captive cow, then snapped up the legs and head almost as soon as they hit the ground.

The poor animal was gone.

“It is not a complicated choice,” continued K’shalah Dun serenely. “On the one hand you have the promise of as much gold as you might desire, and on the other...”

He gestured toward the shantak as it licked its lips, glistening black tongue collecting the last gobbet of red flesh.

“Very impressive,” said Jake. “But next time perhaps come in your carriage. Four horses and two twelves of guards would do less damage to my carrots, not to mention my cattle.”

K’shalah Dun stared silently at Jake for a moment, then laughed.

“Very good! We have been watching you, too, Commander Jake.”

He walked back to the shantak and climbed up the ladder to the platform on top, taking his place in the saddle.

“I will return in two weeks for your answer. And if the answer is no, well, then I will level this fort and kill everyone in it.”

“Your last attempt to destroy this fort didn’t work out as you planned.”

“This isn’t a plan, my dear Commander. This is a promise.”

“Before you go,” said Jake, “I’d like to give you a gift as well.”

He turned to the troopers standing nervously behind him.

“You! And you! Go get the two captives who refused to give bond, and bring them here. Now.”

Two troopers ran back through the main gate.

Jake stood immobile, staring at K’shalah Dun silently until they returned only a few minutes later, shoving the two captives in front of them.

“These two refused to give bond,” he said as they were pushed forward, toward the emissary. “I spare their lives and return them to you.”

“I have little use for troopers who are taken captive,” said K’shalah Dun. “But I do have room for one, and the final decision should really be up to the Emperor.”

He looked down as the two captives and shrugged.

“Well, get on with it.”

Guillaume, the man who had claimed to be a spy for Queen Caila of Perinthia, kicked forward into the back of the other man’s knee. He staggered as he lost his balance, dropping one arm to the ground to catch himself, leaving himself defenseless for a moment. Guillaume threw his chains around the man’s neck, his knee in the man’s back, and yanked.

It was over in seconds, and the man—Tanawat, he’d named himself—fell, possibly a broken neck, his fingers scrabbling weakly in the dirt.

“May I mount, Lord K’shalah Dun?”

Breathing heavily, Guillaume stood and looked up at the emissary, who nodded, and snapped the reins of his shantak.

The monster’s neck uncoiled, darting forward to snap up dying man with a bubbling shriek, mercifully cut off. A juicy crunch and he hung limply like a ragdoll, only to be flung up into the air and swallowed in a gulp.

Jake stood frozen, mouth open as the shantak began to walk, then run toward the edge of the cliff, wings pumping powerfully. It jumped off the edge, plummeted out of sight for a moment, then slowly dragged itself up into the sky and away.

“Jesus fucking Christ... they just... Holy shit!”

“So Thuba Mleen really does have a pet shantak...” said Nadeen, less shaken.

Jake shook his head, trying to erase the scene from his memory.

“That was Guillaume, right? The one who got on.”

“It was,” confirmed Nadeen.

“Jesus. It just... Aw, fuck!”

He spit, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, took a breath.

“Get that flanking tower fixed. We need a meeting,” he said, and hefted the bag of gold coins. “When is Aercaptain de Palma getting back?”

“Supposed to be this evening, assuming the new sails are ready as ordered.”

“They will be,” nodded Jake. “And Beorhtwig?”

“He’s up on Mt. Thartis with the wyverns; should be back any time now.”

“Captain Chinh’s out on patrol along the river but we can send a horse from the other end and catch him, I think. If necessary de Palma can fetch him later.”

“Everyone else here?”

“Except Ridhi...”

“Damn. Yeah, Ridhi,” said Jake. “What are we going to do with her?”

Nadeen tilted her head fractionally to remind Jake that there were a dozen troopers standing within earshot.

“Ah, right,” mumbled Jake. “Sorry, I didn’t expect him to just... kill him... like that.”

“Let’s go,” suggested Nadeen. “I’ll get the word out to everyone.”

“Before we go, though... that scorpion up on the wall... they got a shot off while that monster was coming right at them. Who’s in charge of that team?”

“Dhaval of Oxuhahn. Good man in a fight with his sword-and-dagger combo.”

“Dhaval. Thanks.

“Look, before we meet all the captains tonight I want hold a full assembly. Everyone in Scorpius.”

“What do you mean by ‘everyone’?”

“Everyone we pay salary to, whether they’re on a long-term or short-term contract, and everyone who puts their life on the line for us when they need to. So, the Bagatur’s people, and Chinh’s troop, too.”

She cocked her head in a question as they walked through the main gate back toward their quarters.

“You have something special planned?”

“Oh, yes I certainly do,” smiled Jake. “I’ll need to see Portrisha, too. The kitchen staff is going to be pretty busy.”

* * *

Later that day, as the sun was approaching the tops of the Mohaggers, almost everyone was back in the Fort. It was unusual to have the full complement together in one place, and Fort Danryce was crowded.

The airship was still gone but was expected back momentarily. Aercaptain de Palma had flown down to Rinar to pick up the new sails for the airship. Once they were checked and rolled, they’d be secured in the hold with the new spare mast, putting the airship back into good shape after the deadly eagle attack.

“Airship approaching!” came the outlook’s shout from the wall, and Jake stood, letting the map roll up again.

He replaced it in its hole in the wall, adjusted his sword belt, and left the library to greet de Palma and the airship crew as they descended the bell tower.

“Welcome back, Aercaptain.”

“Thank you, Commander,” replied de Palma. “What happened? The tower damage, and everyone here...”

“You’ll get the details later at the Captains’ Meeting, but we had a visit from a shantak.”

A shantak!? Here?

“They really wanted to make an impression.”

“Wow! And all you lost were a few stones off the tower?”

“He wasn’t here to fight, just to talk. Lucky thing, too, because that shantak was huge.”

“Yeah,” said the Aercaptain, nodding. “I’ve never seen one up close but even from a distance they look deadly.”

“They look a lot deadlier up close, I can assure you. Downright evil.

“Everything good with the sail?”

“Perfect. The Cavor is as good as new.”

“Good, good. There will be an assembly of all Scorpius troops in thirty minutes, and a Captains’ Meeting after that. I want everyone at the assembly, on time. No exceptions.”

“Yessir,” said de Palma, wondering what was up.

The troops were wondering the same thing as they gathered in the ground between the church and the gates.

Several bonfires and multiple torches illuminated the ground with their flickering, orange light, but Jake brought out half a dozen of the sunstones the Bagatur had collected, bringing with them the brilliance of the noonday sun.

He had already directed his captains to keep their troops together, but that there was no need to stand in ranks, or to stand at all, for that matter.

His captains, being captains, had their people stand in ranks anyway, at ease.

It was the first time the full complement had assembled at once, and the vast majority of them were wearing their red-and-gold scorpion patches prominently. Jake took his position in front, under the Scorpius flag, and caught his breath for an instant—These were his troops, his men and women, who had survived Thuba Mleen’s attack that day, and had thrown their lot in with him.

“Scorpius!

“You all know I’m not very good with speeches. I hate speeches.

“But as you’ve heard, and most of you saw with your own eyes, we had a visitor from Thuba Mleen today.

“You know what he offered me—join him for power and gold, or die. He gave me two weeks to make up my mind.

“Well, like most people, I enjoy having money. It’s darned useful when you need an ale, I’ve found.”

He waited for the chuckles to die down.

“How much gold does a man need, though? If you think I’m in this for the money you’re sadly mistaken.

“Now, he said I needed to give them my answer in two weeks, and then the idiot bought two cows off me for a whole bag of gold!”

Jake held up the bag he’d gotten from K’shalah Dun and swung it gently to show how heavy it was as everyone laughed.

“Just between you and me, there’s no way in hell I’d work for that bastard. But keep it a secret, OK?”

More laughter.

“So we have two weeks to get ready for one hell of a fight.”

He paused and let the silence harden.

“Captain Nadeen!”

She stepped forward from the line of Captains.

“Today one of the scorpions on the wall fired a bolt at the shantak as it dove toward them.”

“Yessir.”

“Who was in command of that team?”

“Trooper Dhaval of Oxuhahn, sir.”

“Trooper Dhaval! Step forward with your team!”

Dhaval, a tall, black-haired youth in his mid-twenties, slowly stepped out of formation at Nadeen’s gesture, followed by two others, and approached Jake.

“Trooper, you fired and hit that shantak as it flew straight toward you.”

“Yessir.”

“That took balls of steel, trooper. Let me shake your hand.”

He held out his hand, and wrist-shook with Dhaval, then the other two.

“I bet you were scared shitless.”

Dhaval cracked a smile.

“We were, sir. But what else could we do?”

“You did right. And this’ll help you get over it, I think,” said Jake, and held out a handful of gold crowns.

The coins glittered brilliantly in the light of the sunstones, clear to everyone. Gold Kuranes crowns, the most trusted coin of the Dreamlands.

“Ten for you and five each for the crew, with my thanks.”

Dhaval gingerly accepted the coins, and, catching Nadeen’s gesture, walked back to the ranks with his men, unable to keep a huge grin off his face. One of his crew slapped him on the back in celebration.

“Tonight,” shouted Jake to the assembly. “Tonight we celebrate the successful sale of two cows, the first of many victories to come. And thanks to K’shalah Dun, every trooper here tonight will receive a special bonus of three gold crowns!”

There was a cheer, and as they cheered the door to the church and two casks of ale came rolling out, pushed by Portrisha and the kitchen staff.

“The drinks are on me!”

There was another cheer and the ranks dissolved.

* * *

An hour later they gathered in Jake’s quarters for the Captains’ Meeting.

Jake looked around the table: Nadeen, now his wife, had been one of the first people he’d met here, along with poor Danny, whose seat at the table was taken by Serilarinna, whom he’d met on that mission for Factor Humaydah and Captain Feng. He’d met Beghara and Long, now captains of their own twelves, on that same mission.

Captain Chinh of Celephaïs, Bagatur Khasar of the Blue Eagle of the Ibizim, and Captain Ekene of Zar, all on “loan” for an indefinite term.

His “air force” consisted of Aercaptain de Palma of the airship Cavor, also on loan from King Kuranes, and wyver-master Beorhtwig.

And here in Fort Danryce, Horsemaster Turan Dratund, Alchemist Mintran, and Einar Ibrahimson the armorer.

The only one missing was Ridhi Chabra, who had been with him almost since the beginning. He’d met here on that mission with Captain Feng, too, which she had only barely survived.

Later he’d ask Sergeant Highweigh—TT— to join them, along with Borislaw of Eudoxia who was here to get them up to speed on cavalry now that they had smart horses in their force. He considered asking Roach to join them as well, but decided against it for now.

Once the meeting was done the captains would meet with their sergeants, possibly even with their troopers, to share information and hopefully pick up more good ideas.

Portrisha, temporarily replacing Ridhi Chabra, brought in teapots and cups for everyone, plus a carafe of water for Jake.

After the discovery that Ridhi had been feeding information to Mochizuki, Jake held meetings with all the doors and windows open, and two troopers posted on the wall making sure nobody was sneaking around out of sight on the roof or somewhere.

“We’ve got a busy two weeks ahead of us. I don’t expect K’shalah Dun to be late.”

There was a soft murmur around the table.

“We have a lot of things to cover, and not much time,” he continued. “I can’t think of everything, and while I have some ideas I really, really hope you’ve got some ideas, too, because I don’t like the odds.

“That shantak is fucking huge...”

“Is there any way to kill it?”

Jake slowly nodded.

“Actually, I think there is, but let’s put that off for a bit. The first thing I’d like to settle is what to do about Ridhi Chabra. She’s admitted to spying for Mochizuki, passing information to her. Mochizuki is certainly not an enemy, but she’s not exactly an ally, either.

“We work with the King, maybe even for the King, but does that give him the right to put a spy in our midst?”

“She saved your life,” pointed out Beghara. “Surely that counts for something.”

“She’s been with us for a long time,” added Long. “I can’t believe she’d do anything to harm us, including leaking information that could put us in danger.”

“You don’t think we’re in any danger from Mochizuki?”

“Only if we’re in danger from King Kuranes,” said Long. “And to be honest, I think Mochizuki could get the information she wants, or kill anyone here, at any time even without Ridhi.

“I say accept it and let it go.”

Jake pursed his lips.

“What about the rest of you? Any comments?”

“I agree,” said Beghara. “I think Mochizuki is an ally, just like the King and even Factor Chóng. I wish Ridhi had just told us in the first place but I don’t think it really matters.”

“Hmm. Anyone else?”

There was a general shaking of heads.

“OK, let’s put it to a vote, then,” said Jake. “Those in favor of putting Ridhi Chabra back into her previous position raise your hand...”

Beghara and Long immediately raised their hands, followed slowly by Mintran.

There was a short silence, and then Nadeen also raised her hand.

“Five in favor. And the rest of you are against it?”

“The King trusts Mistress Mochizuki, and therefore so do I, but in all honesty I do not know Captain Ridhi, or her history, well enough. I abstain,” said Chinh.

“And I also abstain, for the same reason,” agreed Captain Ekene.

“Aercaptain?”

“I do not believe we should willingly accept a spy in our midst, even for an ally. Secret allegiances are dangerous.”

“Horsemaster Turan? And the rest of you?”

“I vote no,” said Turan.

Bagatur Khasar and Serilarinna both voted “No” without explaining their reasons, and Armorer Einar abstained.

“So, four for and four against, then. A tie,” mused Jake. “Meaning the decision is up to me, again.”

He drummed his fingers on the table.

“I thought about this quite a bit last night and had already reached a decision for myself, but I feel that it is important to hear your thoughts. If more of you had been against the idea I was willing to give her a horse and tell her to never come back, but since we’re tied...

“I vote to reinstate her. Mistress Mochizuki is not an enemy, and while I am not happy with secret spies, I would have little objection to her asking straight out for information on what we’re doing. So now we have a more transparent relationship, and hopefully we can continue to enjoy Captain Ridhi’s considerable talents.

“I’m far more concerned about the possibility of Thuba Mleen’s spies... Beth was clearly a spy, and that thief who snuck into my quarters that night was probably a spy, but there are unquestionably others here. If Mochizuki and Ridhi can uncover and neutralize them all the better.”

He turned to Nadeen.

“Would you go now and ask her to join us? We’ll wait.”

“Of course,” said Nadeen. “Captain Long, Captain Beghara, Captain Serilarinna, I would like you to accompany me, if you’re willing.”

“With pleasure,” smiled Beghara, and she stood with Long to join her.

Serilarinna frowned for a moment, then straightened, and stood.

“So be it. The decision is made, and we must work as a team, or die. I’ll go too.”

“Jake?”

“No, I will stay here,” he replied in a flat voice.

The four captains left, and Jake poured himself another cup of water.

“As Captain Serilarinna said, we need to put this behind us. Thuba Mleen will show us no mercy with or without Captain Ridhi, but I believe that we stand a better chance with her.

“Horsemaster, how are Thunder and Meatball doing?”

“Oh, very well,” replied Turan, relieved to change the subject. “They are both almost full-grown now, very spirited. They’re both stallions so there’s some competition between them, but not as much as we’d feared.”

“They’re working together without difficulty?”

“Very well. Meatball is more aggressive than Thunder, more willing to take chances. Thunder is always worried about tripping in ground squirrel burrows.”

“What, he tripped in one before?” asked Captain Chinh.

“No, I don’t think so... he’s just cautious about his footing.

“They’re both very good at keeping the rest of the herd under control, and we’ve worked out a number of commands that they can implement, adjusting as necessary to deal with changes in the situation. We’re putting new foals in with them, too, to help spread the language.”

“Is it a language already?”

“I think so, yes,” said the Horsemaster. “They can’t write, of course, and human speech is close to impossible, but they understand an awful lot of what we say as long as we say it properly—they like having the verb at the end of the sentence, for some reason, but they’re good at catching context—and they are getting better at making themselves understood.

“They communicate amongst themselves far better than with us.”

“But can they drink and roll dice?” asked Einar. “I mean, let’s concentrate on the essential skills, shall we?”

There were a few chuckles around the table.

Nadeen returned, followed by Captain Ridhi and the other three.

“Mistress Ridhi Chabra, Commander,” she announced formally, and stood aside to let Ridhi step forward.

Jake stood and extended his hand for a wrist-shake.

“Captain Ridhi, welcome back. I hope you’re all recovered from your recent illness?”

She hesitated for a split second, then grasped his arm firmly to shake.

“Thank you, Commander,” she said. “Fully recovered, and I am confident there will be no relapse.”

“Excellent.

“Please, sit. I’m glad you were able to rejoin us here today because we have a lot of things to cover. I’m sure Mistress Mochizuki will want to know about them immediately, and hopefully will have some information for us in return.”

“I... Uh, yes, sir,” mumbled Ridhi as she sat. So she was a Captain again (still?) and expected to be reporting to Mochizuki. That made her job easier in some ways, but...

“While you were gone I asked for an update on the horses, just so everyone’s knows what’s going on. We’ve gone over it at the Captains’ Meeting every week, but I don’t think the Armorer or Trooper Beorhtwig were up to speed yet,” continued Jake as Ridhi took her seat.

“Captain Ridhi, did they fill you in on our recent visitor?”

“Yes, Commander. K’shalah Dun.”

“Good.

“OK, so we have two weeks to get ready. Since they went out of their way to show us that shantak I think it’s safe to assume it’ll be back. How do we stop it?

“Captain Nadeen? What about the scorpions?”

“Sure, we can shoot at it, but you saw what happened to Dhaval’s bolt. We could use fire arrows, of course, but unless they stick long enough to set fire to the damn thing they won’t help much.”

“What about the wings? Are they armored, too?”

“No, they’re pretty thin, which is another problem,” explained Beorhtwig. “Unless it’s right on top of you, you need to shoot the bolt with plenty of force to hit it, and if it’s got any power behind it it’ll just punch right through the wing.

“They’re damned hard to hit anyway, unless they’re diving straight at you.”

“Can you tangle it up in a net? Dropped from above, or shot from the scorpions?” asked Ekene.

“The Pinnacle is equipped with scorpions to defend against air attack as well, but as far as I know they have no plans to defend against shantaks,” revealed Chinh.

“I don’t think we could net it using scorpions,” said Nadeen. “One scorpion can fire a net, I suppose, but the chances of getting it in exactly the right place at the right time are pretty slim.

“And what happens if the shantak actually flies into the net? No rope could hold it.”

“We might not need to hold it,” said Beghara. “Just getting it to slow down and stop attacking could be useful. And if you can get it off balance for a minute we might be able to do something else.”

“Actually, if the goal is to just keep it off balance, a rope with weights might be even better...” Turan waved her hand in a circle. “There’s something called a bolo, a couple lengths of rope tied together with weights in the ends. You throw it at the legs of an animal to wrap the ropes wrap around them, and then the weight brings the animal down.

“It’s spinning out, which means it’s pretty wide in the air, so we’d have a better chance of hitting the shantak.”

“Excellent idea, Horsemaster!” smiled Jake. “I’ve never used one but I know what they are. If we can get a couple of those on the shantak’s wings it’d fall, and then it’s a hell of a lot easier to deal with.

“How the fuck did Thuba Mleen manage to control one of those things, anyway? Thuba Mleen is damned good with animals: wyverns, eagles, now a shantak. They all fly... Can he control land animals, too? Does he have a twelve of ghasts on call? Or dholes?”

“I can’t believe they could be controlled by anyone!” said the Bagatur. “But then again... I would have said the same thing about a shantak...”

“He’s got something, alright... Bagatur, can you get in touch with Matriarch Biwashaa and see if they have any information? How he’s doing it, does he have anything else hidden, anything at all.”

“Yessir.”

“I don’t expect a bolo or net to do more than slow the shantak down a little bit, to be honest,” said Jake, “but that might be all we need.”

“We can fly higher than the shantak—and the wyverns, for that matter—but I’m not sure that gives us much advantage,” said De Palma, scratching his head. “They already know about the thalassion, and we’d have to get pretty close to spray the shantak with it. Basically, anything that gets close to that abomination is dead, even the wyverns.”

“We can harry it a little, maybe slow it down, but if we get into a real fight with it, the shantak will win,” agreed Beorhtwig. “I think my wyverns would fight if I asked them, but I don’t think they’d do much more than slow the thing down, to be honest.”

“Shantaks are pretty damn tough,” said Captain Long. “They can be killed but they take a lot of killing. They burn as well as anything else, though.”

“How dangerous would it be for the wyverns keep it busy while the airship gets close enough to spray it with fire?”

Beorhtwig thought for a moment.

“If the shantak can be goaded into chasing us instead of the airship, it should be possible... the thing is huge, and that means it’s deadly and hard to kill, but being that big has disadvantages, too.

“It can’t change direction or speed as easily as a wyvern can, it can’t fly as high, and it tires a lot sooner.”

“And wyverns are faster and more agile than airships, too, right?”

“Yes, but the airship can fly higher, and obviously doesn’t get tired at all. We can fly higher than the shantak, too.”

“So in theory it should be possible to keep the shantak busy until the Cavor can spray it?”

Beorhtwig looked at Aercaptain de Palma, who nodded.

“I think so. Especially if we can kill whoever’s riding it first.”

“Absolutely,” agreed de Palma. “If archers can take them out the shantak will be much easier to distract. They take a long time to die, though, as Captain Long said.”

“We don’t actually have to kill it,” explained Jake, “although that would be nice. We just have to keep it away from the fort.”

“I agree. Fort defenses are much better now, and while they can’t stand up to the shantak, they’re probably good enough for Thuba Mleen’s troops. Unless they bring siege machinery, of course.”

“Well, they certainly can’t surprise us with a siege,” said Beghara. “They’d have to build them here, and that’d take a few days at least.”

“Agreed,” nodded Jake. “OK, so I want you two to figure out how to keep the shantak away from the fort. See if this idea of nets or bolos sounds like it might work. If you need anything talk to me.”

Beorhtwig and de Palma nodded.

“Captain Serilarinna, I think we can expect to see at attack when the shantak comes, or maybe the day after. We’ll get warning of their movements from the Matriarch, of course, but I want you up in the mountains ahead of them.

“Your job is to whittle them down, destroy their supplies and morale, and break them up into smaller groups. That’s exactly what you’ve been training for with Sergeant TT all these months.

“Bagatur, make sure the Matriarch sends some Y’barra with them.

“No more ideas?”

Shaking heads.

“OK, what about the fort. Captain Nadeen?”

“We’ve repaired the damage to the gate tower,” she explained. “The shantak can do it again, of course, but at least the wall’s back up.

“Last time they destroyed both gates, and got up onto the wall. The wall is higher now, with towers along the entire periphery, and twin towers over the main gate and the postern. The gates are both double gates now, with murder holes over the space between.

“We’ve cut the trees back to at least the range of our scorpions, so we can hit anything we can see.”

“But there are still plenty of trees they can make rams or catapults with.”

“Of course. We can’t fell every tree in the Mohaggers.”

“Any point in putting catapults up on the wall?” asked Serilarinna. “Boulders and grenades could be handy if they cluster.”

“We’re building them now,” said Nadeen. “They’re pretty big and would interfere with smooth passage along the wall, so we’re expanding the wall inward in places to hold them. Buttressed for strength.”

“When’s that expected to be done?” asked Jake.

“Only another few days. Work began weeks ago.”

“Good. Mintran, we’ll need more grenades. If you need help let me know at once,” said Jake, and turned to the others. “Figure out how many you want and let Alchemist Mintran know today.

“What about barricades in the fields?”

“Captain Ridhi?”

“Uh, yessir,” she started, flustered. “The ground outside the main gate is bare rock in many places, or relatively shallow dirt over rock, so a palisade is out of the question. We could build fences and barriers in places, wood or stone as appropriate, to break up attackers, and slow them down.”

“But unless they’re manned,” objected Captain Long, “They’ll just slow the enemy down the first time, and them serve to protect them from our fire.”

“Agreed,” said Beghara. “An open killing field is best, and we’ll want a clear space for the horses, too.”

“You’re more familiar with this type of combat than I am,” said Jake. “OK, skip the barriers out front. What about caltrops?”

Beghara laughed.

“Didn’t you just say we knew this type of combat better than you? I was just going to suggest caltrops! And pits.”

Jake grinned. “I used to read a lot when I was a kid.”

“Caltrops are only really useful when the horses are galloping, and they aren’t going to gallop against the fort. Plus which, any caltrops we used would hurt our own horses.

“Pits are the same as far as how they affect the horses, but a pit would also force the enemy to go around. Are there any places we can dig pits?”

“The ground gets deeper closer to the forest,” said Ridhi. “We could probably dig fairly deep there, but it’ll be hard going with all the roots.”

“Trenches would slow down any siege engines they bring. If any,” said Long. “They can fill the holes in easily enough, but it’d take time.”

“Anyone see any problems with trenches?”

“No way they can tunnel from one of the trenches and into the fort?” asked Einar.

“None,” said Ridhi. “The fort stands on bedrock.”

“Anyone else?

“Captain Ridhi, you and Captain Nadeen figure out where to dig those trenches, and get them dug ASAP.

“Is there anything else we can do?”

“The more troops we send into the mountains the fewer we’ll have here for defense,” said Chinh. “How about sending the raptors with Captain Serilarinna?”

“Sounds like a good idea... they’re best in melees, and hopefully we won’t have many of those here at the fort. If things work out they could even attack the rear of Thuba Mleen’s force when he’s attacking us.

“If the shantak is taken care of,” suggested de Palma, “The wyverns and I could certainly harass them. Grenades and thalassion fire would be very effective against both troops and any siege engines, as long as they don’t have anything flying.”

“As far as we know, only that damn shantak.”

“If we’re certain about that, we could stockpile grenades and naphtha on nearby peaks, reachable only by air,” added Beorhtwig. “That way we could rearm without having to come back to the fort and risk enemy fire. Now that the wyverns are based on Mt. Thartis—the place they used to use when Thuba Mleen owned them—we can patrol a lot easier, and have a ready-made storage site.”

“Thuba Mleen can’t get up there anymore?”

“The shantak can’t get that high, so unless they have another airship or some spectacular mountain climbers, no.”

“The wyverns are recovered now?”

“Almost completely,” replied Beorhtwig. “They heal incredibly fast as long as they have enough to eat.”

“Excellent,” said Jake. “I like the idea. Plan on doing it, but hold off a bit. Hopefully we can get confirmation on his air force from the Matriarch first.”

“There are a few bottlenecks in the Mohaggers that we could block,” suggested Captain Serilarinna. “They could go over or through any sort of obstacle in a day or two, but it would certainly slow them down. I can think of one place where we could probably trigger an avalanche right on top of them.”

“If they use that pass, right? There are alternate routes?”

“Unfortunately, yes. There are multiple routes, and they could really use any of them. Or all.”

“For that matter, they could send a force around the Mohaggers entirely, and attack from the plains. They sent a small force that way last time, and fired Cadharna,” pointed out Captain Chinh.

“I think we could give them quite a surprise down on the plains,” chuckled Beghara. “They may be used to defending against cavalry, but smart horses are very different. We can work with them to switch tactics in the middle of an attack. And if the Armorer gets their gear ready in time, we can do a lot more.”

“What sort of gear?” asked Chinh.

“Full chain armor, for one thing,” explained Einar. “Most horse armor is designed with a rider in mind, constraining the horse’s movement and adding weight. That slows the horse down, naturally. We’ve been working on armor designed for horses without riders. No saddle, no stirrups, no need to think about the rider at all, because there isn’t one.

“And unlike most horses, our horses understand pikes and ropes, and can react appropriately. They still need to be protected, just like people, but we’re talking about armor for a warrior now, not just a horse.

“And that’s the other thing: weapons. Horses kick when they’re frightened, but these horses kick deliberately, using their hooves as weapons. We haven’t tried it in battle yet, obviously, but I’ve seen them practicing. We’re making steel shoes for them now that fit over the pastern and down over the wall. They aren’t secured very tightly to the horse’s leg, but when they kick the shoe presses against the top of the hoof, armoring the pastern and hoof and providing a strong, sharp edge at the front.

“They are deadly, and when they’re all fitted out they are going to be a force to be feared.”

“Can you have them all fitted out within two weeks?”

“I can try, but it’ll be tight. Especially with all the other stuff you’ve got me doing,” sighed Einar.

“If we can help in any way, ask. I don’t think any of the troops have training as smiths, but at least they’ve got muscles.”

“How many horses are we talking about here?” asked Chinh.

“About two dozen smart ones, and we think they’ll be able to control about the same number of ordinary horses.”

“We have to keep the bloodlines safe,” pointed out the Horsemaster.

“Of course we’ll do what we can, but if we hold them all back we won’t have much left to fight with,” said Jake.

“They’re as intelligent as we are; they just can’t talk to us, and don’t have hands,” said Turan, frowning. “They haven’t been in battle before, and training isn’t the same.”

“Can we count on them?”

“I think so, but once they start killing and dying...”

Jake drummed his fingers on the table.

“So we might only get one charge, then. That sucks.

“I think they’ll do what we ask, but I don’t know. Nobody does. Horses aren’t predators, unlike raptors, and we just don’t know what’ll happen.”

“Captain Beghara, you’re in charge of the grassland. We need scouts out to determine if they’re attacking that way or not. If not, then we’ll need you back in the fort, maybe with a sally later, but certainly on the wall. If you can defend Cadharna, good, but your first priority is to defend the fort and yourselves.

“Captain Nadeen, Captain Long, Captain Chinh, Captain Ekene: fort defense. Captain Ridhi, your people are to make sure everyone has all the arrows, water, and other supplies they need, as well as getting the wounded to the church, helping Healer Dunchanti with the wounded, and putting out fires.

“Captain Nadeen is in overall command of the fort, including Captain Ridhi’s staff.

“Bagatur Khasar, I would like you to call on the Matriarch immediately and find out what they can do. I’m leaving your assignment open for the moment.”

“Talk to your sergeants, figure out what you need, and let’s meet again tomorrow, Hour of the Horse. If you need anything from the city tell me as soon as possible. Including villagers to help get ready, for example.

“Captain Ridhi, we’ll eat lunch here tomorrow, please.”

Jake took a deep breath.

“Anything else right now?”

Nobody spoke up.

“Uh, Captain Nadeen and Captain Ridhi, please stay,” said Jake as everyone began to stand and leave.

After everyone had left Jake’s quarters, Jake stepped to the doorway and waved his hand. A minute later Sergeant TT joined them.

Jake waited until everybody was seated again before continuing.

“I know you’ve all heard rumors of thunder in the mountains, and there have been a few people asking if we’re making cannons or bombs.

“Nadeen and I have categorically denied it, and we have been telling you the truth. Captain Ridhi, I assume you’ve already verified that?”

He stared at her until she responded.

“Uh, yes Commander, I did. I, uh, reported that there are no signs that Alchemist Mintran or the Armorer are working on cannons, gunpowder, or bombs. I also said your work on better rifles has been halted but apparently not stopped.”

“How long ago did you report that?”

“About ten days, I think.”

“And did you receive any instructions in response?”

“Commander, I... Mistress Mochizuki...”

Ridhi looked around the table seeking sympathy but found none.

“You’re asking me to...”

“Yes, I am, Captain Ridhi.

“We voted to let you retain your position and our trust. For now. I think it’s up to you to demonstrate that our trust has not been misplaced.”

Ridhi swallowed, then took a breath and looked back up to meet Jake’s eyes.

“Yessir, I was instructed to keep close watch on the activities of Alchemist Mintran, Armorer Einar, and Sergeant TiTi.”

“Why the sergeant?”

“They didn’t say, but I assume because he knows how to make such weapons.”

“Hmm. A reasonable assumption...

“Mochizuki and the King do have reasons for what they’re doing, and I can understand them, but it doesn’t mean I fully agree with them. For what it’s worth, the sergeant and I know how these things work, yes, but neither of us knows how to actually manufacture them. Knowing how they work is a great help, of course, but there’s a lot of necessary technology that we simply don’t know.

“I’m really hoping we won’t have to use them, but if there’s no other choice, I will.”

“You tell Mochizuki that if she wants more information she had better get her ass down here to talk to me privately, because I am not trusting this to secret messages left in the forest.”

“I think I already know what you’re working on,” said Captain Ridhi. “I haven’t confirmed it and haven’t reported on it, but the Mistress is much better at connecting hints than I am. I’m pretty sure she already knows, too.”

“Keep your guesses to yourself, please. No point in telling Thuba Mleen what to expect.”


Outline of Fort Danryce, after upgrade

Chapter 2

Jake rubbed his eyes, already red from lack of sleep.

He wasn’t alone: most of the troops had been working as hard and as long, getting ready for the attack they expected in one more week, when K’shalah Dun returned with his shantak.

Many villagers were working with them, hired from Cadharna and the surrounding region to help with a variety of tasks: cutting back the forest in places, digging trenches, building walls, making more arrows and bolts, and more. There was no question that some of them were spies reporting back to Thuba Mleen, but Jake really had little to hide... the shantak had seen it all from the air, and they were only doing what any force would do to prepare itself.

His secret project was ready to go, too, but impossible to test fully. Mintran had done what he could, but he wanted a Plan B just in case de Palma and the wyverns couldn’t take care of the shantak. He hoped it’d work as well as the tests had suggested. And if it didn’t, well, that would be a real problem.

Bagatur Khasar had met with the Matriarch’s people several times for a bonanza of information. They had a very good idea of the terrain now, probably better than Bleth, thanks to their Y’barra guides.

He was checking the fit of a new set of horse mail when he heard the shout from the wall: Party approaching!

“Armorer, take over,” he said as he stood and brushed his hands on his tunic. They’d come up with a way for the horses to take their armor off, but they still didn’t have any way for them to put it on... the lack of hands and fingers made everything more difficult. One horse could use its teeth and lips to pop the girth buckles on another horse, but not on its own. Putting it on required human assistance.

Without the need to carry a human rider the horse’s armor was significantly better—a little heavier, of course, but still lighter than carrying a rider. The new design offered improvements in agility, mobility and protection. Instead of being dumb mounts, the horses were now warriors in their own right, equipped with deadly hooves and their sheer mass.

He walked around the back of the church toward the main gate, and saw Nadeen climbing down from the wall to meet him. Aercaptain De Palma’s Cavor was moored to the bell tower, probably getting ready to set out on another mapping mission. The Y’barra Ibizim had updated their existing maps of the Mohaggers, filling in a lot of detail that wasn’t apparent through aerial surveys, especially which routes could be traversed on foot, or horseback, or by carriages. That information would be invaluable when they attacked Bleth eventually.

“Four riders,” reported Nadeen. “Three in black, so it must be Mochizuki.”

“Makes sense,” nodded Jake. “It’s been about a week now; I expected she’d be along one of these days. Or someone from the King.”

The outer portcullis was open, and the inner down about halfway so people could walk through without much difficulty but riders would find it awkward. Jake and Nadeen stood facing the gate and waited for their visitors to arrive.

As Nadeen had predicted, it was indeed Mistress Mochizuki, accompanied by her usual black-clad bodyguards.

“Commander, may we enter?”

“Of course, Mistress Mochizuki,” he said, signaling the gate guards to raise the bar and waving the four of them in. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Nadeen, would you arrange for Mistress Mochizuki’s team to be taken care of, and then join me back at the quarters?”

“I sent a runner for Captain Beghara as soon as I saw who it was,” she confirmed. It was understood that Beghara would be watching Mochizuki’s bodyguards to be sure they didn’t wander about the fort. “She’ll be here in a minute.”

“Mistress? If you’d accompany me, perhaps we can continue our conversation in a more private setting.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

They walked past the bell tower and around the main church building toward Jake’s quarters, which stood a good distance from the church building. As usual, all the windows were open, and it was under constant observation from multiple directions. It would not be impossible to eavesdrop or sneak inside at night, but close to impossible during the day, at least.

As they walked past the kitchen Jake stuck his head in the door.

“Captain Ridhi! A pot of tea to my quarters, please.”

“Yessir,” came the muffled response from inside.

He ushered Mochizuki into his quarters and gestured toward an empty cushion, one of half a dozen scattered around the low table in the middle of the room.

As he was sitting down on the opposite side of the table Nadeen came in, followed almost immediately by Ridhi.

Ridhi hesitated for a second when she saw who the visitor was, then bobbed her head briefly, set the tray with the tea pot and cups down, and backed out of the room.

“Thank you, Captain Ridhi. We will not require more tea.”

“Yessir. I... yessir, I understand.”

“So, Mistress Mochizuki, you got my message, it seems,” said Jake as he poured.

“Yes, Captain Ridhi was quite clear.

“She was also very clear about your threat to execute her, and your decision not to. Thank you for not wasting a very good agent.”

“She would have been a better one if you had thought to merely tell me in advance. At least we knew who Roach works for.”

“We are not in the habit of disclosing our identities,” shrugged Mochizuki. “I understand you would like me to take Roach back with me?”

“Yes, I think he has outstayed his welcome here.”

“But he did warn your troops of the ambush in the Mohaggers.”

“Yes he did, and that is something that we would naturally expect from any trooper. I think he’s been here long enough, and will no doubt be more useful penetrating some enemy than an ally.”

“Yes, no doubt,” she agreed.

“She said you probably already know what I plan to do; do you?”

“Yes, and I must warn you it is incredibly dangerous... if Thuba Mleen discovers how to do it he will be unstoppable. The King and I implore you to stop, and destroy them.”

“And you will defend the fort for us?”

“You know we cannot, yet.”

“Why? Because you are determined to avoid open warfare?”

“Because open warfare would kill thousands and destroy half the Dreamlands.”

“But it’s acceptable if he only kills a couple twelves and destroys the fort?”

“The King must consider the safety of the many.”

“And I must consider the safety of my troops,” he countered, taking another sip. “Tell me, how did you discover what we’re working on?”

Mochizuki shrugged.

“We know what your armorer has been buying, and what he’s been making with it. Your Physician Nolan explained, quite innocently, what it could be used for.”

“Yeah, Geiszler’d know what it’s used for, but I doubt he has any idea how to make it. Theory and practice are quite different, and I’m not sure he even has the theory.”

“But you and Sergeant TiTi know.”

“Yes, we do. And we’ve kept that knowledge to the absolute minimum number of people.”

“The only way to keep a secret is to tell no one,” said Mochizuki. “Unfortunately.”

“And the only way for us to survive is to defeat the attack they will surely launch next week, and then defeat Thuba Mleen forever.”

“You know why there are no cannons in the Dreamlands, right?”

“Yes. You and the King have made sure everybody thinks they are deadlier to the artillerymen than the targets. How many inventors have you killed?”

“Fewer people than would die if cannons were used as weapons of war,” she calmly countered. “What were the civilian casualties in your World War II?”

“So you tell us to die and let Thuba Mleen’s cancer spread even wider?”

“We are warriors, Jake. We always die.”

“Yeah, well fuck that. If I go I’m taking Thuba Mleen’s sorry ass with me.”

“If you proceed with this plan and Thuba Mleen learns to make your weapons, his first step will be to destroy Matriarch Biwashaa and the Y’barra Ibizim; his second, probably Celephaïs.”

“The Matriarch has promised us her full cooperation.”

“She knows your plans?”

“In general, not in specific,” said Jake. “As you said, secrecy.”

“Does she know the danger her Home is in?”

“I made it clear to her that...”

His words were cut off by the booming of the gong in the bell tower—danger!

“I need to go,” snapped Jake. “Mistress, stay here!”

“You must release my guards,” Mochizuki protested, “or they will draw their weapons to reach me.”

“Nadeen, go with her and get Captain Beghara to release them,” said Jake. “For now.”

Nadeen and Mochizuki ran toward the mess hall, where Captain Beghara and the guards were waiting, while Jake searched for Sergeant Petter, who was in charge of fort defense while Nadeen was with him.

There he was, on the cliff wall.

Jake waved to catch his attention; he was shouting something at the scorpion team.

Petter looked up and noticed Jake, then pointed up and toward the mountains.

Jake spun around... the shantak was back!

It was flying in low over the trees, and had probably come through the mountain pass rather than fly over them, surprising the fort.

But K’shalah Dun wasn’t due for another week!

And they weren’t ready yet!

“Hold your fire!” he shouted, and he heard Nadeen and Petter relaying the order to the other crews around the walls.

Troopers were racing to defensive positions, most of which were designed to protect against ground assaults, not air.

The shantak stopped pumping its wings, and came gliding down toward the fort.

Damn, it was big!

The shouts around him faded as the beast approached... it was going to glide over the fort, not land.

As it flew past the tower one wingtip reached out and almost daintily touched the Cavor. It tore through the prow, tearing it almost entirely off and smashing the airship into the tower. Someone was thrown overboard to fall to the ground below—Tomás, maybe?—he couldn’t tell.

The top of the bell tower wobbled for a moment, then began to collapse with a rumble, stones tumbling to the ground to shouts and screams.

The shantak slid past him, and over the wall, barely clearing it, as one leg dragged low to catch a scorpion and pull it up over the wall and off the cliff edge.

It flapped once, and turned, coming back for another run?

No, it was higher this time... and on its back, K’shalah Dun picked up a short cylindrical tube and dropped it, making sure that Jake was watching. It fell only a few meters away, but Jake let it lie as he watched the shantak vanish back into the mountains again.

It had only been a minute or two.

He looked around—the scorpion was gone, but it looked like the crew was unharmed.

The airship was toast. And who had fallen? That would be ten or twelve meters—dead or badly injured, was his guess. And it sounded like someone had been hurt when the bell tower crumbled.

He looked at the cylinder. It was a stoppered bamboo tube, used to protect scrolls from damage.

He pulled out the rolled scroll out, and yanked it open.

$$$$$

 

Commander Jake,

I trust you haven’t forgotten that we are to meet in one week to discuss the terms of your employment—or surrender. So very sorry about your airship.

Harithah of Thuba Mleen

 

Harithah!

He was the man who had commanded the first attack on the fort, when he’d lost Danny. The guy in the black kaffiyeh who always stayed well back from the fighting, and from Jake’s pistol.

He let it snap shut again, and ran toward the bell tower.

The airship—what was left of it—was slowly settling downward, like a leaking balloon.

Dozens of troopers had reached the scene before him, and he pushed through them.

“Here it comes!” shouted someone.

“Get back! Back!”

The airship suddenly accelerated, smacking into the ground to the sound of splintering timbers. Aercaptain de Palma, Valda, the mapmaker, and Clank were on the stern deck, holding onto the railings for life, and as the airship hit and began to roll, Valda and Clank were thrown off, landing awkwardly.

The Aercaptain was more successful, keeping his balance until the Cavor stopped moving, and then hopping off safely. He ran to Valda, getting there about the same time as Clank.

Where were...?

He glanced up at the tower, where the airship had been moored, and saw Bridok looking out worriedly.

No sign of the other crew, Tomás.

“Commander!”

He turned at the shout to see a trooper squatting on the ground, helping a casualty... Nadeen!

“Nadeen!”

He ran to her, forgetting all about the airship and other injured.

“Nadeen! What happened?”

There was no obvious injury, but her face was pale, jaw clenched.

“One of the stones hit me, Jake. In the side...”

Smoothing her hair back out of her eyes with one hand while supporting her with the other, he shouted “Healer! Healer Dunchanti!”

“In a second, Commander, in a second,” came Dunchanti’s calm voice from right behind him.

Jake twisted to see the healer washing the bloody leg of one of Ridhi’s staff.

He finally looked around, and saw about half a dozen people lying there, some injured, some maybe dead.

There was Tomás, his head crushed.

More had minor injuries—the tower had fallen on troopers readying the fort for an expected attack.

“Let me see, Commander,” said Dunchanti, gently pushing him out of the way and laying Nadeen down flat.

He ran his hands over her side and abdomen, pressing here and there.

Nadeen grunted in pain.

“Get her inside so I can have a better look,” he said. “And get more water boiled.

“I’ll be with you just as soon as I finish here.”

“Is she going to be alright?”

“I think so, but it’s hard to tell yet for sure...”

“And the baby?”

“We’ll see.”

Dunchanti rose and went to the next patient, a trooper with a long gash across the side of her skull. She was holding a rag to it and cursing up a storm: didn’t seem to be seriously injured.

“Healer! What about Nadeen?”

“Commander, get her inside and comfortable. I’ll be there as soon as I make sure the serious injuries are under control.”

“But...!”

“Commander! These are your troopers!”

“I... I...” Jake swallowed, grimaced, then tenderly picked Nadeen up and carried her into the church, and to the infirmary.

It only had half a dozen cots, and three already had patients, two from the tower collapse.

He laid her down on one of the empty cots and shouted for hot water.

“You’re going to be OK, Nadeen. Dunchanti’ll be here in a minute.”

She smiled up at him, then her face tightened up in pain again. He squeezed her hand again.

Dunchanti arrived a few minutes later with Ridhi and another woman, one of her staff.

“Commander, outside please,” said Dunchanti as Ridhi and the other woman erected fabric partitions around the cot to hide Nadeen from prying eyes.

“I’ll stay, it’s OK,” he protested, but Dunchanti ignored his entreaty and pushed him out. “Go see to your troops, Commander. I’ll let you know when we need you.”

Cursing under his breath, Jake went back outside.

Two dead and four injured to the point they would be in infirmary for weeks, if not crippled. Including Nadeen... what was happening with Nadeen...?

Jake pulled his thoughts back to the fort and his command.

The airship was destroyed. Whatever had kept it afloat until now was gone, like helium from an old balloon. Just a pile of kindling now.

The tower was partially destroyed, half the top torn off and the other half unstable; it could fall at any time, and getting it down safely was the first priority once the wounded were taken care of.

He saw the wyverns circling overhead, one empty, the other ridden by Ginette.

Beorhtwig was up over the main gate, shouting something, and then he turned to climb down the ladder and head for Jake.

“Ginette says the shantak is gone, off to the east. It’ll probably fly out over the Lake of Sarnath and then back to Bleth, I’d guess. She’ll keep an eye out just in case, though.”

“How’d it sneak up on us in the first place?”

“Lots of clouds hugging the mountains and passes today... made it impossible to see much down below. The shantak must’ve flown slow and low all the way.”

“Damn. And no way to prevent it from happening again?”

“Lookouts on the passes probably saw it fly by, but even if they sent a dragolet it would get here about the same time as the shantak,” said Beorhtwig. “No warning at all.”

Jake nodded, thinking. No point in worrying about it right now; there wasn’t anything they could do.

“Thanks, Trooper. Get up there with her and make sure there aren’t any more surprises on the way.”

“Yessir,” snapped Beorhtwig and raced for the main gate. Once outside he could signal for Flogdreka to come pick him up.

“Captain Long! Captain Beghara!”

They looked up from where they were working, Long with the injured and Beghara helping clear the shattered pieces of the airship.

“We have to get that tower down before it falls down,” he said. “I think the best thing is just clear everyone back and have the wyverns push it over into the assembly yard... what do you think?”

“Yeah, probably our best shot,” agreed Long. “A lot of it’ll fall into the tower, too, but we can clear that out later.”

“Captain Beghara?”

She shrugged. “Sure, sounds like a plan.”

“OK, let’s do it. Get everyone clear,” he ordered. “I’ll make sure Captain Ridhi gets her people back, too, just in case.”

“What about the church?”

“Damn. The infirmary’s right there... I’ll go see how Dunchanti’s doing, and get everyone moved. Somebody tell Beorhtwig what we’re doing,” said Jake. “And make sure he doesn’t knock it down until we give the word!”

Back inside the infirmary Dunchanti was just washing his hands.

“Healer Dunchanti, we have to get everyone moved back, away from the tower.”

He thought for a moment before nodding. “Just carry the cots. Should be alright, I think.”

“Good, I’ll get some troops in here right away. To the new barracks for now, I think.”

He shouted to a trooper to round up more help and get started.

“And how is Nadeen, Healer?”

“Oh, Commander. I just finished,” the other replied. “Captain Nadeen’s life is in no danger, just some bruising.”

“That’s wonderf...”

Dunchanti held up his hand.

“Commander, the Captain will recover, but I’m afraid she lost the baby.”

Jake’s smile faded.

“She miscarried?”

“I’m afraid so. I’ll arrange for a midwife to come up from Cadharna to stay with her, just to be sure, but I don’t think they’ll be any problems.”

“My son... Was it a son?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry. It was too soon to tell.”

Jake spun around and stalked out of the infirmary.

“Captain’s Meeting,” he said to Beghara and Long. “Forget about the tower.”

He pointed to a trooper carrying a broken piece of timber.

“You. Put that down; go get Captain Serilarinna and Captain Ekene.

“And you! Find Sergeant Petter and Captain Chinh, tell them I want them here at once.”

He looked around for another trooper, waved two more over.

“Go get the Bagatur, and then find Mistress Mochizuki.”

“Find the Horsemaster, the Armorer, and the Alchemist. Tell them to come at once.”

They scattered as he commanded, searching for their targets, as Jake searched the sky for Beorhtwig, finally spotting the wyverns out over the grassy plains below the fort.

“You, trooper! Up on the wall!”

“Yessir?”

“Signal Trooper Beorhtwig to come at once.”

“Signal him, sir? How...?”

“Just do it, trooper!”

Jake stood, jaw clenched and arms crossed, staring at the wreckage of the tower, as his captains assembled.

They fell silent as they saw his mood.

Mochizuki and her bodyguards were gone. Jake assumed they took Roach with them, but he didn’t have time to worry about that right now.

Beorhtwig was the last one, walking into the group with a question on his face.

“Thuba Mleen said we had two weeks to decide. This letter,” he snapped, throwing the bamboo case onto the ground, “apologizes for destroying the Cavor, which means they planned it. The bastard not only wrecked the airship and knocked down the bell tower, he fucking killed my son!”

He took a deep breath, his jaw clenched, before he continued in a quieter voice.

“Without the airship, our best chance of killing the shantak is gone. Trooper Beorhtwig, you said it flew off over the lake, and then back to Bleth?”

“More than likely, Commander. It must be tired after the flight here, and it is an equally long flight back to Bleth. I’m sure they’d rather rest there than outside somewhere where we might attack them on the ground.”

“How long does it take to recover?”

“Hard to say... at least a few days.”

“We are attacking Bleth,” said Jake, ignoring their gasps of surprise. “Bagatur, I want you to get our troops and raptors through the Mohaggers and ready to attack at dawn the day after tomorrow. There’s no point in trying to hide, just get there. Contact the Matriarch and arrange for guides and assistance. We will need food and water.

“Captain Long, you are in charge of the march. Work with the Bagatur and the Matriarch to get it done.

“Captain Ridhi, you are to remain here with Captain Nadeen’s twelve, under Sergeant Petter. The wyverns will knock down the tower before we leave; do what you can to clear the rubble.

“Sergeant Petter, you are hereby promoted to Captain. That is a temporary rank and may or may not become permanent upon my return. You are in overall command of the fort and everyone in it, including Captain Ridhi, until we return. Your first priority is to keep as many of your troops alive as possible; protecting the fort comes second. Captain Nadeen is wounded and under your protection. Clear?”

“Yessir.”

“Captain Ridhi?”

“Clear, Commander.”

“Good. The fort is already set for attack, but I don’t think that’ll happen now. Still, there may be a small one if they’ve got advance troops in the mountains already.

“If you have to leave the fort, make sure you take all the maps with you. Get them packed and ready for transport now.”

“Trooper Beorhtwig. If the shantak is tired it should be possible to attack it now with a better chance of success, yes?”

“Yessir. It would take it longer to get up into the air, especially if it’s sleeping.”

“Are you willing to take a shot at it tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, Commander? With thalassion fire? Aercaptain de Palma and I had a plan to take it out, but now with the Cavor destroyed...”

“Change of plans. I want you to hurt it. If you can kill it, great, but all I need is to make sure that it’s too tired or too wounded to fly, and it’s inside that fort when we start the attack.”

Beorhtwig thought for a moment.

“Inside the fort... ? Yes, I think we can do that, Commander. Me and Ginette.”

“Figure out what you need and let me know, Sergeant Beorhtwig.”

Beorhtwig lit up when he heard the promotion. “Yes sir!”

“I want to go with you,” interrupted Aercaptain de Palma.

“You don’t even know what we’re going to do,” countered Jake. “No, you stay here with Captain Ridhi.”

“With all due respect, Commander, I don’t care what you’ve got planned, or even if you plan on coming back. He killed Tomás, broke Valda’s arm, and destroyed the Cavor. I’m coming with you. If you don’t need my help then I’ll stand guard.”

“You’re a flyer, Aercaptain, not a foot soldier.”

“My feet work as well as anyone’s. If I can’t go with you I’ll follow behind.”

“In that case I’d be grateful for the assistance.”

“Commander? That’s a hard trip to Bleth,” said Captain Long.

“The troops have been training hard for months,” said Jake. “They can handle it.”

“But a major siege right after we arrive? They’ll be tired and that means more of them will die.”

“There won’t be a siege, Captain Long. Your job is to convince Harithah to pull all his troops back into the fort, and mop up afterwards.”

“Mop up...? Mop up after what, Commander?”

Jake bared his teeth.

“You’ll know as soon as they do, Captain. Just get there on time.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

“No, I’m not. Captain Serilarinna, will you release Sergeant TT to me for this?”

“So we won’t be harrying them in the mountains after all, Commander? In that case, yes.”

“Thank you. Sergeant TT and I—and the Aercaptain—have a different task. Sergeant Beorhtwig will fly us out tonight and we’ll be waiting for the rest of you at Bleth.”

“How will we find you?”

“Oh, you won’t. But you certainly won’t miss our signal.

“If you’ve still got holes in your twelves, fill ’em. If there are enough good people waiting to get in, pick ’em up on a temporary basis to a heavy twelve, if you want to. Just be there on time.

“Anything else?”

There wasn’t, and within a few minutes the camp was in an uproar as the troops made ready for a forced march toward Bleth.

* * *

Nadeen was resting peacefully, asleep in their quarters. Dunchanti had given her something to dull the pain, saying it’d be gone within a few days at worst. The midwife from Cadharna was with her, just in case, but she agreed that Nadeen should mend quickly.

Jake brushed the hair off her forehead, and laid his wrist against it to check her temperature. No fever. Everybody said she was fine but he was still worried.

“I’ve got to take a little trip, love. A little payback for K’shalah Dun and Harithah.

“You just rest here for a bit and I’ll be back soon.”

He kissed her gently on the forehead, and sat looking at her face a few seconds before standing.

“I’ll take good care of her, Commander,” said the midwife.

“Thank you, Mistress Haruna. Notify Captain Ridhi immediately if anything changes.”

“Yes sir, I will.”

He paused at the door before leaving, and took his Glock out of its holster. He checked it carefully, popped the clip. Full. And a second full clip, check.

He put it back gently and snapped the holster shut.

Time to go.

Chapter 3

Captain Long sent Serilarinna—with the raptors—way out front to make sure there were no ambushes. Several Y’barra guides accompanied her to ensure they stayed on the best path, and lend their knowledge of the terrain.

Scorpius had been into the Mohaggers many times, of course, but had never penetrated all the way to Bleth, on the ground at least. Now that they were moving in force and with Y’barra support they felt more secure.

Behind Seri’s twelve came Chihn’s horse, ready to support Seri and provide a rapid strike force if needed. They didn’t expect to encounter significant opposition in the mountains, and their objective was to convince Thuba Mleen’s troops to fall back to the security of the fort rather than fight, but an armored cavalry troop could strike a very hard blow very quickly.

The main force was Long and Ekene, together with most of the intelligent horses, and Bagatur Khasar brought up the rear. They had plenty of horses and were carrying a couple days of food and water, but if they were really going to set siege to Bleth they’d need a hell of a lot more. Jake had assured them there’d be no siege, but still hadn’t revealed what he had planned.

They left in the afternoon and Captain Long knew they wouldn’t make good time due to their late start, but given the deadline he had to get at least part of the way today.

They pushed north through the Mohaggers for two hours before he called a rest, and started up again half an hour later. A few hours later they set up camp along one of the many mountain streams, on the advice of their Y’barra guides. As long as there was no danger of sudden floods from mountain runoff, this would be the easiest and quickest place to camp for the night.

The captains met that night to share their concerns, and smooth out a few wrinkles that had developed. Nothing serious yet, but the troops were not happy to be heading for a major fortification. They’d been told it wasn’t a siege, but that meant they might be going up against double or triple their number of troops with a fort behind them, and that was enough to spoil anyone’s appetite.

“It’s been good training so far,” reported Seri, popping a few blueberries she’d found into her mouth. “The troops are getting real good at scouting without being seen. Twice now we’ve taken out observation posts without any injury—one post we detected and neutralized, the other the Y’barra told us about, but we took it out.

“What, no survivors?” asked Long.

“Two sixes, but we let one trooper ‘escape’ to warn Bleth that we’re coming.”

Bagatur Khasar smiled. “And of course they have no idea how large a force we have... all they know is we eliminated two of their observation posts cleanly. Excellent!”

“Wonderful, but we have to be sure they react by withdrawing into the fort, not moving to meet us head-on with a major force,” warned Chinh.

“Any ideas how to do that?” asked Long. “I’m guessing if we keep rolling over their troops when we find them, never even give them a chance to fight, they’ll want to hole up for a bit first, until they get a better look at what we’ve got.”

“And maybe until they get reinforcements,” added Ekene.

Long shrugged. “The Commander said to get them all inside the fort. I asked him about reinforcements, and he just smiled. Sorta. He said if they were silly enough to put more troops into the fort, we should stand back and let them.”

“Damned if I can figure out what he’s got planned...”

“Me neither, but I’ve been with him for quite a while and I trust him not to send us on a one-way mission. He’s confident this is something we can handle,” said Long.

“I agree with the Captain,” said Seri. “Doesn’t mean we won’t have some serious fighting, but he wouldn’t send us up here unless we had a reasonable chance. And a reasonable chance is all troopers can hope for.”

There was a murmur of agreement from around the campfire.

“Well, tomorrow will be a long day,” said Ekene, slapping his hands on his thighs. “Captain Seri, we’ll take over the watch at the Hour of the Ox.”

They broke up and headed back to their twelves.

* * *

“I have to ask a lot of you two, and your wyverns,” said Jake. “I know they’re not completely healed, but with the Cavor destroyed you’re the only chance we’ve got.”

Beorhtwig and Ginette exchanged a glance.

“Just tell us what you need, Commander, and we’ll find a way to get it done.”

“Thank you,” nodded Jake. “First and foremost, we need transport for the three of us—me, Sergeant TT, and the Aermaster—to the valley directly behind Bleth. The place where the passage through to the other side is.”

“I know where the valley is,” replied Beorhtwig, “but I never saw the passage...”

“Here’s the map of the area,” said Jake, holding out Valda’s work.

“Let me see... Thartis is here, so this is... un-huh, yeah, that’s easy,” nodded Beorhtwig, tracing his finger over the map as he thought. “Where in this valley?”

“We’re going to the area right on the other side of the mountain from Bleth, but you can just let us off at the closest part. It’s not a long walk.”

“That sounds easy enough,” said Ginette. “And not much fear of the shantak or even the eagles, I think, since we can stay out of sight all the way.”

“Well, that’s only the first part, for tonight... Tomorrow, things get a bit tougher.

“Tomorrow morning, just before at dawn with the rising sun behind you, I want you to drop as much thalassion fire as you can on the eagle coop. Burn it to the ground.”

“OK... that doesn’t sound too bad. They’ll see us, of course, but it should be possible to dive in, set it afire, and speed away before they can do much more than shout.

“But what about the shantak?”

“The shantak will almost certainly come after you, to stop you from fire-bombing the whole fort,” continued Jake. “Your job is kill its rider, and injure it. I don’t want you to fight it, just leave it riderless, and injured enough to fly back to the fort.

“That sound possible?”

“Killing the rider we can do... We were talking with the Aercaptain before, and came up with a good plan that should work. That was before we lost the Cavor, but the idea’s still sound.”

“It’ll be harder to get the shantak to fly home, though,” said Ginette. “We can probably tear up its wings a little without too much risk, as long as there’s only one shantak, but whether that’ll be enough to send it packing or not...”

“They recover as fast as wyverns, Commander,” explained Beorhtwig. “Unless it’s seriously wounded it’ll be back the next day, even if it isn’t completely healed.”

“The next day it dies,” said Jake. “Just get it into that fort and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Beorhtwig looked at him quizzically but nodded.

“Will do, Commander. And then what?”

“On the morning of the day after tomorrow the shantak should be tired, wounded, and resting. There’s a chance that the troops in Bleth will set up outside the fort to meet Captain Long’s troops. I want them to be inside the fort, and I think it’s likely they won’t actually leave the protection of the fort until at least after daylight. If I’m wrong, though, I want you to attack them from the air with whatever you’ve got. If you can kill some, great, but the goal is to get them to retreat back into the fort.”

“And if the shantak is flying?”

“Then things get real complicated real fast... in that case, do what you can to help Captain Long save as many troopers as possible, and get the hell out of there.”

“Yessir.”

“One more thing—if you can, stay away from the fort around dawn on the day after tomorrow. In theory the shantak and the eagles will both be out of commission and you shouldn’t have to, but just in case.”

“I hadn’t planned on it, Commander. We’ll do our best.”

“Can you get started ferrying us up there as soon as it’s dark?”

“Yessir. The three of you, right?”

“And a few crates. Any problem with a few crates?”

“Crates? How heavy?”

“Two crates. Maybe a hundred kilos or so, each, I’d say.”

“Two hundred kilos plus three men plus thalassion for the next morning... that’s quite a load,” mused Beorhtwig.

“Does it all have to be done at once?” asked Ginette.

“No, not at all. If that helps.”

“It would help quite a bit,” nodded Beorhtwig. “We’ve already got a stock of thalassion fire up at the aerie on Mt. Thartis, and it would be a lot easier to carry that up closer to Bleth tonight instead of flying up from here with it. Plus, we can let them rest between flights, even take it in stages.”

“Excellent. I’ll have everything ready to go at dusk. Come by the armory then and help us carry the stuff to the wyverns.

“Any other questions?”

“I think we’re good,” said Beorhtwig, and glanced at Ginette. She nodded.

“I’ll see you later, then. I’ve got some other things to take care of.”

They took the hint and left as Jake looked around for Sergeant TT. Sunset was coming and they had some preparations to make.

* * *

Jake and TT sat next to each other on Flogdreka’s back, sitting uncomfortably behind Beorhtwig as they flapped over the pitch-black mountain valleys, past rock faces stern in shades of gray. Jake twisted his head to check that Fæger was still with them.

Ginette was hunched over her wyvern’s neck, perhaps whispering something, or just resting, and he could see Aercaptain de Palma behind her with the two crates.

Jake and the two men with him were pretty heavy, while the lighter woman and Aercaptain lightened the load for Fæger and made it possible for the wyvern to carry the cargo as well. They transferred it from the crates to fabric sacks to minimize the weight.

“Is Nadeen alright?”

“She was asleep—drugged—when I left, but Dunchanti said she should be fine after a couple days.”

“You should have stayed with her... I can handle this.”

Jake was silent for a moment.

“I knew we were heading for a fight, but I thought that fucker would at least give me the two weeks. He fucking planned to take out the airship!”

“So he fights the same way they did back where we came from,” said TT. “We should have expected it, really... all this talk about trusting people’s word and tradition and bullshit. It’s great when everyone believes it, but the whole thing falls apart when someone stomps on it.”

“I could have handled loss of the airship. Plans never last long once the fighting starts, even here... but now it’s personal. He killed my son, hurt Nadeen... He’s about to find out what happens when you tell someone the gloves are off.”

“You sure they’re ready? You were planning on using them later, to take out Thuba Mleen... if they don’t work it’s gonna be a royal shitshow.”

“Only one way to find out if they work. Wyverns, and eagles, and shantaks... but he really shouldn’t have hurt Nadeen.”

“You think he,” asked TT, indicating Beorhtwig with his chin, “can pull it off? Could get exciting if that shantak is around later.”

“Shortly before we met, you know, I put a few rounds into a sandroach that made the mistake of fucking with my troops. 9-mil slugs worked just fine on that thing, and they’ll work just fine on a shantak, too, even if it can stop a scorpion bolt.”

“What the fuck’s a sandroach?”

“Like an antlion, only about the size of a car. A big car.”

“Nothing personal, but I’ll pass on that, thank you very much.”

Jake snorted.

“Yeah, we just wanted to get past it, too. Damn thing killed two men before I popped it. Tried to get a piece of my ass, too.

“How many clips you got?”

“Only one spare. I’ve been trying to make new ones, with Einar, but they always jam.”

“One in the Glock, two on my belt. Should be plenty, though... we aren’t expecting visitors.”

“Famous last words.”

Jake grunted.

“Commander?” came a shout from up front, blown back by the wind. “That’s the valley up ahead.”

Jake leaned forward so Beorhtwig could hear him better.

“The closer to Bleth the better. Lots of boulders... make sure you can get down safely!”

Beorhtwig twitched the reins a little without answering. In response the wyvern slowed its pumping wings and began to angle down into the shadows.

The moon was only about half-full, and the surrounding peaks cut off most of even that little illumination.

Flogdreka bounced to a stop on a gentle slope half-covered by scree, with a few large boulders they could just barely make out in the darkness.

“I didn’t see any fires in the valley from above,” said Jake. “Did anyone?”

“Nope,” said TT as he watched Fæger skid to halt next to them.

“Nothing,” said Beorhtwig. “Doesn’t mean they’re not here, though.”

“We’ll take our chances,” said Jake. He walked over to help the Aercaptain unload the heavy cloth sacks from Fæger. “TT, keep an eye out, will ya?”

“I’m on it, Jake.”

In a few minutes the wyverns were back up in the air, heading toward their aeries on the top of Mt. Thartis for a little rest and some snacks. They’d pick up the thalassion—mostly naphtha—there, and destroy the eagles’ coop at Bleth at dawn if all went well.

With luck they’d get the shantak under control, too.

“We’ll have to wait until there’s a little light,” said Jake. “I know what the entrance looks like, thanks to these sketches, but I can’t see anything.”

“Let’s get everything out of the open anyway,” said TT. “Aercaptain, grab that one and I’ll get these.”

“Bleth’s that way,” said Jake. “Might as well look in that direction.”

Everyone picked up a sack or two and they moved closer to the mountain with their loads.

Two large boulders offered an excellent place to wait, and rested there quietly until the sky began to show signs of light to the east. The first rays of the rising sun had yet to touch the high peaks of the Mohaggers, but the sky was beginning to lighten.

Jake pulled out the sketches out to study the face of the mountain.

“This is definitely the right mountain—Snakescale, apparently—it’s triangular, and pretty thin. Now we just have to find the passage.

“That scar on the mountain is just a bit to the right of the entrance,” he continued, pointing to a lighter patch of rock. “We should be able to find it without too much trouble once we get closer.

“Just one sack each. Once we find the passage we can come back for the rest.”

They each picked up one sack and Jake led the way toward the sheer face of the mountain soaring above them.

“Now I need a big rock with two smaller ones right... ah, there it is.”

The passage was almost impossible to see unless you knew just where to look, but the sketch made it a lot easier. They dropped their sacks there and went back for the rest.

“How long until sunrise, do you think?”

“Can’t see the peaks from here, but the sun must’ve hit the highest ones already,” ventured de Palma. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

“Let’s get all this stuff into the passageway and out of sight,” said Jake. “And then I want to take a look at this overlook they found.”

A few minutes later they were looking down at Bleth.

Jake pulled out the layout sketch and compared it to the fort below.

“Don’t see any obvious changes... that building over there must be the eagle coop.”

“Desert’s getting pretty bright...Beorhtwig should be along any minute.”

They couldn’t see any peaks from here, but the desert sands stretching out below were already clearly visible.

“There!” cried de Palma, pointing to an upthrust of rock in the distance. It shone a bright orange in the first rays of the rising sun, and as they watched the sunlight raced across the desert, setting it afire with the brilliant yellows and oranges of the dawn.

Everything was silent.

Jake searched the sky for the wyverns, as much of it as he could see from here.

Nothing.

He leaned forward a little to expand his field of view, and suddenly a black mass swooped down only meters from his eyes.

“Son of a bitch!” He leapt back in surprise, then chuckled. “And there they go!”

The wyverns swept past at top speed, dropping out of the sky above the Mohaggers to plunge, wings back, toward the fort.

Jake watched as they dive-bombed the eagle coop, snapping out their wings at what looked like only meters above the roof to level off as Beorhtwig and Ginette threw bags of thalassion fuel left and right, covering the surface.

The alarm bell was clanging away now, alerting the defenders, and troopers came boiling out of their barracks. The archers were already firing at the wyverns, but their speed took them away from the fort safely as the eagle coop exploded into a ball of fire, a roaring conflagration that would burn for hours, he knew.

And if they wanted to spend precious water to try to put it out sooner, even better.

The wyverns were flapping their huge wings now, slowly climbing up off the desert floor, back toward the mountain heights. Beorhtwig was climbing steadily but Ginette’s wyvern seemed to be having trouble keeping up.

“Oh, yes,” breathed Jake. “That’s beautiful, just beautiful.”

“I only see one... no, there’s another... that makes two eagles that made it out, it looks like,” added TT. “I’d call that an unqualified success, Jake.

“Oh, look! Over there! The fire’s spread to that other building there, too. Barracks, maybe?”

“Where...? Oh, yeah. Burn, you fuckers.”

“There’s the shantak!” broke in de Palma, tapping Jake on the shoulder and pointing.

It was just leaving its own coop, sited on the closest side of the fort.

“Beorhtwig’s got the altitude on it now,” said Jake. “Hope he sees it coming!”

He searched the sky again.

There was Ginette on her wyvern, still climbing laboriously, and the larger shantak was making a beeline for her. It must be making a Herculean effort to catch up, heavier as it was, but the thing had energy to spare, and gradually grew closer and closer. Ginette turned out into the desert, where there was room to maneuver without the high peaks.

Ginette saw it coming and levelled off, letting Fæger concentrate on building up speed instead of height. All things equal, the wyverns had the edge in terms of speed and agility, but if the shantak got close enough to fight it out it could tear the wyverns to pieces.

And it was still coming after her, building up an enormous velocity.

She zigged and zagged, trying to force the shantak to slip a little bit and give her the chance she needed to escape, but it seemed to guess her every stratagem, growing steadily closer.

The shantak’s rider had his bow out now, getting ready to loose a shaft at the wyvern, or Ginette. He drew back, aiming, ready to fire as soon as he thought he could make the shot, sighting down the arrow, following Ginette’s every move.

She turned back toward the mountains again, perhaps hoping to find use her superior agility to escape.

A black shape hurtled down from above, striking the shantak a glancing blow from behind, then shearing off.

Beorhtwig!

Ginette’s wyvern miraculously sped up, twisting and turning in midair to drop under the shantak, spinning to rake its belly with its talons, as Beorhtwig came swooping back to attack the monster’s head.

“The rider! He’s gone!”

Jake looked again. He’d been following Ginette so closely he hadn’t noticed... the shantak’s rider was gone, dead, snatched away by Beorhtwig’s ambush, leaving the shantak an uncontrolled, wild beast that was much easier to deal with.

Ginette had been luring it into position, faking it.

The two wyverns were dancing around the shantak now, staying out of its reach while raking it with their talons at every opportunity: wings, belly, tail, head.

Recognizing its danger the shantak folded its wings closer, dropping sharply toward the desert floor, and the safety of Bleth.

The wyverns let it go, and triumphantly drifted back toward the Mohaggers, and out of Jake’s sight.

Below, the eagle’s coop was still burning fiercely.

* * *

There were no campfires, of course, this close to Bleth, but the inside of the command tent was illuminated by a single dim lantern.

“We made good time today, and according to Captain Serilarinna we’re right at the end of the pass.”

“We are. The forest starts to thin out quickly from here, and the valley widens out to open up into the desert. There is a pretty long section of scrub and grass, and then loose rock and sand until it reaches the actual desert itself,” explained Seri. “We’re hidden here, for now.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to assume they know we’re here, and they probably have a good idea of our numbers, too,” broke in Chinh.

“Of course,” agreed Long. “We made sure to let them know we’re coming.”

“Where’s the Commander?”

“He didn’t say,” said Long. “He said if can get them all back into the fort, he’ll take care of the rest.”

“By himself!?”

“Well, he’s got Sergeant TiTi and the wyverns with him...” pointed out Long.

“And we’ve got the shantak,” grumbled Beghara. “If they really hurt it yesterday, great, but if that thing can still fly we’re in deep shit.”

“From what we saw yesterday,” said Seri, “they hurt it. I know they killed the rider, so the thing’s just wild now, but whether it can still fly, and whether it’ll attack us or not...”

“Nothing we can do about that now,” said Long. “We’ll just have to deal with it when it happens. If it happens.

“Our job today is to chase Thuba Mleen back into Bleth. They have a huge advantage on us in terms of troops, and the defensive fortifications of Bleth itself behind them. If they decide to meet us in the open we need to really hit them hard, and drive them back inside.

“They’ll think of it as a chance to regroup before coming back to crush us, but Jake said all we need to do is get them inside.”

“But if they outnumber us and have the fort at their back,...” mused Chinh.

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got some advantages, I think,” said Long. “First of all, I don’t think anyone knows about the horses... we took care to always have riders on them, or at least some of them, so they probably think they’re just spare mounts.

“By the time they figure out the horses are armed troopers it’ll be too late.

“Captain Serilarinna, your raptors are another one. Everyone knows how to fight a raptor, especially if you’re in a group, but these aren’t dumb animals anymore. Again, by the time they notice the raptors aren’t playing fair, they’ll be dead.”

“If the shantak’s really out of it,” added Captain Ekene, “the wyverns alone will probably be able to force them back into the fort.”

“I hope it is,” nodded Beghara, “because even with the horses and the raptors, we’re still outnumbered. Without the wyverns we might be able to drive them back to the fort temporarily, but it’ll cost us dear.”

There was a murmur of agreement. They all knew what their odds were.

“OK, so if they’re still inside the fort then all we have to do is keep them there long enough for the Commander to do whatever it is he’s got planned. How to accomplish that?”

“Suppose we just walk up and ask them to surrender?”

Everyone chuckled at Khasar’s suggestion.

“Actually, I’m serious,” he continued. “I don’t mean a parley, because it there’s an attack during a parley Scorpius Company’s name’ll be ruined forever. But if just walk up and ask them to surrender, no formal parley or anything...”

“They’ll shoot you full of arrows!”

“I’m not sure they would... a lot of Thuba Mleen’s troops are from the desert, and they respect bravery. It’d be a point of honor to talk to the enemy before a battle, and Harithah is of the desert, too. From their point of view they have nothing to lose, and it gives them more time to see what we’ve got here.”

“Hmm... sounds pretty risky to me,” said Long. “If they’re sure of their position they’ll still just shoot you full of arrows.”

The Bagatur shrugged.

“If they decide to fight us chances are I’ll die anyway... I have little to lose by trying.”

Captain Long broke the silence after a few moments.

“I don’t really like it but I don’t see any other way of getting a superior force to stay inside their fort. Anyone?”

Mutters and headshakes.

“I don’t seem to have any other options right now... and what if they meet us on the plain?”

“Without the wyverns? Worse, without the wyverns and with their damn shantak?”

“Then we’re royally fucked,” said Ekene. “If your scorpion can’t hurt that thing my arrows sure won’t.”

“If the shantak is really out of action and the wyverns can attack we’ve got an excellent chance, but without them...”

“We’ll have to assume the wyverns are with us,” said Long. “I want us in a primarily defensive stance, with the idea that we’ll hold our position until the wyverns do their work and Thuba Mleen retreats to the fort.

“If there’s an opening we take it and try to trigger a rout.

“But at the same time I want to make damn sure we can retreat to the forest quickly, without being routed ourselves, if that shantak shows up.”

“So the horse and the raptors will be shock troops on standby, then,” said Seri, glancing at Beghara to check what she thought.

Beghara nodded.

“No point in using the horses until we need to... the longer we can keep them secret, the more effective they’ll be.”

“And the raptors?” asked Long.

“Same thing, I think... they know we have raptors, but they’ll be fairly confident in their ability to handle them. There are a lot more of them than we have raptors, after all,” said Chinh. “We can play that to our advantage, though, by making it look like the raptor handlers are elsewhere. Mudge can jump to the attack when she sees a weak spot, even without a handler around, but they won’t know that.”

“Excellent point,” nodded Long. “Maybe even put up a little fence that looks like it’s supposed to keep them from running around.”

Half an hour later everyone was ready, and they moved up, out of the forest, into the open, lit by the grey, predawn light.

In spite of their planning, Commander Harithah was already there to meet them.

“That’s at least three twelves in the middle there, Captain Long,” said Chinh, holding the spyglass to his eye. “Swords, axes, the usual... They look surprisingly coherent: more formation, better defensive support.”

“Archers?”

“Yeah, there’s a line facing us, behind the swordsmen holding the front line.”

“And there’s another group of a dozen or so around the commander, on the hillock to the left,” added Captain Serilarinna.

Across the gravel-strewn wasteland they could see Thuba Mleen’s troops at the ready, drawn up into a defensive position. Few of them wore visible armor, but their weapons shone brightly in the pre-dawn light.

They also outnumbered Jake’s troops by about three to one, with massive fort Bleth behind.

Captain Long’s force was tired from the forced march the previous day, even though they’d rested for a few hours before leaving the forest. The sight of a larger and well-rested enemy facing them did nothing to lift their spirits.

Jake had said to be here by dawn, and he was, tired or not.

And it looked like he had a battle ahead of him, against a superior force.

“Wyverns!” came the shout.

Long looked up. The two wyverns had just flown out from the Mohaggers, circling once over the enemy force, and then swooping down to drop a row of grenades along their front line. Thuba Mleen’s troops scattered like thistledown, some dropping flat in an effort to protect themselves, others flung into the air in fountains of dirt and blood.

The wyverns circled around once more, well out of range of the Bleth’s engines, readying more grenades to drop on Thuba Mleen’s forces, suddenly revealed defenseless.

Long smiled. If the wyverns could bombard the enemy force they’d withdraw in short order.

Suddenly they sheared off, splitting off into two directions, wings booming in the air with new energy as the shantak roared into the air behind them.

“It’s still got a rider!”

Beorhtwig had killed the rider the day before, and torn the shantak’s wings... it was supposed to be inside the fort, unable to fly!

The wyverns swerved wildly, trying to throw the shantak off, but they’d been too close to Bleth when it had suddenly appeared. It closed in on Fæger, and Ginette tried to use the wyvern’s superior agility to escape, pivoting in midair to swing perilously close to the mountain’s face.

The shantak turned right on her tail, closing fast, and then gunshots rang out from midway up the mountain.

Long counted at least a dozen distant cracks—Jake’s pistol!

The shantak wobbled for a moment in flight, and as its rider slumped over onto its back, dead or unconscious, leaving the shantak uncontrolled and in pain at the bullets that had peppered it.

It immediately turned toward those loud noises, the source of the pain, and latched its front legs onto the rough mountainside.

* * *

Jake watched the two forces approach each other on the plain.

The situation wasn’t good: Thuba Mleen’s force had already deployed outside the fort, and unless Captain Long could come up with a way to get them back in again, he was going to lose a lot of troopers. Maybe everyone.

Then the wyverns appeared, bombarding the arrayed enemy force from the safety of the air, and he relaxed a bit. Without air support they’d have no choice but to pull back to the relative safety of the fort.

“Fuck! That damn shantak is back!” spit TT, standing at his side.

They watched the wyverns spin and twist in midair, striving to escape the monster’s talons. They had the agility, but they’d been caught too low, and too slow... unless they could somehow find enough breathing space to build up speed, the shantak would knock them out of the sky.

Ginette’s wyvern jinked suddenly toward the mountain, maybe in an effort to use its superior agility to cut inside the shantak before it could turn, and the shantak spun with her, close on her tail.

Right towards them!

“The rider! Get the rider!” shouted de Palma, and Jake and TT both fired their pistols at the rider as he rode past their vantage point.

Astonished, he glanced to see them there before two bullets tore through his chest, knocking him down, still held to the shantak’s back by his harness.

The shantak wobbled in the air as the rider collapsed. It turned toward the loud noises it heard, and saw the three puny men standing on the ledge.

Meat!

“Shit! Here it comes!”

Jake and TT raised their pistols, feet sliding on the stone to find solid support, while their pistols centered on the thing’s head.

TT shot first, four shots and then pop the clip to reload.

Jake was a second later, firing a full clip into the thing’s head and it came slamming into their hideout, its enormous equine head hitting the overhang as it forced itself forward, and lifted one arm to scoop them out.

TT, reloading complete, stepped up closer to the shantak’s head on the opposite side, and fired the full clip into it as fast as he could pull the trigger.

Blood spurted from the wound, half its skull torn away.

The arm slowed, twitched, scraped backwards along the rock, and it fell out of sight, down the side of the mountain, with a sigh and a rumble of rock.

Jake lowered his pistol, panting, glancing at the furrows scored into the rock floor to see how close they’d been to his boot.

He suddenly recalled the mission, and looked down...

Dismayed by the death of the shantak, and the attacking wyverns, Harithah’s troopers were pulling back into the fort.

The raptors surged from one side, tearing into the retreating force and turning it into a rout.

Jake saw how Captain Long kept his troopers back, keeping them from getting too close to the fort... perfect!

“Get ready,” he said, picking up a cord from the floor. “On my word.”

Sergeant TT and Aercaptain de Palma picked up their own ropes.

Almost all the enemy was back in now... yes, and there! The gates had just slammed shut!

Now if the raptors would just pull back...

They did! Whether they sensed what was coming or Long called them back, he didn’t know, but they were moving away from the fort, and that’s all he needed.

“Now!” and yanked the rope.

They’d spent most of the night setting everything up and double-checking what they could.

The sacks had been full of heavy metal balls of copper wire, about fifteen cm in diameter, each with a hole through the center. The balls had been set up along the face of Snakescale, stretching out from their hidden lookout for over a hundred meters, with a second line higher up.

Each ball was mounted on a long rope hanging down the mountainside, but held in place with a simple cord running through them all, one they could pull out quickly.

As they yanked the cords the balls were released, rolling down the mountainside, spinning the copper wire windings around their magnetic cores as they fell, faster and faster, spitting and sputtering electric arcs in simple patterns imposed by their design.

Jake watched them in their dozens as they raced down the mountainside.

If this didn’t work...

Within seconds, before the first ball has even reached the end of its rope racecourse, a giant eye appeared above them, a few clouds still visible through its semi-transparent image. Stars gleamed bright in the center, a pupil with the blackness of space.

Explosions began, rippling across the mountainside, like a string of monstrous firecrackers. Enormous gouges appeared in its flank, spherical holes that popped suddenly into existence, destroying the copper wire sphere and enormous chunks of the mountain at the same time.

“Go!” screamed Jake.

The three of them raced to the exit, leaping across the gap while prepared to grab hold of the safety rope if need be. Jake was last, and as his feet left the passage floor he felt it shift, and his hand slipped.

TT was there, holding his wrist in his huge hand and pulling him up to safety.

Without a pause they sprinted down the passage, away from Snakescale and into the valley, leaping boulders without thought to broken legs.

The ground shook and clouds of dust and smoke covered them until finally the noise stopped, except for the skittering of tiny stones slipping to new resting places.

They stopped and turned.

Snakescale was no more... in its place rose a shattered stump, the root of the mountain laid bare, pockmarked by spherical holes across its top edge like the crenelations of a castle.

“What... was... that...?” breathed de Palma, mouth gaping.

“I was almost killed by Reed when I first got here,” said Jake. “But this time she’s been downright useful.

“Those copper balls generated electricity. Electric arcs generate radio waves, and we found a way to get her attention by timing the sequence of arcs.

“Reed’s magic eraser took care of the rest.”

“But what happened to the mountain?”

“Walk with me and I’ll show you,” said Jake. “The show’s all over now.”

They walked back toward the edge, where Snakescale had once stood, and looked down at Bleth.

Over half of it was buried under the mountain, and the remaining half was shattered by huge boulders. A few troopers sat or stood in shock.

“And there they go!” said Jake, pointing down at Captain Long’s troops as they surged forward into Bleth.

There was little resistance.

A shadow passed overhead and Jake involuntarily flinched.

The wyverns!

They made a rough landing nearby and Beorhtwig called down.

“Quite a show, Commander!”

“Quite a show yourself, Sergeant. Thanks to your grenades they were all back in the fort.”

“It could have gotten pretty awkward if you hadn’t taken care of the shantak for us, though.”

“You led him to us,” said TT. “Made it real easy.”

Ginette laughed.

“I didn’t lead him anywhere! I was just running for my life!”

“You think you can get us down to Bleth?” asked Jake.

“Sure, no problem. Don’t even have to flap, just glide right on down,” said Beorhtwig. “Give me your hand.”

It was indeed a short trip to the ruins of Bleth.

END

Celephaïs: Honey for Celephaïs

Chapter 1

The alarm bells clanged her awake.

Fire!

Sergeant Jabari leapt to her feet, her hands pulling on her leather jacket and boots automatically.

She rushed out of the barracks, joining a dozen other women awakened by the alarm in the pre-dawn gloom.

Rasha called down from the tower: “It’s over near the Boreas Bath! It looks like just one building still!”

Good. If it was near the bath they’d have plenty of water.

“Rasha, hold the fort!” She turned to the others. “Double-time! Let’s go!”

They ran, each woman carrying buckets or poles.

The streets were largely deserted at this time of the morning, although as they passed the merchant area they could see a few early risers already preparing for the day’s work.

The public bath was just a short distance from there, and as they approached they could see flames shooting from a small, two-story building across the street from it.

“Larima, Georgina, douse the buildings on both sides and make sure it doesn’t spread,” she shouted. “Beth! Roust everyone and get them started with the buckets.”

Georgina, with a long orange braid hanging down her back, sprang into action. She got the bucket brigade up and running, her women rapidly joined by commandeered residents and shopkeepers gawking nearby, and the small pump they had brought shortly began to spray water on the flaming structure. With the fountain so near there was plenty of water available.

So far only the first floor was burning, but the building was made of wood, and the second story was already smoking dangerously. It was only a matter of time before it burst into flame, too.

Jabari tried to look inside to see if there was anyone still alive, but the fire was too intense.

If there was anyone in there, she thought, they’re dead by now. They’ll just have to wait a little longer.

The firefighters concentrated on dousing the adjacent buildings to prevent the fire from spreading—it had already jumped to one building, but fortunately was still small enough to be extinguished quickly.

The second floor suddenly exploded into fire, a puff of flame shooting out of the windows and shattering the few panes that remained. Glass shards rained down, but the heat was so intense the firefighters were safely distant. The fire shot up again with new energy, but that was its last gasp as the water sprays finally began to work. One wall of the building collapsed onto the wreckage, and with a cloud of glowing sparks, the fire was under control.

Embers and tiny flames remained, popping up here and there through the smoke and steam, but now it was just a matter of drenching the mess. By the time the sun rose the fire was dead, and adjacent buildings, though sooty and thoroughly soaked, were largely untouched.

Sipping a cup of cold tea provided by a local shopkeeper, Jabari sat on an upturned bucket, staring at the steaming ruin.

“Everyone says it was a saddlery, shop on the bottom and living upstairs,” said Larima. “No family, apparently—they say she lived alone.”

“It’s not so cold she’d need a fire this early in the morning,” said Jabari. “Brewing tea, perhaps?”

Larima shrugged.

“We’ll be able to look around in a bit. I don’t think there are any embers left now.”

Jabari wound a piece of cloth over her face and rose.

“Let’s go have a look now, shall we?”

Larima followed her into the wreckage.

Most of the second floor and roof had collapsed in the fire, and what wasn’t charred wood was covered with steaming ash. Puddles dotted the floor.

The woman’s body lay in the middle of what must have been the saddlery workshop.

She was dead, of course, and terribly burned, but the axe wedged in her skull made it very clear that it hadn’t been the fire that killed her.

What was even more interesting was the half-charred corpse of a man next to her.

* * *

“OK, so the woman’s body is Mistress de la Corda, just as everyone thought, but that doesn’t help us much,” said Jabari. “We still don’t know who the man was, or how he got into Skala Ereskou.”

“Or why he would want to kill de la Corda,” added Larima.

“Nothing’s turned up in the ashes yet?”

“Not yet. They’re clearing away the debris now.”

“I have to notify the captain, of course. A resident is dead, and somebody else. Almost surely an intruder,” mused Jabari. “He will not be happy with me.”

Larima grinned.

“This is one of the few times I’m happy you’re in charge, not me!”

“Bitch,” grinned Jabari right back. “In any case, though, ask around and find out more about her. And any men in her life.”

Larima nodded.

“Sarge, we’ve got another problem,” came a voice from outside the Watch guardhouse.

It was Georgina. She’d rolled her long orange braid into a bun and pinned it to her head to get it out of the way. Her hands and tunic were dirty with soot.

“We got most of the wreckage cleared and didn’t find anything unusual. It looks like she and the man killed each other and the fire was started by accident; hard to tell for sure. Hard to tell much of anything, actually, but that’s our best guess based on the weapons and wounds. Doesn’t seem to have been any third weapon involved, at least.”

She paused and pulled a small leather pouch from her vest.

“We did find this, though, in the woman’s sash...”

She opened the pouch, and poured the contents out on the flat of her hand.

They looked almost like pearls, iridescent and almost glowing, but with a reddish glint no pearl could match.

“The Honey of the Goddess....” sighed Jabari. “Well, shit.”

She held out her hand.

Georgina rolled the “pearls” back into the bag and handed it over.

“Eight of them, Sarge. Offhand, that’s probably a year’s worth of all our salaries put together.”

“If you can sell them without getting caught, that is.”

Georgina nodded. “If you can sell them without getting caught.”

“So how many people know what’s in this pouch, Georgina?”

“Just the three of us, Sarge.”

“And there were really eight, right?”

“Hey, c’mon... we’ve been through it all together for over ten years. Yeah, Sarge, eight. Really.”

“Larima, how much is in that fund for the three of us now?”

“Not enough yet, Sarge. It’s a good start, but not enough to buy us out, or buy homesteads.”

“So how do the two of you feel about these honeydrops?” asked Jabari, carefully removing three of the “pearls” from the bag, and handing them over to Larima. “You agree we have to report these five honeydrops to the captain?”

“Yes, sir! It’s our duty, sergeant!” said Georgina, standing up straight as if on parade.

“Absolutely, sergeant!” agreed Larima, dropping the honeydrops into an inner pocket in her tunic.

“Guard Georgina, I comment your honesty in reporting this contraband, and hereby authorize a prize money payout of three gold coins.”

“Thank you, sergeant.”

“And I’m off to report this to the captain immediately. Larima, you’re in charge.”

“Sure thing, Sarge!”

Larima waved a casual salute and walked over to lounge in Jabari’s chair. She stretched her feet out.

“My regards to the captain!”

It being a beautiful morning Jabari decided to walk through the Cirque of the Moon, cutting straight through Celephaïs. She used the Aglaea Gate, nodding to the constables there, who were (luckily for them) alert and on duty when she passed.

It was still quite early, and the Cirque was still largely deserted. People were visiting the Estates, as they did every morning whether in respect or prayer, and there was the usual gathering of people around the Hippocrene Spring and the Necklace getting water for the day.

Clean water was available throughout the city, of course: the Slarr River, fed by the mountain springs of Mt. Aran, but many preferred the fresh spring to the flat taste of aqueduct water.

Given a choice she’d prefer fresh spring water, too, but as a Guard she rarely had a choice.

She walked closer to one of the Necklace ponds and scooped up a mouthful.

Cold and delicious, but no time to dawdle.

She continued on around the curving Cirque to the Street of Pillars, which she then followed toward the wharves, and the sea.

The main Guard barracks and the captain were located down near the cargo docks, surrounded by warehouses, cargo of all sorts being dragged or wheeled about, laborers shouting and cursing, and the smell of fish, fish, fish. Most of the fish were unloaded on the other side of the Street of Pillars, where the fish market was, but you could never escape the smell.

Jabari once again thanked her gods she was in Skala Eresou... she couldn’t imagine having to live and work in this odor every day. The captain said he was so used to it he never even noticed it anymore, but she found that difficult to believe, much as she trusted the captain.

And since the captain chose to actually live elsewhere—up in High City, in fact—she figured he wasn’t as used to it as he claimed.

“Captain Ragnarsson? Sergeant Jabari, sir, from Skala Eresou.”

The captain was seated in his office, staring at a map of the farmland north of the city.

“Come in, Jabari,” he said, motioning her in. “Apparently there’s a leak in one of the High City cisterns, and the artificers say they’ll need to hook up an alternate from the Slarr Aqueduct for a few weeks so they can fix it. Be a bit of a pain in the neck to run that pipe without damaging the Wall or blocking the outer Boreas Gate.”

He pushed the map to the side and looked up at her.

“And what’s your problem, Sergeant?”

“Murder, and an unknown man in Skala Eresou,” she said, pulling up a bench to sit across from him. She pulled the cloth bag out, and handed it over.

“And this.”

The captain gave her a quizzical look, and opened the bag, rolling a honeydrop out onto his palm.

“Oh, my. More honey. And in Skala Eresou this time!”

“This time?” asked Jabari. “Where else?”

“High City, of course, where the money is. A number of nobles have begun to show signs, and there have been a few, um, incidents.”

“And Skala Eresou abuts High City, through the Wall of Euphrosyne,” mused Jabari. “That’s the lowest side of High City, but still...”

“When did you check that wall last?”

“Twice a year, sir. The last one was about two months ago.”

“Nothing unusual?”

“Not really... a few smaller buildings built up against the wall, but nothing more than one story. The regs only forbid structures on the outside of the walls, not the inside, but I didn’t see anything especially unusual on that side, either. Just the usual gardens and sheds of the smaller estates.”

“Tunnels?”

“We checked both sides thoroughly and couldn’t find anything. The Wall goes down to the rock there, so digging a tunnel would be quite an undertaking to handle in secrecy.”

“Maybe it’s time for a surprise inspection.”

“Yessir, I’ll get on it immediately.”

“Report back to me at once if any new information surfaces. Who’s the man?”

“No idea yet, Captain. I’m looking into it.”

“Damn. Well, keep me informed if you discover anything related to this. Anything at all.”

“Yessir,” she said, rising.

“Oh, Jabari, how many honeydrops were there again?”

“Five, sir. It’s in the report.”

“Oh, so it is. Yes, thank you. Dismissed.”


General outline of Skala Eresou

Chapter 2

“Stop, thief!”

The shopkeeper scuttled around his fruit cart, switch in hand, and shouted after the boy. “Thief!”

Wearing only a ragged dhoti of indeterminate gray, the tow-headed boy stopped walking a few meters down the street, apparently ignoring the angry shopkeeper and instead concentrating on the ripe apple he was so eagerly devouring.

The shopkeeper’s sandals slapped down the paving stones.

“Pay for that apple, boy!” he shouted, reaching out for the boy’s arm with one hand.

“I dropped a coin in the basket, didn’t you see it?” said the boy, smiling as he stepped back to leave the shopkeeper grasping thin air.

The shopkeeper paused confusion.

“You did?”

“Of course I did! Would I be standing here talking to you if I were a thief?”

The shopkeeper thought on that, wiping his brow with a multi-colored towel.

He lowered the switch, tucked the towel away again in his voluminous sleeve, and tightened his sash, which had slipped down over his paunch. While the towel was undyed, his kaftan was covered with a tight geometric pattern in maroon on tan cloth. His kaffiyeh was checkered red, held by a black agal which was in serious danger of slipping off entirely.

“That apple costs a copper!”

“And a copper I paid you, old man. Check for yourself!”

The boy motioned at the street stall.

Seeing the boy waiting there—although still eating the apple—and making no move to flee, the shopkeeper hesitated, then turned and stalked back to his stall. He picked up the little bowl and looked inside.

“There’s no copper in here you little bastard!” he cried, and as he turned to pursue the boy, an apple core hit him in the head.

“Thief!”

The boy vaulted over a nearby cart, turning a somersault in the air, and landed in a roll, which evolved into another leap, this time onto a barrel, and onto the roof of a small shop. He paused, looked back at the furious merchant, and walked to the back of the shop, dropping to the ground and escape.

At a fruit stand nearby an older, elegantly dressed woman nodded to herself, eyes still fixed on that empty rooftop.

* * *

Sergeant Ng and the two constables walked through the market slowly. They were on patrol, but it was a quiet day and they had no place they needed to be. Most of the people there, whether they were merchants, shoppers, or just loitering, ignored them or nodded in greeting; they were more interested in the ones that hurriedly looked away or sidled into the shadows.

They knew every corner of this market, whether it was the vegetable farmers hawking tomatoes and greens fresh from the fields outside the city walls, enormous baskets of grain, or fresh-baked bread and cakes. Local spices were on display in cloth sacks, mouths gaping to reveal seeds and powders in a rainbow of colors and scents. Spices collected here from all the corners of the Dreamlands came to Celephaïs mostly by sea, arriving at the busy docks on the other side of the city, but they all ended up here, joining local herbs and spices that came from the surrounding mountains and forests via the river, or overland. They were quite some ways from the wood market, with its enormous variety of structural or beautiful lumber, transported by river boat, but even so there were a few merchants who had set up shop here, trying to sell cut lumber or exotic woods after being unable to purchase the space they had hoped for in the wood market.

The farm market was the farthest from the docks, and most of the carts brought their goods into the city via the Avenue of the Boreas or the Tanarian Way. Both gates were guarded, of course, but the city was largely at peace and there was little need to inspect anything.

Inside the market, though, it was crowded with buyers and sellers, carts of all types being drawn by a variety of beasts—some dangerous—, street stalls popping up here and there like mushrooms after a rain and blocking the streets, and of course pickpockets. It was a madhouse.

In theory anyone wanting to set up shop here had to get a permit from the Wardmaster, and anyone selling without a permit was to be fined or imprisoned, but the Guard had enough to do already and pretty much turned a blind eye when they could. As a result, very few of the farmers selling out of their carts had permits, and if they blocked a street (or the storefront of a permit-holding shopkeeper), the Guard could offer excellent motivation for them to move—or else.

The merchants sprayed water over the streets regularly to keep the dust down, but of course that just meant the carts turned everything into a fine layer of slippery mud until the next spray washed it all off again. The odors of spoiling fruit and vegetables, manure from the horses and deinos, and sweaty people combined into a stench that took getting used to.

Not surprisingly, the public fountains here were joined by a selection of alehouses, and the Guards went out of their way to be sure the alehouses stayed safe, whether from unruly patrons, theft, or fire. The alehouses reciprocated with drinks to help wash the dust out of their mouths in a generally you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours relationship.

There was always turnover as the harvests changed with the seasons and people came and went, but all in all it was pretty stable. As long as they kept crime down to a reasonable level, preventing fires from turning into disasters, and looked the other way when the Wardmaster raised the rent, everything was fine.

There was a fine line between accepting a bribe, which was a sure way to get into serious trouble with the captain, and accepting a drink from an alehouse or a bit of meat or fruit from a merchant. Some of the Guard had a habit of asking for more than usual, others gladly accepted whatever was offered.

As long as it was voluntary and stayed friendly, the sergeant and the captain both turned a blind eye.

Suddenly a paunchy, balding merchant erupted from the crowd and grasped Ng’s arm.

“Guardsman! A thief! A thief!”

Ng dislodged the man’s sweaty hand.

The merchant was dressed in a tan kaftan with red geometric patterning. Ng sized him up as a mid-level merchant, moderately successful, no doubt with a family shop and perhaps even a hired hand or two.

“Sergeant Ng of the Guard. And you are?”

“Thabouti Hamdi of Celephaïs,” replied the other, out of breath. “That boy! He stole an apple from me, and threw it at me!”

“What boy?”

“That boy, over the...” The merchant turned to point, but his hand slowed, drooped. “He’s gone now.”

“A boy? What sort of boy?” asked one of his Guards, a woman named Istas. She had a shortsword on her hip and a bow on her back, unlike the third Guard, a thin, tall black man armed with a cutlass.

“A boy! Like every other boy!” shouted the merchant, wiping his brow again with the towel. “Filthy, and wearing an equally filthy dhoti.”

“There are lots of boys like that,” said Jay, the black man. “I can see half a dozen right now.”

The merchant mopped his brow again, turning this way and that.

“There! That one! He’s stealing a cake!”

They turned and saw the boy, cake in hand, walking nonchalantly away.

“Halt in the name of the Guard!” shouted Ng, breaking into a sprint.

Istas followed closely behind, while Jay sprinted off to the side, hoping to cut the boy off.

The boy walked behind a cart of vegetables, and ducked down out of sight... and when Sergeant got there, there was no sign.

The baker walked up and stood waiting while Ng and Istas scanned the plaza.

He was gone.

“That’s Roach,” said the baker. “He showed up a few weeks ago, and isn’t afraid of man or beast. We call him Roach because he can slip into the smallest hole and escape.”

“Where did he come from?”

The baker shrugged. “Who knows? Boys like him come and go. It’s just the cost of doing business,” he said, walking back to his stall, “but it won’t go well for him if I catch him!”

Sergeant Ng nodded to himself.

“So, a barefoot boy, maybe eight or ten years old, straw-colored hair, bare feet... I’ll be looking for you...”

Chapter 3

Later that day, Sergeant Jabari notified the Wardmaster—Mistress Mary, better known as Mary the Boneless because she was paralyzed from the waist down—that they were performing an unannounced and immediate wall inspection.

She acquiesced, of course, since there was really very little she could do about it other than complain to the King, who was quite disinterested and would probably side with the Guard in any case... not to mention, the inspection would be long done with by the time she got an audience!

Jabari left two Guards at each gate and split the rest of her women into two groups, one working from the Boreas Gate up and then across the Wall of Euphrosyne, the other starting from the di Scalotta Gate to the Wall, until they met somewhere in the middle.

The Wall wasn’t that long, they’d be done soon enough.

She positioned herself up on the Wall itself, in roughly the middle. The walk on top of the Wall was once designed for defense, before the city had grown beyond it, and a third wall had been built even farther out from the Pinnacle. With crenelations and arrow slits it still looked forbidding, but was generally considered more of a hindrance than a defense measure by the populace. There were only gates through the walls, so it could take a considerable amount of time to move on about inside the city.

There were always constables at both ends of the wall where it bordered Skala Eresou, of course, to stop people from entering that way, even though the entire Wall was supposed to be off-limits to everyone but Guards. From the top she could see both groups of Guards at they worked their way along the setback, an empty space running along next to the Wall on the inside to facilitate rapid movement by defenders. Over the years the law had become looser and looser, and now even buildings of one story built up against the wall were pretty much ignored, as long as the roadway stayed wide enough for men and carts to pass easily.

Enforcement was looser, but the law still gave the Guard the right to demand entry to every structure abutting the wall. In most cases the owner allowed them immediate access, coming running quickly when called to prevent the Guard from smashing the lock. Or the door.

In a few cases the owner couldn’t be contacted and they’d have some repairs to do later.

Larima pounded on the door of the shack, demanding entry.

“Wake up some of the people around here, and find out who owns this place,” she ordered, and the constables with her spread out and began questioning local residents. Those who could left promptly, discovering urgent business elsewhere, and the laggards confessed that they had no idea who owned it.

It had gone up a few months ago but nobody remembered ever seeing anyone go in or out. Or so they said.

The Guard was rarely appreciated, except for theft or fire.

After half an hour or so, with no owner and no information, they broke down the door to discover an empty room with rough boards laid down for a floor.

Larima trusted her instincts and looked underneath... sure enough, there was a tunnel opening hidden under it.

She stepped outside, looked up at the wall walk to catch Jabari’s eye, and motioned.

It only took Jabari a few minutes to climb down the closest ladder and walk over. After one look she dispatched a runner to notify Captain Ragnarsson.

A ladder descended into the pitch-black hole.

“There must be a torch around here somewhere...” Jabari muttered, searching. Ah, there it was, hanging from the ladder.

“Larima, you’re with me,” she ordered, lighting the torch with her flint. “Ihala, make sure everyone finishes checking the rest! And if the Captain shows up, send him down here.”

The torch sputtered a few times then settled down to a steady, almost smokeless flame. No odor, either, she noted. Expensive.

The ladder was longer than she expected, ending about three meters down, with another shaft extending off to the side. One side of the tunnel was the stone of the Wall itself: the horizontal tunnel ran along the wall, not through it as she’d expected.

“I think it’s headed toward the sewage tunnel,” said Larima.

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, Sarge. And lots of it.”

They had to hunch over to traverse the shaft, and as Larima had thought it ended up at the sewage tunnel. The shaft opened up in the wall overlooking the flow. The river water was rapid here, picking up speed as it descended the slope toward the sea, but the place stank anyway, of course.

Jabari tied a cloth over her nose and mouth; Larima followed suit.

The stonework of the tunnel was ancient. Celephaïs had stood here for centuries, and while there were tales of its founders and their work, nobody really knew much about its origins, or its tunnels. Some thought they had originally been built as canals—most were certainly wide and deep enough for a small boat, and indeed the artificers often used boats to navigate it for inspections and repairs.

There were rumors of unmapped tunnels branching off into the darkness, and some extending downward where no boat could travel, deep into the earth or out to sea. The artificers had maps, of course, but everyone knew they were incomplete, only covering the portions they actually used.

The blackish, scummy water was about a palm’s width below the walkway at tunnel’s edge. The walkway itself was only barely wide enough to stand, let alone walk on, and was covered with mold and fungi.

Jabari held the torch closer... there were scuffmarks here, in front of the tunnel, but the walkway was untouched a meter or two farther, in both directions.

They must have used a boat, and that meant they couldn’t tell if it came from upstream or down.

She held the torch high and the two of them examined the walls and ceiling. While they couldn’t tell what might be hidden in the darkness, there was nothing visible—no markings, no doors, no signs that anyone had been here for centuries.

“Nothing more we can do here,” she said. “And I’m not getting in that water!”

Larima nodded.

“Let’s go get some air.”

They retraced their footsteps, and Jabari replaced the torch in the holder as they climbed out of the hole.

“I wonder if we can make it look like nobody was here...” she mused. “Larima, what do you think?”

“Uh...” the woman thought for a moment, looking around. “We can straighten up inside easy enough, but we kicked in the door...”

“Yeah, but we kicked in a lot of doors along the Wall, and checked all the structures. Suppose we just put the floorboards back, and make it look like we never noticed the tunnel?” suggested Jabari. “Go get me some dirt, Larima.”

She squatted down and began brushing out their footprints with her hands.

Larima brought in a few handfuls of street dirt, and they scattered it around artistically, camouflaging the few signs of their visit.

“That should do it, Sarge,” said Larima, flicking one last clod onto the floorboards.

“Yup, looks good. Now we need to settle in across the street somewhere to keep an eye on this place...”

They stepped back outside, and Jabari slapped a huge ILLEGAL STRUCTURE sign on the building. Signed by the captain of the Watch, it said the structure would be destroyed and the owner fined if it wasn’t removed within a week.

Nobody ever paid any attention to those signs, but it was a good way to explain why they kicked the door in while reassuring whoever used it that they really didn’t care that much.

As they were just finishing up a runner came from the Aglaea Gate. Captain Ragnarsson wanted to come in and requested permission. Even though he was their superior, as a man he couldn’t enter Skala Erasou without the permission of the Council, and since the Council had authorized her in their place, that meant Sergeant Jabari.

“No, I’ll go meet him there,” she said, denying the request. “Larima, finish the inspection, slap a few more notices on some of the more obvious structures, and then pull everybody out. Keep our little discovery as quiet as possible, but bring Ihala up the speed.

“I’m off to fill in the captain.”

“Yessir.”

“And keep an eye out for a good place to wait tonight, too.”

Jabari strode off to meet the captain.

He was not in a good mood.

“Dammit, Jabari, you call me here for a tunnel and then keep me waiting?”

“Sorry, sir. Things are a little more complex than we thought...”

She waved with her hand at a small teashop almost next to the gate, built against the Wall, looking out into the rolling parkland of the innermost Cirque.

“Let me fill you in quietly, sir. This way.”

She took an outside table, pulling it some distance away from the other tables there. The shopkeeper was not impressed, but knew better than to get angry with her, let alone with Captain of the Guard.

A pot of spice tea appeared on their table in seconds, and the shopkeeper retreated to safety as soon as he could. She smiled her thanks, but she could tell he wasn’t taken in—her reputation was pretty well established around here.

She filled the captain in, and explained they’d be watching from now on to see who was using the building, if anyone. They still didn’t know if it had anything to do with the murder, but it might explain how the man had gotten into Skala Eresou.

And the honeydrops.

The captain ignored his tea completely.

“You’re coming with me,” he said, after her tale was completed. “We’re off to talk the Chief Artificer.”

“The Chief Artificer?”

“First time?”

“No, but I’m just a sergeant...”

“Yes, but you’re my sergeant,” replied the captain. “Oh, that reminds me... there were some minor errors in your report. I made a few corrections to it, and would appreciate it if you’d rewrite and resubmit. Nothing major.”

He handed over her report with some scribbled edits marked.

“Of course, sir. I’ll have it to you first thing in the morning.”

One of the “corrections” was that the pouch had contained three honeydrops, she noted. Well, we’re all only human, she told herself. Even the captain.

Chapter 4

Roach had established quite a reputation. He’d stolen food from almost everyone, brazenly, sauntering off as if he’d paid and only running at the last minute. Small and agile, he seemed to know every nook and cranny of the market, escaping angry merchants—and Guards—with ease.

He was also a phenomenal shot with small stones—or apple cores—as many merchants and constables had discovered to their regret. While he hadn’t killed anyone yet, he had put out a merchant’s eye with a stone thrown from dozens of meters distant, and had demonstrated an unerring ability to hit people in the center of the forehead hard enough to leave blood and a bump.

Sergeant Ng let his men chase the boy, not expecting any success, while he watched the market from one of the city’s many minarets.

Most of the minarets rose in the Cirque of the Jade Bull, the middle ring. There were more on the higher ground on the north side of the city, but there were other minarets scattered here and there throughout Celephaïs.

One was conveniently located near the middle of the marketplace.

The boy never looked up, not even once, and Ng mapped his hiding places one by one: a culvert; a low rooftop protected by the overhanging eaves of a higher, neighboring building; under the (broken and immobile) cart of a well-known shopkeeper; even, in the early morning, in the stable of one of the inns. He was smart, changing his sleeping place every night, and always checking carefully to be sure one was safe before entering.

His men tried again and again to corner him, and he made fools of the bunch, leaping over them, diving between their legs, dodging and twisting to avoid nets, always with a smile. It may have been a game to him but his Guards were getting angry, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they began using their swords or bows on the boy.

The merchants were talking now of raising a complaint to the Captain of the Guard. If the Captain got involved because he couldn’t catch a little boy stealing vegetables, he’d probably end up escorting manure shipments somewhere.

Still, if they hadn’t caught the little bastard yet, obviously they needed a new approach, and that’s what he was working on.

After a few days he was confident he knew enough. After stealing a few skewers of meat from one vendor and a loaf of fresh-baked bread from a second, the boy had taken shelter in one of the many entrances to the waterworks running under the city. Most of the entrances to the tunnels carrying the river water used for the scattered fountains and public baths were covered by large flagstones, probably too heavy for that boy to lift, but there was one that had been cracked by age or accident, and was now covered by a simple wood cover.

The tunnel underneath ran in only two directions, upstream and down, and while the boy could certainly traverse it with ease, it was a simple matter to put Guards into the tunnels at the next entrances, in both directions. Ng organized the men into two teams, with instructions to block the tunnel in both spots and prepare to capture the boy. They readied nets just in case he could swim as well as he could run and jump.

Little Roach would be trapped.

A few minutes later Sergeant Ng crouched in the shadow of a warehouse, watching the entrance to the boy’s lair from a distance. He waited a few minutes to be sure the rest of the Guards were in position, then ran to the cover as noisily as possible, shouting “You two, get down inside! We’ve got him trapped now!”

He yanked the cover off, and peered inside.

It was empty, of course, but there was a half-eaten loaf of bread lying there, a few old rags, odds and ends. He used the tip of his boot to see if there was anything else hidden in the rags, but that was all.

Ng listened, and sure enough, he could hear the boy scuttling up the low tunnel, scraping along in his hurry. A grown man would have trouble moving in the tunnel with the water this high, but the boy was making good progress, judging by the sound.

Suddenly he heard shouting, and a yell of pain, and a splash.

More thrashing, muffled voices, then a clear call down the tunnel, voice distorted by the flowing water.

“We’ve got the little bastard, Sarge.”

He pulled himself out of the hole and walked up the street toward the next access, and met the Guards midway. Istas had her hands firmly on the boy’s upper arms, one arm in each hand. She was frog-marching him, steadfastly ignoring his continuing struggles and, at times, lifting him off the ground if his feet refused to move in the right direction. She was dripping wet up to her midriff, and her sandals made a squelching noise as she walked.

The other Guards walked with her, and some distance behind came tall Jay, walking in obvious pain.

“What happened?”

“Nothing important, Sarge... he just knocked me into the water, and kicked Jay where it hurts,” she said, smiling.

“Maybe not important to you but it is to me, Istas,” snarled Jay. “I’ll kill that little sonova bitch.”

Ng chuckled. “Glad to see all that practice in grappling came in handy, Jay. Maybe you can stop by Joy Street tonight and make sure everything still works okay.”

“I’ll have his fucking head on a pike, that’s what I’ll do tonight!”

“Now, now, Jay, he’s just a young boy,” grinned Istas. “Man up!”

She dragged the boy up in front of Ng, who was standing, hands on hips, in the middle of the street. Passers-by and carts automatically swerved around them in hopes of avoiding any interaction... the Guard could be awkward at times.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Roach.”

“Yeah, that’s what they call you, but what’s your name?”

“Don’t have a name,” said the boy, smiling. “Me mom died before she gave me one.”

“How old are you now? Ten?”

“Uncle Sarl said I’s eight.”

“Where’s Uncle Sarl now?”

“Dead. Died the spring.”

“And you’ve been on your own since?”

“Yes. Leave me be.”

Ng laughed. “No, I don’t think we can do that, Roach. You see, you’ve been stealing from the merchants, and they’re quite upset with you.”

“They said if I’s starving to take it!”

“Did they now?” said Ng. “That seems somewhat different from what they told us.”

He leaned down, bringing his face close to the boy’s.

“You know what we do to thieves in this city, boy?” he growled.

The boy head-butted him in the face, and leapt forward, running up Ng’s body and flipping backwards toward Istas, twisting his arms out of her grasp.

He bounced to the ground and took off running...

...or tried to.

Jay was right there waiting, and grabbed him by the neck with one hand.

“Gotcha now, you little bastard!”

The boy struggled, but Jay’s huge hands held him tight, one around his neck and one on his right leg. The more he struggled, the more they tightened, and as Roach began to run out of breath he fell still.

Sergeant Ng picked himself up off the paving stones, face bloody from nosebleed. As least it didn’t seem to be broken.

“Jay, I think you and me are going to have to have a little talk with this roach.”

Jay smiled.

“Oh, yessir, I’ve a few things to say to him myself.”

Ng took some rope from his belt, and tied the boy’s hand together.

“Hold him still,” he ordered Jay, then knelt to hobble his feet. “That should do it.”

He stood, wiped his bloody nose on his arm.

“Now then, maybe let’s take our young guest back to the guardhouse, shall we?”

“Sergeant!”

A woman’s voice came from behind him.

He turned to see an older woman, slim and well-dressed, flanked by two younger women.

“I am Poietria Martine, of Skala Eresou. And you are...?”

“Sergeant Ng, Poietria.”

He was suddenly polite... he had no idea who she was, but any Guard who insulted a Poietria could kiss his chances at promotion goodbye. They had too many connections to the nobility, and the nobility had too many connections to everything.

“What is the boy being held for, Sergeant?”

“He’s a thief, Poietria, among other things.”

“From what I heard right now he is also an orphan.”

“Yes, Poietria, he seems to be.”

“And he is very agile.”

“Yes. And violent.”

“I find it strange that a group of armed Guards had such difficulty restraining a boy so young, Sergeant. Don’t you?”

He gritted his teeth.

“Yes, Poietria. We, uh, were not expecting such a small boy to be quite so violent.”

“Perhaps chasing and threatening him caused him to be violent?”

“Yes, Poietria. Perhaps it did, but he is a thief nonetheless.”

“Boy!” she called to Roach. “If I stand for you, will you stop this nonsense and come with me? I will give you food and shelter.”

The boy cocked his head.

“You are a woman... what would you want with my body?”

Poietria Martine stopped in surprise.

“Your... body...?”

“That’s what you oldies always want, isn’t it?”

She stepped closer and knelt in front of him.

“No, Roach, that is not what I want. I promise no one shall hurt you that way again. There are no men in Skala Eresou.”

“That’s what Uncle Sarl said. Didn’t trust him, either.”

She took one of the boy’s hands in her own. “Maia, come here.”

The older of the two women accompanying her, maybe in her late twenties or so, stepped forward and took Roach’s hand. The other woman, or perhaps a girl in her second twelfth, just stood there watching.

Poietria Martine turned back to the sergeant.

“Sergeant, perhaps I could give the Guards a small donation? To pay for your injuries.”

Sergeant Ng scratched his earlobe for a minute.

“You stand for this thief, Poietria?”

“I do.”

“The boy won’t come back to this market anymore?”

“He will not steal here anymore,” she confirmed. “Right, boy?”

He beamed, looking up to her like a guardian angel. “Yes, Poietria!”

A small, heavy bag was exchanged for the boy.

“Cut off those silly ropes, if you please,” she directed. “You can’t eat a proper meal with your hands tied, now can you, boy?”

Ng gestured, and Jay used his dagger to cut the ropes loose.

He waved the dagger under the boy’s nose.

“If we see you around here again, boy...”

Poietria Martine walked away, the two women and her new companion in tow.

“Thank you, Poietria!” called Sergeant, hefting the bag in his hand.

As he left, the boy looked back and signed an insult with his other hand.

Jay took a step forward, hand on cutlass, face red with anger, but Istas moved to block him.

“Leave it, Jay,” she advised. “It’s not worth it for a boy.”

“Jay,” said Sergeant Ng, “I think we could all do with a drink to ward off the afternoon heat, yeah? On me!”

Everyone agreed that sounded like a wonderful idea.

There was an alehouse right up the street.


Martine's Studio, with artist's conception of similar Roman home

Chapter 5

Sergeant Jabari walked out into the Cirque of the Moon with the Captain.

Most of it was parkland, with tended gardens, grassy slopes, walkways separate from larger streets for carts. It was scattered with key city buildings—theater, armory, a variety of key storehouses, and of course the Ten Noble Estates. Each of the nine Muses had her own Estate, a stone temple built with stone of exotic colors and textures, fascinating the eye and the mind. They were all different, of course... the earthy agates of Thalia, the black onyx of Melpomene, the soaring crystals of Polyhymnia... they were all beautiful, each in its own way.

Drax was the tenth Noble Estate, though not a Muse... and fittingly, his building was not a temple, but a library, imposing and elegant in the classical Greek tradition.

In the center of the Cirque reared the Pinnacle, a blackish-brown talon of bedrock thrusting upwards toward the stars. With sheer cliffs on most sides, a single switch-backed road ran from its base—at the terminus of the Street of Pillars, running straight to the sea—to the Palace of the Seventy Delights at the apex. Walls and buildings of pink marble were scattered across its surface like cherry petals in the spring breeze.

The Chief Artificer was at a smaller, unassuming building relatively close to the seadocks.

The captain walked in unannounced, scattering lowly clerks and draughtsmen in his wake, directly to the Chief Artificer’s room at the rear.

The door was open; he walked right in.

A large glass window let the sunlight shine into the room, illuminating the shelving covering one entire wall. The shelves were packed with stacks of paper and scrolls, information and drawings of every part of the city and its mechanisms. They were catalogued and maintained, replaced when found to be falling apart, or damaged by mold or water. Rumor had it a duplicate set had been created and was hidden on the Pinnacle.

In spite of the constant care and the catalog, however, the shelves still looked like a rat’s nest.

The Chief Artificer was bent over a table full of detailed plans of the city, deep in conversation with two other men.

“You two, out,” ordered Captain Ragnarsson, hooking his thumb at the door and shutting it behind them after they scurried out. “Artificer Marcus, forgive me. The matter is urgent.”

The artificer, who had stood silent while the other men left, stylus in hand, nodded.

“I gathered so, from your rather abrupt entry,” he said drily. “The cistern?”

“Not directly, but perhaps... Sergeant Jabari here has a short tale to tell.”

He turned to her, and gestured impatiently.

She went through the inspection of the Wall, and the discovery of the tunnel, skipping the fire, murder, and honeydrops entirely.

“How close was the water level to the walkway?” asked Marcus.

“About a palm’s width,” she replied.

“It has to be a swimmer,” he stated, nodding. He walked to the shelving and, without searching or hesitation, pulled out a map.

He rolled it open on the table, plunking weights on the corners to hold it spread wide. It showed the underground waterways for High City and Skala Eresou area.

“These are arched tunnels, which means the ceilings are curved upwards to better support the weight, but during the course of construction the artificers also built in horizontal blocks of stone in many places, specifically here and here,” he explained. “Most of them come down to the height of the walkway. Some have narrow through-holes to allow us to pass, but not these. If by boat, they would have to get into the water and pull the boat underwater, under those stones, before they could proceed. Several times.

“So it really has to be a swimmer, either from some other entrance or up from the sea itself.”

“I’ll need maps of what other access points are possible,” said the captain, picking up the map and beginning to roll it up.

The Chief Artificer grabbed it out of his hands.

“Take your hands off that plan, young man! This does not leave this room, ever!”

He was furious, and even the captain took a step back in shock.

“I will have a copy made for you, showing where the closest access is. Still, if the swimmer is a strong one and knows their way around the tunnels, they could enter anywhere in the city—or even from the ocean—and get there.”

“They couldn’t get in from the Slarr Aqueduct?”

“Impossible. It is fitted with a variety of nets to keep out debris, and is inspected daily. Out of the question.”

“I see...” The captain thought for a moment. “Do you think this could have anything to do with the cistern?”

“With the cistern...?” Marcus scratched his head. “The cistern is well upstream from there, but they are on the same line...I suppose it’s not impossible, but it would take a mighty strong swimmer to swim back upstream to the cistern from there! That’s pretty close to the aqueduct intake, and is a major feeder for a large section of the city. A lot of water goes through there pretty fast.”

“No human swimmer,” mused Ragnarsson. “What about a gnorri?”

“A gnorri?” The Chief Artificer was taken aback for a minute. “There aren’t any gnorri cities near here that I’m aware of, but I suppose a gnorri could swim it easily enough. Or up from the sea. It’d have to be able to stand the sewage, though... there’s not too much coming down from High City there, but the lines run straight through the city to the sea, and they get worse as you go.

“You don’t want to ever go near the downstream end if you can possibly avoid it...”

“You speak from experience, it seems.”

“Oh, yes, I know them well... every young artificer starts at the bottom, and that is the very bottom,” he laughed. “The stench is as bad now as it was when I was cleaning them.”

Captain Ragnarsson nodded, and dutifully smiled.

“When can I expect those maps?”

“The plans will be in your hands tomorrow morning, Captain,” corrected Marcus. “Your office near the sea cargo docks?”

“Yes, thank you.”

After we left the captain asked me quietly, “Why didn’t you mention the murder or the Honey?”

“Didn’t seem relevant,” I said, “and I figured if you thought differently you’d bring it up.”

“Good decision,” he grunted. “Hmm... no way I can join you tonight to keep watch?”

“If you order me I’ll allow it, sir, but I’d really prefer not to... Mary the Boneless is hard enough to get along with now, and she’s already upset with me about the surprise wall inspection.”

“Mary the Boneless... stupid bitch.” He kicked a pebble. “Alright, but I’ll be waiting at the Boreas Gate, and I want a runner immediately if anything happens.”

“Yessir.”

* * *

It was only a short walk from there down to the seadocks, and Captain Ragnarsson decided to pay an old “friend” a visit.

The warehouses were packed quite closely here, usually separated by narrow paths that were usually blocked by carts and people. He knew his way around, though, having spent the better part of a decade on the docks.

And he knew enough to visit this particular alehouse during the day.

If you looked closely enough you could still make out the name on the wall—Rancy Seahorse—and might guess it was an alehouse from the raucous laughter and the stench of thagweed seeping out of the half-open door, but it was clearly not the sort of place a tourist would drop by. Not that there were any tourists here in the dark heart of the docks.

He stepped inside and waited for a second to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness.

There was some light seeping in through the filthy windows up above, and oil lamps scattered about on the tables, making it just possible to see that every face in the room was turned toward him.

Three men near the door stood and began to walk toward him, hands on their weapons.

The largest of the three growled, “The Guard don’t come here with less than a couple dozen men.”

“Maybe you’re in the wrong alehouse, yeah?” chimed in another.

“I’m here to see Captain Rab,” he replied.

“Time to go, Guardsman.”

Captain Ragnarsson held his hands out, empty.

“Tell him Ragnarsson’s here.”

“Let ’im pass,” came a bellow from the back of the room. “If that’s Ragnarsson ya couldn’t stop him anyway, ya little pisses.”

The three stepped back a fraction, allowing the Captain barely enough room to squeeze by, but he didn’t move.

“Get outta the man’s way, dimwit! Ragnarsson’s my guest!”

They stepped back a little more and grudgingly allowed passage, closing in behind him like an escort.

At the back of the alehouse was a broad booth, with an enormous black man sitting in the middle, legs stretched out and leather boots on the table. His bald head and bronze earring glittered in the lamplight, and white teeth shone through the thicket of his beard. He had a liter-sized mug of ale in one hand and a half-naked woman in the other, and nodded when Captain Ragnarsson approached.

“Sit, Cap’n,” he said, pointing, then roared “An ale for the Cap’n, boy!”

The boy came running with a mugful of ale, bowing again and again, and placed it on the table while staying as far from Captain Rab as possible.

Rab picked it up and slammed it down on the tabletop in front of Ragnarsson.

Their mugs clashed against each other, and they drank.

Ragnarson wiped his mouth on his arm and relaxed, letting off a long sigh of contentment.

“Ah, Rab, you know how to treat a Guardsman right, you do. That’s some fine ale.”

“Always happy to show my appreciation for the fine job you do, Ragnarsson.”

Captain Ragnarsson lifted his mug again in thanks and took another slug.

He had known Captain Rab for a long time... they’d grown up together, here on the seadocks, and had crossed paths more than once since. Ragnarsson had entered the Guard, and been stationed here for years, while Rabhitandra—Rab—had instead found work as a cargo wrangler. They had both risen through the ranks over the years, one rising to Captain of the Guard, the other to the unofficial ruler of the seadocks.

Rab knew everybody, and while he never actually broke the law himself he always seemed to have a hand in everything, one way or another. Two, possibly three of the Wardmasters here were Rab’s men. He ruled with a relatively light hand, enforcing peace and honest dealings on the wharves in return for the modest “service fees” he charged.

It was probably illegal, but as long as he kept his fees reasonable and kept the docks operating smoothly—not to mention, as long as he continued to enjoy protection from certain nobles in High City—Captain Ragnarsson was content to leave things untouched.

Informal meetings like this one were invaluable in scratching each other’s back, and they both knew they had more to gain through cooperation than war.

Besides, Ragnarsson thought, at least Rab is honest about what he does, unlike a lot of the people I deal with in High City.

“Mug’s getting a little light, Rab...”

“Boy! More ale! And bring a pitcher!”

Once their mugs were refilled, Captain Rab pushed the woman away, swatting her ass and suggesting she “Go for a little walk, will ’ya?”

The two captains set alone.

“So what’s on ya mind, Ragnarsson? Haven’t seen ya in here for quite a while.”

“We’ve got a little problem and I need a little information, Captain,” he replied. “Have you gotten any reports of gnorri around here?”

“Gnorri?” Rab scratched his beard. “Around here? No, don’t think so. Why?”

“Well, I can’t really go into that, I’m afraid, but I’d, um, appreciate it if you’d look into it, and let me know if any of your people hear anything.”

“They fish in their waters and we in ours, and anyone straying into the other’s waters are dealt with pretty quickly. Usually on a friendly basis, too, unless it’s deliberate. I can’t imagine any of the gnorri from the cities I know venturing out this way.”

“Hmm. I can’t imagine them coming this close to Celephaïs, either, but... things have happened, and I need to check.”

“I can look into it for ya,” said Rab, stretching out his hand.

They shook on it.

“Thank you, Captain Rab. I’ll be sure to appreciate any assistance you can offer.”

“Cree’lo! The Cap’n’s leaving! Walk with him out to the main so everyone understan’s he’s my guest, will ya?”

Cree’lo, one of the three men who had stopped him at the door, grunted and stood waiting.

“Safe voyage, Captain,” said Ragnarsson, draining the mug and slamming it back down on the table.

“Safe voyage, Captain,” replied Rab, raising his mug in a salute and then draining it dry.

The audience was over.

Chapter 6

Poietria Martine and her retinue continued toward the Boreas Gate, one of the three gates to Skala Eresou. As they approached the Avenue of Boreas the shops grew larger and fancier, boasting of their wares to the traffic on the Avenue. While you could find cheaper (and sometimes tastier) food deeper in the marketplace, many people preferred to pay a little more to buy it here and avoid all the mud and noise entirely.

There were three constables on duty at the gate, women dressed in leathers and armed with swords of various types. The foremost woman held up her hand.

“Poietria Martine, you may enter, but who is this lad?”

Martine squeezed his hand.

“Thank you,” she nodded in greeting. “This is Roach and I stand for him.”

“Roach, Poietria?” smiled the constable. “A rather unusual name, I would think.”

“He will have a new one by nightfall, I assure you.”

“You have never brought a male into Skala Eresou before, Poietria Martine.”

“There is a first time for everything,” she smiled. “He is a new student at my school, and I stand for him.”

“You may pass, Poietria Martine,” said the constable, standing back to allow them to walk through the stone arch freely.

The buildings and streets of the Skala Eresou enclave were much the same as the rest of Celephaïs, but Roach felt something was different. He twisted his head to and fro, looking about.

“The public fountain is up ahead on the left,” said Martine. “That big gray building in front of it is the public bath.”

Roach was listening, but he was more interested in trying to figure out what was different... of course! It wasn’t something he could see, it was something missing!

“No men, Mistress...”

“You address me as Poietria.”

He nodded.

“Men are not allowed here, Roach. Boys such as yourself may enter. Skala Eresou is run by women, protected by women, and woe be to any man who tries to enter by force!”

He thought on that.

“Uncle Sarl was a man. He hit me.”

“No man shall you here, Roach,” she reassured him. “But I may if you fail your studies!”

“Studies? You mean, school?”

“Can you read and write?”

“A little,” he said.

She laughed.

“We’ll teach you, boy! We’ll teach you more than that!”

She stopped and looked him straight in the eyes.

“But do you know what we’ll teach you most, boy?”

He shook his head, face expressionless.

“To dance!”

* * *

Poietria Martine’s dance school was in a small, quiet building on the other side of Skala Eresou, close to the di Scalotta Gate. The entrance faced the main plaza there, providing easy access to the public fountain and bath.

They dragged him to the kitchen first, and he had his first full meal in a long time... it wasn’t mealtime and the cooks had their hands full preparing the evening meal, but at a stern look from Poietria Martine they put together a perfect feast for the boy... hot soup, chicken, a heaping bowl of rice with tomatoes and beans, and an apple for dessert. It vanished without a trace as fast as they could dish it out.

When the dishes were empty, Roach stood, without a word of thanks, and asked the Poietria “Now what?”

The head cook, standing nearby eyeing the obvious satisfaction of a handsome, hungry boy in her cooking, tightened her lips, spun on her heel, and stalked off into the depths of the kitchen. Mistress Kileesh had been cook here for decades, and was famous for her silent, disapproving looks. She was also famous for being able to flense flesh with her words when finally provoked to speech.

Martine was also taken aback, but decided to let it ride for now, figuring he was still off-balance after the exciting events of the day.

“Next is a bath and clothing.”

“Don’t need a bath,” he said.

“You need a bath,” she corrected. “Now.”

She turned to Maia.

“Maia, take him to the public bath, then the barber. Here is coin for the barber,” she said, handed over a few small coins. “Find him a clean tunic, and bring him to me when you’re done.”

“Yes, Poietria,” she said, giving a shallow bow, then took Roach’s hand and led him off.

When he returned an hour later, he was a different person... clean, hair cut and brushed, wearing a linen tunic with a Greek meander embroidered around the hems, and leather sandals, he looked the perfect little prince. His face was more handsome than ever, even at his young age.

Martine sighed. He was going to be trouble as he grew into a young man. He already was trouble, she reminded herself.

Roach entered and stood before her silently.

“I’ve watched you in the marketplace toying with the Guard,” she said, “Your balance and reflexes are excellent. Your body is still weak and untrained, of course, but you will make a superb dancer. If you can stop stealing.

“We cannot keep calling you Roach, boy. What shall we call you?”

“I like Roach.”

“Rogier, then.”

“If you wish.”

“I wish. You are now Rogier, and will begin training with the first class tomorrow.”

She sat down at her desk again and nodded at Maia, who had stood waiting by door all this time.

“Show him where things are, Maia. You are relieved of your duties for the rest of the day. You are also responsible for Rogier for the rest of the day.”

She kept her face blank as she automatically replied “Yes, Poietria,” and bowed again.

She stepped out of the room, calling “Come with me.” to Rogier as she left.

Maia walked briskly through the school, paying little attention to Rogier and speaking rapidly as if hoping to get it done with as soon as possible.

The school building—there was really only one—had originally been a private estate built like a Roman domus, with a two-story building surrounding the central courtyard, garden, and other structures, but it had been a dance school for centuries, the buildings renovated and repurposed again and again by successive dance masters over the years. The school now consisted of a two-story dormitory for students and staff, a kitchen with adjoining dining room, a small library, and rooms for practice, practice, practice. In addition to an outdoor practice yard (which also featured a small vegetable patch), there was a huge wood-floored practice room, and a smaller exercise room for advanced training.

The students were almost all in their second twefths, and female. He discovered that pre-puberty males could live in Skala Eresou as long as a woman stood for them, but once they reached puberty they would need a special pass from the Council, the women running Skala Eresou. Maia explained he was the only male at the school, and one of the youngest students accepted in recent times.

He thought Maia didn’t like men in general, and judging from the way she avoided approaching him as much as possible, probably feared them.

He listened quietly, taking in everything without comment or question.

It was late afternoon by now, and the students were studying their books. Most sat on the floor, a few lucky ones were seated on one of the benches in the library. They were reading from scrolls and a few books, reciting quietly to themselves.

“What are they doing?” he asked.

“Learning the lines.”

“Lines?”

“The next dance will have both music and speech, and the timing will depend on the speech. They are memorizing the actor’s lines.”

“How can you know what the actor will say?”

“It’s written in the book,” she told him, and pulled a scroll out of one of the shelves. “Here, see?”

She pulled the scroll partially open, revealing tightly packed letters.

Rogier stared at it blankly.

Maia lowered the scroll, looking Rogier in the eyes for perhaps the first time.

“You can’t read, can you?”

He shook his head.

She laughed. “That’s why there aren’t any boys here! Until you came!”

She snapped the scroll tight again and dropped it back into its slot.

* * *

One afternoon, after practice was over for the day and the students could enjoy a little free time before the evening meal, Maia noticed Rogier crouching in the outdoor practice yard, near the herb garden. Curious, she looked closer.

He was motionless, hunched over, head down, staring intently at something.

She squinted to see better... it was a mouse!

It was struggling wildly to escape, trying to leap, and biting at its foot.

She took a step closer to see better.

A bamboo skewer stuck up through the mouse’s leg, impaling it to the ground, and Rogier was just watching its struggles, making no move to free it.

She gasped.

He must have impaled it!

She hated mice, but the thought of deliberately stabbing a living thing like that and just watching it die... she gagged.

Rogier turned and looked at her, face expressionless.

“Me and the cat were mousing,” he said. “Bwada is a good mouser, but I’s even faster.”

Bwada, a huge black-and-white cat that had adopted the school as its home some years before, sat some distance away, watching the mouse.

Rogier and pulled the skewer up out of the ground with one hand, and grasped the mouse by the back of the neck with his other, then abruptly twisted its neck around and casually lobbed the writhing body toward the cat.

He turned to face her.

“What’s for dinner tonight, Maia? I’s hungry!”

Mouth still open in shock, she watched him walk back inside without a word.

* * *

Rogier’s days at the school were not very enjoyable, but even at their worst they were far superior to living on the streets. Ample (sometimes even good) food, safety, soft blankets, even a bath every day if he liked!

Because of his young age he was assigned a personal tutor, in addition to his practice in the first level. Maia was furious with him, because tutoring him meant she lost what little free time she enjoyed.

He mastered the shapes of the letters very quickly, and quickly mastered both block and script. On demand he could write any letter, or all of them, quickly and clearly.

But try as he might he could not read words, and could not write them.

She pointed at the book once more.

“This word. What is the first letter?”

“C.”

“And the second one?”

“A.”

“And the last letter?”

“T.”

“And what does C-A-T spell?”

Rogier was silent. He smiled at her with his best, most innocent smile, but obviously had no idea.

“She ate tea?”

Maia slammed the book back onto the stone wall.

“No! CAT is cat, you idiot.” She jumped to her feet, pacing back and forth in the garden in her fury. “Why can you not see that, you imbecile! I’ve shown you again and again and again and still you can’t read the simplest word!”

“I can write CAT,” he suggested hopefully.

“But you don’t know what it means, do you?”

“No,” he answered, quite satisfied with himself.

He picked up his pen again and began to draw, ignoring her furious pacing.

Minutes passed in silence and Maia approached to see what he was writing... she looked over his shoulder at the sheet of paper in front of him on the ground.

His pen practically flew over the sheet, leaping to the inkpot every so often, then flashing back to the paper where a face was rapidly emerging. As she watched the strands of hair multiplied, growing fuller and blacker, drawn into a braid at the back. The nose grew more evident, and scattering of freckles emerged. Large, slightly tilted eyes opened on the page, staring back into her own.

It was her... he was drawing her face with incredible speed, never hesitating, and never turning to look at her face!

It was done.

Rogier looked at it for a second, judging his work, then nonchalantly crumpled it into a ball and pushed it aside, ready to start on a new picture.

Maia gasped, knelt, reached for that crumpled sheet.

“May I... May I keep this, Rogier?”

He didn’t even look up.

“It’s trash.”

She squatted, gently smoothing out the wrinkles. The ink had smeared a little but every perfection and imperfection of youth and beauty was there, captured in black and white.

She stared into its eyes, entranced, then glanced to see what Rogier was working on now.

It was the face of an angry little man, with a sharp nose, small eyes set deep under bushy brows, receding hairline, sagging cheeks in a face that reeked of too much drink and too few hopes.

“Who is that?”

“Uncle Sarl.”

“Who? You have an uncle?”

“No. He’s dead.”

“But that drawing is so lifelike!”

After a minute he finished the drawing, and crumpled it up like the first.

She gingerly reached out, picking it up to add to her growing collection.

Later, as she was leaving the evening meal, Poietria Martine beckoned her over, ushering her into her room.

“Sit, Maia,” she invited, waving her to a chair. “Show me his drawings.”

She hurried to pull them out of her tunic pocket. There were eleven, in all.

“I didn’t steal them, Poietria! He said they were trash, and I was going to show them to you...”

“Quiet, girl,” hushed Martine. “You did nothing wrong.”

She spread them out of the tabletop, examining them closely. She brought the oil lamp closer to illuminate Maia’s face, comparing it to the drawing.

“I recognize these pictures, of course, of students and staff, but who are these people?”

“He said this one was Uncle Sarl—he said Uncle Sarl was dead—and this one is a constable named Ng, and this one a merchant named Thabouti, uh, Thabouti something, I forget.”

“Enough. Yes, this is Sergeant Ng, I remember. Do you recognize him?”

“Sort of... I didn’t really look at him, to be honest.”

Martine nodded to herself.

“He is very good, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Poietria.”

“You may keep them.” Martine handed them back. “How does his reading and writing progress?”

“Poietria, his letters are beautiful, his script immaculate,” Maia said, “but he cannot spell, he cannot read or write even the simplest word, no matter how I try.”

She hung her head.

“I will try harder, Poietria! I promise!”

“Oh, hush, child. You cannot squeeze water from a stone.”

Martine stood.

“I will take over his tutoring now, Maia. You may return to your normal duties.”

“Thank you, Poietria. I will...”

“You may go now,” interrupted Martine. Waving her hand toward the door.

Maia scurried the doorway, turned to bow once more, and left.

* * *

The first level was mostly girls in their first twelfth, a hodge-podge of different races, colors, styles, even dialects. They all had one thing in common, though: one way or another they had been separated from their families and brought her to dance. They were no longer daughters of farmers or nobles or soldiers, but merely students stumbling through their studies as their bodies matured.

The majority already knew their letters, and could read musical notation; the few who didn’t were learning, goaded on by the staff and the scorn of their fellow students.

Everyone knew Rogier couldn’t read or write, and he became the convenient target of choice. As the youngest, he was also put in charge of cleaning the toilets, and keeping the tank on the roof full of water. Water was drawn from the city pipes, but had to be pumped up to the rooftop manually, drawing a lever back and forth innumerable times until the tank was full. It was tiring, boring work that the students all hated, and they agreed Rogier needed the exercise to build up muscle because he was so small and puny. And because he was the only boy.

Rogier never complained, and never had to be told to do the job... he merely did it every morning, usually before the others woke, and never mentioned it unless asked. The tank was full, the toilets clean, but they all felt cheated that it didn’t seem to bother him.

The morning was full of exercises to build strength, flexibility, and control.

Rogier was stronger than about half of the girls in the first level, and his small stature made it impossible to achieve the leverage they enjoyed with longer limbs, but he easily surpassed all but one of them in flexibility, and surpassed them all in fine control... whether with a finger, a wand, or a thrown rock, he could touch the smallest target the first time, every time, from a standing or a running start.

One night they decided he needed to be taken down a notch, and hatched a plan.

First level students slept on the second floor, in large dormitory style rooms. They were not allowed to leave their rooms at night, except to visit the toilet, and while they could sneak to other rooms, the only ways out were either past the dance teacher whose room was just in front of the stairs—and who was known to be a very light sleeper—or leap over the balcony into the open atrium.

The entire atrium was a large pond with only a small rock or two breaking the surface, and facing it across the encircling hallway were the rooms of other school staff. They all knew the stories of students who had leapt the railing, hoping to leave the school after hours—the front gate was only a few meters from there—but had ended up in the water, or hurt on the stones of the edge, and faced painful punishment from angry teachers.

“Rogier, tonight you must prove yourself to become one of us,” said Tonya, one of the girls in his level. “Go to the kitchen and bring back some fruit for us.”

“What fruit?”

“Oh, any fruit will do,” said Tonya, not expecting him to succeed.

He nodded, and lay down on his blanket again.

They waited to see what he would do, but he merely closed his eyes and waited. As time passed they gradually drifted off to their own sleeping places, whispering that he had given up, or would stupidly try the stairs and be caught.

Later, pitch dark in the silence of the night, he rose and walked to the balcony overlooking the pond. It was invisible in the darkness, no reflections of the moon or stars hidden in the clouded sky.

Without hesitating he grasped the balcony and vaulted over as Tonya watched him from her blanket. She waited to hear the splash, but there was only silence... she threw back her blanket and raced to the edge.

He was gone, but there was still no splash, no noise at all. But he had jumped.

In total darkness.

She waited, and in a few minutes she heard the rustle of clothing below, and suddenly Rogier leapt up from below, grasping the railing with one hand to haul himself up and over.

He held a bag of apples in the other.

She stepped back in disbelief. He placed one apple on the top of the railing, carefully balanced, and handed her the bag.

He walked to his blanket without a word and lay down. The floor where he walked was dry; he had not stepped into the water at all.

As she stood in shock, he flicked a stone from his finger into the apple, and Tonya stared as it tipped, rocked, and finally fell down, down, into the pond with a loud splash.

She was still standing there when the door to the dance teacher’s room opened, and light from the oil lamp clearly illuminated the bag of apples in her hand.

* * *

Poietria Martine considered the girl’s story.

Nobody had ever jumped from the second floor to land on the tiny rocks in the pool before, especially on a pitch-black night with no moon or stars. And while it was not impossible to jump from there back up to grab the railing it would be a difficult leap for a grown man, let alone a boy of ten or less.

Then again, he had already demonstrated the agility of a monkey while making fools of those Guards...

The boy had been in his blankets, feet dry, while Tonya had been standing at the railing with the apples.

Had she merely used the stairs and was boasting?

That seemed unlikely... the stairs creaked quite loudly, by intent, and innumerable other students had been heard and caught in the act.

“You are on kitchen duty for two twelves,” she pronounced.

Tonya sighed, head down.

“Yes, Poietria. Thank you, Poietria.”

Kitchen duty meant rising at four every morning to prepare food, then serving and scrubbing after, in addition to all her regular duties and studies. Usually kitchen duty was rotated, with each girl handling it for only one day at a time, two or three times a year, but now she would spend a month in that purgatory.

As they all rose to leave the room, Martine beckoned Rogier.

“Rogier, stay.”

He sat back down on the floor and waited for the room to clear.

When it was empty she walked closer, hands behind her back.

“Did you do it?”

“No, Poietria.”

“I see. Could you leap from the second floor and land on the rocks as she describes?”

“No, Poietria. The rocks are too small. I would fall into the water.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yes, Poietria,” he smiled. “I don’t think anyone could do that.”

“Can you see in the dark, Rogier?”

“No, Poietria.”

“I’m going to blindfold you, Rogier,” she said, picking up a piece of cloth from the table and wrapping it around his eyes. She tied it tight, and checked that it blocked his vision completely.

“I want you to turn around in that spot, three times.”

He turned around three times, feet moving precisely, without losing his balance at all. His arms remained loose at his sides, his chin down in a normal position as he made no effort to try to see.

“Three,” he said.

“Where is the picture of the dragon?”

He pointed diagonally to the right, directly at the picture hanging on the wall.

“Where is the apple from the pond?”

He turned halfway around, and pointed at the apple on the table.

“Take this stone,” she said, “and hit the apple with it.”

He threw the stone with considerable force; she stared at the apple as it rocked back and forth, the stone half-embedded in its flesh.

“Here is a second stone,” she said, handing it to him. “When I tell you I want you to hit the apple with it again.”

She walked over to the apple and moved it half a meter to the right, making sure not to block Rogier’s view, even though he was wearing a blindfold.

“Throw.”

The stone whizzed through the space where the apple had been, clattering off the back wall.

“You moved it,” he said.

“Yes, I did. And you couldn’t tell that I moved it. How did you know where the apple was the first time?”

“I remembered.”

“You remembered where it was, and were able to hit it even after spinning blindfolded!?”

“Yes.”

She sat down, looking at him quizzically.

“You may go, Rogier.”

“May I take the blindfold off?”

“Yes, of course. Go.”

He handed her the blindfold and left silently, not pausing to bow on the way out.

Chapter 7

Sergeant Jabari took another sip of tea. She knew she shouldn’t, that it would just make her bladder hurt even more, but her mouth was so dry she figured it was worth it.

The shack they were hiding in was old and dusty; the slightest movement would raise a cloud to make them cough and their eyes water. They sat there, as still as they could, just watching the Wall and talking sporadically in low voices.

The sky was lightening a little already. Dawn was still an hour off, she guessed, but shortly it would be light enough that residents would begin stirring, and she could go catch a nap. One of the other Guards would take over.

“No luck this time, I guess,” she said.

Larima grunted. She was tired, too, even though she’d come out at midnight to change with one of the other Guards. She’d stay here for another four hours until someone replaced her, while Jabari was gone.

Mistress de la Corda was a very dead end so far, and their best hope of getting to the bottom of it was to catch someone going into that building.

Shortly, Rasha entered from the rear, and squatted down next to her, looking out at the Wall through one of the cracks in the shack wall.

“Go get some sleep, Sarge. Me and Larima’ll take it for awhile.”

“Thanks. Gotta pee anyway,” she said, and covered her nose and mouth with a cloth as she rose, surrounded by clouds of dust. “Larima, you’re in charge.”

Outside, she took a deep breath of air, slapped some of the dust off her clothes, and stretched.

The public bath had a toilet, and she headed there first... the bath would be closed this early in the morning, but not the toilet. And then home for some winks.

Around noon she awoke, still a bit fuzzy from lack of sleep but good enough. She headed to the Guard barracks to talk to Ragnarsson.

The Captain had stayed by the Skala Eresou gate the first night, hoping for word of a visitor, but only that once. He had other responsibilities, too, and couldn’t spend all his time drinking tea and waiting for her to call.

Either they’d been spotted, or there simply weren’t any visitors.

The Captain was in his office shuffling paper as he was so frequently these days.

“Sergeant Ng’s men have been asking around,” said the Captain, “and it seems that this de la Corda had a boyfriend. They were seen several times down in the Lofts.”

The Lofts, originally named after the haylofts that once stood there before Celephaïs expanded to its present size, was the entertainment district, with an ever-changing collection of theaters, bars, gambling halls, and of course brothels.

“Does this boyfriend have a name?”

“Cuk’y’marek, originally of Chaldaea. For what it’s worth. He’s either left Celephaïs, or he’s the one who died with de la Corda. Nobody’s seen him since then.”

“Anyone know where he was staying?”

“Just a flophouse in The Lofts. We already checked, but there’s nothing there at all.”

“So, another dead end?”

“Other than they were seen together for about a year, zip.”

“Well, shit...”

“Yeah. More tea?”

“Thanks.”

“Nothing at your end?”

Jabari sipped the tea, feeling more awake already.

“Actually,” she said, “ there’s something I wanted to ask you about. It’s... delicate”

“Delicate? As in, nobles?”

“Yeah. Twice in the last week a servant from High City has come to Skala Eresou, for no particular reason that we could see. They wandered around near the bath...”

“Boreas Bath?” the captain interrupted.

“Yessir, the same one. They didn’t actually go to de la Corda’s shop, but they walked past it a few times.”

The Captain nodded, listening.

“The second woman asked the bathhouse what had happened, pointing at the wreckage. The bathhouse didn’t know anything, of course, and just said there’d been a fire and de la Corda and some unknown man had been found dead.”

“Whose servants?”

“Poietes Liang Caihong.”

“Damn. A Poietes and a noble!”

“Yessir. He’s out of my reach, I’m afraid.”

Ragnarsson lifted his cup to drink, found it empty, and put it back down with a scowl.

“I asked some people who would know down at the seadocks, Jabari, and there are no reports of any gnorri in the area. Zero. The agreement with them is holding as far as anyone knows, but since they don’t have any cities around here nobody’s even seen one in these parts for years. It’s still not impossible, but a gnorri swimming that sewer pipe seems pretty unlikely.”

“No boat, no swimmer... you sure about entry from the upstream end?”

“If Artificer Marcus is sure, I’m sure. He takes his work very seriously.”

“So now what?”

“Keep digging, Jabari, keep digging,” said Ragnarsson. “And I’ll talk to a few people in High City.”

“Yessir.”

After Jabari left, Ragnarsson called in his second, a woman named Wang Ai. She was quiet, capable, and had left fingernail furrows across his back once, long ago.

“Wang, you know anything about Poietes Liang Caihong?”

She shook her head.

“Not really... He’s up in High City and I never go that way if I can avoid it... everyone’s too prancy for me. Yourself excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed dryly. “His name has turned up in this Skala Eresou murder.”

He filled her in on the latest details.

“Would you have better luck looking into his connection that I would?”

She thought for a moment.

“Maybe. I don’t know if he maintains any sort of connection with the local Chinese community or not, but if he does I can get find out what anyone outside High City knows, I think. You’d have better luck digging around up there, though.”

Ragnarsson made a grimace. “Yeah, but I don’t look forward to it. They always smile, but the knives are right there waiting for you to make a slip.”

“That’s what they pay you for, right?” She grinned. “How soon do you need this?”

“We’re getting nowhere in Skala Eresou, and the trail’s getting cold. Soon.”

“I’m on it, Cap. I’ll go look up a few friends now, if that’s OK?”

“Yeah, go. And thanks.”

“Sir,” she said, nodding in acknowledgment, and slipped out.

* * *

That evening as he was getting ready to walk back to his home in High City, Wang walked back in. She shrugged out of her harness, hanging it up on the wall, and sat down at his desk with a thump.

“You look tired, Wang.”

“Tired, sir. Had to convince a few people to let me talk to a few other people. It can get complicated.”

Ragnarsson laughed. “Tell me about it! I ran into the same problem down on the seadocks the other day.”

“But you were in one of those two-tough-guys-face-each-other-down situations; I had to convince a few men they really shouldn’t try to give a girl a hard time.”

“Life’s a bitch at times,” he said, handing her a glass of wine and pouring another for himself. “See if this helps ease the pain.”

She took it with a nod of thanks, and drank a slug.

“So this Liang guy is apparently pretty well known in certain circles. It seems he’s been selling something very expensive to a very select clientele. He never shows himself, but his servants always seem to be involved in the transaction one way or another.

“Word on the street is he’s pushing honeydrops.”

Ragnarsson sighed.

“So that’s it, then... this is all connected.”

“Looks that way, Captain.”

“Did anyone have any ideas about where he’s getting the stuff?”

“Nope, and that’s pretty strange in itself. Not a whisper. But he seems to have a lot of it.”

“You have a list of customers?”

“Yeah, a few known customers and a few more that show the signs,” she said, handing over a sheet of paper.

The Honey of the Goddess, usually found in small beads that looked like pearls, iridescent and highly reflective, could delay aging. It wasn’t physically habit-forming, but its effect gradually lessened, requiring the user to consume more and more honeydrops to hold back the tide of aging until they finally died—usually of a horrible, accelerated death.

Using honeydrops meant sure death, but to many that was a small price to pay for extra years of youth and vitality instead of dying of old age.

He glanced over the list, recognizing most of the names as wealthy—and old—residents of the city. This was way, way over his paygrade.

He’d have to take it to the Pinnacle.

* * *

The Street of Pillars was the only road that ran straight through all three walls, from the sea direct to the Pinnacle, where it ended in the Pinnacle Gate. From there the paved road switch-backed up the steep flanks of the brownish-black talon of bedrock that was the Pinnacle, passing various buildings and parks scattered across its flanks like cherry blossom petals, their pink marble glowing in the sunlight, before finally reaching the wide, open top where the Palace of the Seventy Delights stood.

Resplendent in their uniform of polished leather and crimson cloth, the constables at the gate saluted him crisply, and bowed when has handed them his sword. Even as a sergeant of the Watch, he had to leave his sword at the gate to the Pinnacle. He could keep his dagger, of course—everyone had a dagger or two.

“You may pass, Captain Ragnarsson.”

He nodded his thanks and stepped onto the paved slope, trudging up.

He’d sent a messenger earlier requesting audience on a matter of pressing urgency, and wondered who would be waiting for him.

He wasn’t going to the Palace, of course, only one of the several small buildings on the way intended for this very purpose.

The meeting place was a simple dome of greenish marble streaked with gold, on columns of white. Surrounded by flowers and a few small shrubs, it offered a stunning view of the city below, with the seadocks stretching out into the waters of the Celephaïs Strait. It was also isolated, ensuring that anything said here would remain secret.

Chuang, the King’s advisor, was waiting, smoking on a long-stemmed pipe. A small pot of tea and two cups sat nearby.

“Captain Ragnarsson, on time as ever I see,” he said. “At ease, please. Sit.”

“Thank you, Master Chuang. I apologize for taking time from your busy schedule, but I believe the matter is urgent... and delicate.”

“Ah. So the matter of the Honey of the Goddess has ascended to High City, then?”

“You are aware of the honeydrops!?” Ragnarsson was astonished. “I thought we had been keeping that fairly quiet...”

“You have. I have very good ears.”

Ragnarsson grimaced.

“So I see. But no matter... it will make our discussion easier.”

“Please, tell me what you have discovered. My sources are good, but you hold many of the strings.”

He told the entire story to Chuang, ending with the suggestion that Poietes Liang Caihong was involved, and possibly the key to the whole affair.

Chuang sipped his tea.

“Poietes Liang is a master athlete, famed for his abilities in the sports and martial arts, and a key supporter of the Games. He is also famous for his beauty, and his sexual conquests of both men and women. I would not be surprised to hear that his youth and beauty were failing, and he turned to honey.”

“We have no proof of anything, Master Chuang.”

“But you believe the facts point that way, do you not?”

“Yes. There is little I can do in High City, though, although my home is there.”

“Yes, I agree this is a matter for the King. Or an Agent,” murmured Chuang, obviously deep in thought. He picked a small bell up from the table and rang it once.

Ragnarsson heard boots running toward them and started to leap up, only to be waved back down by Chuang.

A Guard appeared, sword sheathed, and stood at attention.

“Yes, Master Chuang?”

“Take horses, and bring the Chief Artificer here immediately. Instruct him to bring recent plans related to the proposed cistern repair. Take several men with you and provide him with every assistance. And ask Commander Britomartis if she would join us for a moment.”

The man bowed and raced off down the road toward the gate.

Chuang turned to the captain again.

“How familiar are you with the Honey of the Goddess, Captain?”

“Not at all, Master Chuang. I have seen honeydrops, of course, but nothing more.”

“They are found only in Khor, a village on the Zuro River between Hlanith and Lhosk. Have you ever been there?”

“No, Master Chuang. I’ve visited Lhosk, but no other places across the Celephaïs Strait.”

“It’s a tiny village, built on top of a rock overlooking the Zuro. The villagers are known as pearl-fishers, and it is generally thought that the honeydrops are harvested from their pearl beds, either in the river delta or the sea itself.”

Ragnarsson nodded.

“I fear that someone—possibly Poietes Liang—has a source of the Honey here in Celephaïs. And if that is the case, Captain Ragnarsson, the matter is most urgent. And most dangerous.”

The Captain wanted to ask more about the Honey and the mentioned danger, but it was obvious that Chuang wasn’t going to explain himself. They watched a three-master set to sea, sails snapping into billows with the wind, exposing the bright red shantak on the mainsail. A ship of Inganok, then.

“...and make sure he gets that ballista fixed. Today, Drust!”

It was a woman’s voice, coming from the inclined Pinnacle road.

Quick footsteps approached, and a stunningly beautiful woman stepped around the corner to join them. She had flawless, pale skin and red-tinged cheeks, framed by short brown curls, and was clearly a warrior: a rough tunic, mostly hidden behind a leather vest and skirt sewn with bronze plates of armor, a harness crossing her with a dagger, and two scimitars on her back, their worn hilts protruding up behind her shoulders on either side.

“Master Chuang, your messenger just caught me. Having some trouble with one of the crews at the Palace.”

He waved her over.

“Commander Britomartis, this is Captain Ragnarsson of the city Watch. I believe you’ve met already?”

The captain, who had hurriedly stood up as she entered, now saluted.

“Yes, Master Chuang, we meet often. Commander, I am at your service.”

“At ease, Captain. We’re here to work, not strut.”

She unceremoniously sat down on an empty bench and started to reach for the tea, then noticed there were only two cups, both being used.

“Mater Chuang? May I?”

“Yes, please,” he nodded.

She rang the bell and another guard appeared. She told him to fetch more tea and cups, and Chuang mentioned that another person would be joining them shortly. The guard quickly scurried off.

“Who else is coming?” Britomartis asked.

“The Chief Artificer,” said Chuang.

She raised one eyebrow, waiting.

“It seems we have a problem involving High City, the waterworks, and the Honey of the Goddess,” said Chuang quietly. “Marcus will join us shortly, and perhaps we can wait until then to discuss the details.”

“Of course, Master Chuang. May I ask how High City fits into this?”

“We aren’t sure yet, but it looks like Poietes Liang is involved.”

“Poietes Liang... that’s awkward,” she said, then turned toward the roadway, where the guard had just arrived. “Come!”

The guard brought in a tray with a large teapot and six cups, plus a small basket of sweet rolls. He placed it on the table, clearing away the first teapot and cups, bowed, all without saying a word.

“Thank you, Garius,” said Britomartis. “When the Chief Artificer arrives he is to be shown in at once.”

“Yes, Commander.”

He saluted and left.

She turned back to the other two.

“So. Liang. I’m interested to hear your tale, Captain.”

He smiled. “I’d rather hear yours, Commander... it is difficult to believe all the tales one hears in the alehouses, but your name pops up quite often from reliable people.”

“I’m sure it’s just exaggeration,” she replied. “A good story always makes the wine taste better.”

She sipped her tea.

“But perhaps we should just wait for the Chief Artificer,” she added, making it clear she was here on business. Ragnarsson took the hint.

Officially speaking, Britomartis was commander of the King’s Guard, and not in the chain of command for the city Watch, which in theory reported directly to the King. In that sense, he would be her equal, as they both took their orders and accepted their duties from the King.

In practice, though, there was no question that she was in charge. In emergencies, the Commander of the King’s Guard could function as an Agent of the King. In other words, she could speak for the King, and while she might be executed later by the King for abusing her authority, when she spoke, people jumped to obey.

And she was clearly deferring to Chuang here, who was (again, in theory) merely an advisor to the King.

Poor Ragnarsson was low man on the totem pole.

In another few minutes there was a clatter of hooves, and the Chief Artificer arrived, carrying a rolled-up plan under his arm.

“Master Chuang, Commander,” he greeted them, nodding, and another nod to Captain Ragnarsson. “I brought the latest cistern plan; I believe everything else is up to date.”

“Sit, Marcus,” gestured Chuang. “I will update the memory stick while you have some tea and listen to Captain Ragnarsson. I know you’ve heard some of this already, but the Commander has not, and you should hear the full story.”

Chuang took the rolled-up plan and spread it out on the paving stones near the table, placing rocks on the four corners to hold it flat. He pulled a small black case from his sleeve. Covered in black leather, it looked like it might hold a small pipe, for example. He opened it and pulled out a short rod of bone or ivory, covered with intricate carvings.

Ragnarsson wanted to watch when Chuang was doing but dragged his eyes back to Britomartis and Marcus, who were waiting.

He went through the entire story once again, pausing only to answer immediate questions for clarification.

After he finished the four of them sat silent for a moment.

“You think the damaged cistern and the Honey are related, then?” asked Britomartis.

Chuang nodded.

“The timing is very suspicious, but hopefully we can get a better idea from Chief Marcus’s plans.” He started to clear the table, and everyone else immediately jumped to move their own cups out of the way.

Chuang stood the ivory-colored rod on end in the center of the table, then placed a small cone of black incense into a cavity at the base. He lit it with his flint, and it immediately began to release a cloud of bluish-gray smoke, which was somehow sucked into the rod, and then released in thin streams of ghostly vapor across the tabletop, slowly forming into lines that wavered and quivered, but grew thicker and darker as they watched.

“A memory stick!” breathed Ragnarsson. “I’ve never seen one before!”

“This is a complete map of the city,” explained Chuang. “We can see any part of the city, including all of its aqueducts and tunnels. And more to the point, we can also see the shack you mentioned—here—and the sewage tunnel running under it,” he pointed to a ghostly line on the table, “and the damaged cistern.”

Britomartis reached out and tapped a small rectangle in High City.

“This is Liang’s estate.”

“Well, I’d say that’s pretty strong evidence, wouldn’t you?” asked Chuang.

Marcus nodded.

The sewage line ran from the shack in Skala Eresou to the damaged cistern. And half of the damaged underground cistern was on the estate of Poietes Liang Caihong.

“Chief Marcus, cut the water supply to that cistern immediately, if it isn’t already. And I think we’re going to need more people,” said Chuang. He picked up the bell again to summon the guard. “Bring Alchemist Ihejirika at once,” he ordered, then turned to Captain Ragnarsson.

“Captain Ragnarsson, we have almost certainly been invaded, and Poietes Liang is either a traitor or one of the invaders. We face a noble’s castle defended by his personal guard, and an unknown number of human and other defenders at the cistern. As Captain of the city Watch you will be in charge. Commander Britomartis of the King’s Guard and I will assist you.”

Ragnarsson was speechless.

“Invaded...? Commander Britomartis and you will...? I...”

“Thank you, Captain,” nodded Britomartis. “Master Chuang and I will deal with High City, and with your permission I will bring the Alchemist and his equipment, along with some raptors, and troops familiar with this enemy. Captain, you have a free hand in selecting your own force. I suggest two to three dozen should be sufficient. For weapons and armor the Armory is yours.”

“I... thank you, Commander, Master Chuang.” Captain Ragnarsson recovered, stood straight, and saluted. “But... what invasion, exactly? And why the Alchemist?”

Chuang rubbed his forehead.

“I mentioned the source of the Honey of the Goddess earlier, Captain. I think the time has come to explain in more detail.”

Chapter 8

For the first time, Rogier was on shopping detail, which meant he would be joining several other students and the cook on a trip to the market. The cook, of course, visited the fish market down by the seadocks, and the meat and produce market where Rogier had once roamed, every day. Many vendors brought their foods directly to the school, providing regular deliveries at reduced prices in return for stable revenue, but the cook made a point to visit the markets and select fresh fruit, vegetables, meat, and fish herself as often as possible.

Poietria Martine had deliberately kept Rogier restricted to the school until she felt sure he could restrain himself from stealing.

There had been a few strange incidents lately which he might have been involved with, but children were always getting into trouble, and it was impossible to tell just who the culprit might be in many cases.

That bag of apples, for example... Martine wondered yet again whether Tonya or Rogier was lying. Had she rewarded Rogier for the theft, in a way, by punishing only Tonya? But to be honest he had so much more potential than Tonya, who would never be more than an average dancer.

Rogier was... exceptional. In many ways. In addition to his superior balance and acrobatic skills, he also had an astounding memory, including scenes and faces, and a phenomenal facility with numbers: he could sketch a room that he had seen only once, with incredible accuracy and skill, from memory, and could calculate complex sums and multiplications almost instantly in his head.

In spite of all those gifts, he could not read or write even the simplest words. He could write letters, but only as meaningless shapes.

She wasn’t too worried about letting him visit the marketplace after all this time, because Rogier didn’t even look like the same person anymore. He had grown a little bit, and his shoulders were broader, but a clean face, shorter hair, and decent clothes—she’d thrown away that hideous dhoti the first day—made him look like a completely different person.

If he could just keep his mouth shut there should be no problems, she thought.

* * *

Mistress Kileesh, the head cook, led the way, head high and back straight in spite of her advanced age. She was only a few centimeters taller than Rogier, and although he was growing fast thanks to her cooking, he was still only a young boy. Accompanying them were an assistant cook—Britta—and two other students, Ri Torshell from the first level, and Opal from the second.

Britta and all three students had packs, and would be expected to carry back whatever the head cook purchased. Their opinions and desires were not needed, only their muscles.

Their first stop was the fish market, where the head cook quickly snapped up two dozen fresh-caught mackerel packed with roe, the treat of the season, along with a bushel of mussels (which was to be delivered). She walked past the fishmongers, ignoring their boasts and pleas as she sniffed in disdain at their offerings or prodded a scaly carcass to judge its freshness.

Everyone knew her, of course; she’d been visiting the fish market longer than most of them had.

The next stop was the market where the local farming community sold its wares: meat, fruit, and vegetables, mostly. Meat and vegetables were already delivered on almost a daily basis, but Mistress Kileesh preferred to choose her own fruit... and today, in addition to a fresh shipment of small, reddish oranges, she discovered a bushel of snailberries—bright red, the berries usually had a slight spiral shape, earning them their name. They had a sweet, slightly metallic flavor.

They were still on the horse-drawn cart, fresh from the field and not yet even for sale.

“Whose cart is this?” she demanded in her abrasive squall, and a dark, turbaned man popped out of a nearby shop.

“Mistress Kileesh, and how are you this fine morning! So good to see you looking so well!”

She scowled him into silence.

“How much for the berries, Gil’kalocken?”

“For you, Mistress Kileesh, only twelve coppers.”

“I don’t want the cart, you thief, only the berries!”

“Ten, then, special for you.”

“Five, or I go elsewhere.”

“Nine. Less and my children would go hungry!”

“A thief and a liar. Seven,” she snapped, holding out her palm with seven coins on it. She hadn’t taken them from her wallet, and must have decided what she would pay in advance.

“Seven, then. You drive a hard bargain,” he said, but did not seem overly upset at the discount.

“And you’ll deliver them, of course.”

He sighed.

“Of course, Mistress Kileesh... I always do. I always do.”

Without another word she turned back to the street and began walking again, eyes flicking to other shops to check their wares. Her train followed, dripping mackerel-scented water as they went.

* * *

After they finished at the vegetable market, their packs significantly heavier and Mistress Kileesh’s wallet somewhat lighter, than began the trudge back to the school. The mackerels had grown quite a bit heavier than when they’d started, and the smell had permeated everything quite thoroughly.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Roach,” came a laugh. “You’ve grown a bit, I see.”

It was Jay, the Watch constable.

Roach turned to face the man, his own expression blank.

“Were you talking to me? I think you must have me confused with someone else.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Roach. I never forget a face, or a thief.”

Mistress Kileesh stepped in between them.

“We’re in a hurry,” she stated. “Can’t you see the fish is spoiling?”

“This is the little thief we caught, Roach, right?”

“No, this is a student at the school. His name’s Rogier.”

The constable turned to Rogier. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Rogier.”

“That’s ‘Rogier, sir,’ boy.”

“Rogier, sir.”

“You remember me, Roach?

“No, sir. This is the first time Mistress Kileesh has brought me to the market.”

“You’re Roach, aren’t you?”

“I’m a boy, sir, not a roach.”

“Hmph,” broke in Mistress Kileesh. “Time to go, Rogier. Good day.”

Jay stood and watched them walk away.

He had little doubt it was the same boy, and when he flashed the same insult behind his back with his fingers, he knew it.

Chapter 9

They gathered at the Boreas Gate to High City, blocking traffic and earning shouts of anger from carts and passers-by, which they studiously ignored.

In addition to the six dozen city constables with their sergeants and all armed and armored for combat, the Captain also brought his own personal force of a dozen veterans. With him were Commander Britomartis, leading two dozen of the King’s Guard and a dozen raptors. They were joined by the Chief Artificer with a few assistants, and the Alchemist and her assistant, who pulled a cart carrying small ceramic jars.

Britomartis standing at his shoulder, Captain Ragnarsson issued last-minute commands.

“Sergeants Ng and Rodriguez, I want all gates to High City sealed. Nobody gets in or out without authorization from me, Commander Britomartis, or Master Chuang. Or a Writ.

“Sergeant Wright, this is your ward and you are most familiar with it. Surround and isolate the estate. Again, nobody in or out. I want at least a half dozen constables on the cistern next to the estate, too. You can call on Sergeant Rossi if you have a problem.

“Sergeant Jabari, since you started this whole thing, you get to come with me inside.

“Sergeant Rossi, you are to protect the Chief Artificer and the Alchemist, and escort them inside the estate when I call. If Sergeant Wright needs help, stopping any breakout has top priority.

“All of you, commandeer more horses or anything else if you need it. This is High City and we don’t want to kill anybody important if we can avoid it, but defend yourselves, and kill if you must.

“Let me be very clear: I expect us to be attacked by armed enemies. If they do not yield, kill them, and make sure they are either dead or very securely bound before moving on. Capture or kill, but nobody gets out of there.

“Any questions?”

There was a rumble of conversation and shuffling, but no verbal response.

Britomartis stepped forward.

“Britomartis of the King’s Guard. With me is Master Chuang. Call one of us if some noble attempts to interfere. Sergeant Wright, I expect you to have the most sensitive mission, and difficult even with your two dozen men. While I also hope you can avoid killing any nobles, nobody gets in or out. If you have to kill them to ensure that, so be it.”

While they spoke, Chuang had been watching the gate, apparently waiting for someone, and finally the slapping of sandals announced that he had arrived: a fat man with graying hair and overly red face, perhaps in his fifties, came rushing to the gate from the High City side.

“Master Chuang!” he panted. “My sincere apologies for having kept you waiting; I came at once at your summons.”

“Wardmaster Debrai, I summoned you as commanded by Captain Ragnarsson of the Watch.”

The Captain stepped forward.

“Wardmaster Debrai, I hereby render notice that we are entering High City as an emergency measure. Your cooperation is appreciated.” He turned to his troops. “Forward!”

Debrai, mouth agape and only just understanding what was happening, hurriedly moved to the side as the city Watch rode through the gate, followed immediately by the smaller force under Britomartis.

Chuang walked over to Debrai.

“Thank you, Wardmaster. At the present time we have no intention of entering your estate, but we would appreciate it if you would return there. It would be better if you stayed at home, I think.”

“I... Yes, Master Chuang!”

He scuttled off, presumably back to his estate.

Chuang walked through the gate after him. The troopers were already quite some distance, but Chuang knew he’d catch up soon enough... Poietes Liang Caihong’s estate was only a short distance away.

Behind him the costables took up positions at the gate. The other entrances to High City would all be closing, too, sealing it completely.

Captain Ragnarsson, backed by two dozen constables and a dozen raptors, walked to the gate of Poietes Liang’s estate. A single guardsman, dressed in beautiful silks but armed with only a dagger, nervously watched them approach.

“This is the estate of the Poietes Liang!” he called voice quavering. “What is your business?”

“I am on the Captain of the Guard, on the business of the King! Stand aside!” cried Ragnarsson, pushing past the bewildered man.

“Stop! You cannot...!”

One of the city Watch grabbed the man by the neck.

“Shut up,” he said, waving his sword in front of the man’s face. “Count your blessings that I don’t spit you where you stand.” He handed the frightened gateman off to one of Sergeant Wright’s men, who were now spreading out to seal the gates in the estate perimeter wall.

If the Poietes hadn’t known they were coming already, he certainly knew now.

His estate was another Roman-style domus, a wall surrounding the main building complex, with several wings and gardens. Normally the wall on such estates was fairly low, especially here in High City, but this one was about three meters tall.

Ragnarsson hammered on the massive wood door. “Open in the name of the King!”

He waited at least five seconds before waving the four men forward with the ram.

They swung it back and forth to build up inertia, and then slammed it into the door. It groaned, splintered, but held.

Again. And again.

The frame buckled on one side.

A fourth time to dislodge the doorframe from the wall, and a fifth to hammer the door fully open.

The path was clear.

Inside the doorway an open pathway led deeper inside, flanked by mortared walls and doorways on both sides.

“Jabari, clear both rooms,” commanded Ragnarsson.

“Bhavna, your triad sweep and clear the right room! Georgina’s triad, left room! Beth, stay here and be ready to assist. Larima and Ihala, with me,” shouted Jabari.

Her force split up, with three constables splitting off to each flanking room. The door to the room on the right was barred from the inside, but a few determined kicks and shoulders forced it open.

As soon as the opening was wide enough, Bhavna leapt through, crouching low and just slipping under a sword thrust from the darkness. She rolled, and swung her own sword in that direction. Behind her the other two followed closely..

A curse as her blade crashed into something metallic: she’d hit the other’s shinguard, but the impact was enough to make him stagger. She backed up to the far wall, rising to her feet with sword ready to defend as one of the other constables, Sajja, smashed her shield into the defender, knocking him backward off-balance.

“Yield or die!”

The man snarled, and caught himself with one foot against the far wall, turning with sword flashing to slice into Sajja’s shoulder as her own sword ran though his chest. Both dropped, and Bhavna stepped forward to administer the coup de grâce. He’d had his chance to surrender.

“Sajja! Hang on!”

The room was empty, but Sajja sat leaning against the wall, shoulder bleeding profusely.

“Sajja’s down! Aliza! Gimme a hand here!”

The third constable in their triad, Aliza, grabbed a nearby curtain and used her dagger to slice it into smaller pieces. They bound Sajja up quickly and efficiently and then moved to the next door.

“Beth!” called Bhavna. “Sajja’s hurt! Get Chuang in here!”

Beth ran in from the pathway to Sajja, and gave her a drink. “He’ll be here in a second, Saj. Hang on!”

From the other side of the pathway came Georgina’s shout: “Kitchen’s clear! We’re moving into the garden!”

Bhavna looked to Aliza, who nodded that she was ready, then yanked the door open.

Four sets of eyes looked up at her from the floor.

Children, the oldest not more than ten or so, stared at her with eyes wide and expressions frozen. She lowered her bloody sword a fraction.

“...children...”

She turned to Aliza.

“What the hell are we going to do with...” she began, when suddenly the children jumped up, daggers in hand, attacking both of them.

She screamed as a dagger plunged into her thigh from below, in the hands of a girl not more than five. Another dagger came flying toward her chest, held by the oldest boy.

She threw herself backwards, sword sweeping across the doorway in front of her.

Something scuttled across the floor toward her and she stabbed it blindly.

Aliza was cursing as she hacked at something again and again, her sword already dripping with blood.

Silence fell again.

Panting, Bhavna sat back down on the floor. She looked at what she just stabbed... it was a baby, perhaps old enough to crawl, she thought. It had long, pointed teeth.

“Aliza... you OK?”

“...yeah. Just a scratch. You?”

“Stabbed me in the leg. You got any more of that curtain?”

“Heh,” she snorted. “Plenty more where that came from.”

She tore another curtain down and ripped it into a makeshift bandage.

“Nothing like children to brighten your day, huh?”

“I don’t think these were children,” said Bhavna, pointing to the baby’s teeth. She cinched the bandage tight, grunting. “Wonder what else he’s got for us. Fucking noble.”

* * *

Ragnarsson walked down the pathway, trying to ignore the shouts and swordplay at his rear. That was Jabari’s problem; she’d handle it.

He had to find Liang.

Britomartis walked on his flank, twin scimitars glinting in the sunlight from overhead.

“Captain,” she called quietly, “Let the raptors flush them out.”

Ragnarsson stopped. He been approaching this as a straightforward private home, but after what Chuang and Britomartis had told him, he knew now it wasn’t. No need to play nice anymore.

He nodded.

Britomartis gave a piercing whistle and the raptors, already drooling with eagerness at the smell of blood, streaked forward into the depths of the domus in search of prey.

Reptilian shrieks were met with human shouts and then screams of pain. In tight spaces where a swordman lacked space to maneuver or swing freely, raptors had the edge. And a mouthful of long, serrated fangs.

A group of a dozen men and women were retreating into the garden, swords and spears flashing in the sunlight as they tried to fend off hissing raptors.

Two of the men knelt down at the garden wall; Captain Ragnarsson craned his neck as he tried to see what they were doing. Suddenly, a section of the wall collapsed and they spilled outside the estate, spearing an astonished Watch constable. There was a stable right in front of them.

A six stayed to defend the gap in the wall as the remaining few slipped into the stable.

“Damn it! Horses!” cried Ragnarsson.

“Sergeant Wright!” shouted Britomartis, leaping into the fray in spite of the blood-mad raptors to strike down one of the defenders. She pushed past the melee, racing toward the stables, but it was too late.

Four horses burst out through the stable doors, narrowly missing Britomartis. She leapt backwards out of their way, and swung her scimitar as she jumped. It hit.

The horse, hind leg cut deep, staggered, fell, throwing the rider off.

Britomartis rolled, recovered, stepped forward, scimitar pointing at the woman’s throat.

“Yield!”

The woman bared her teeth in fury and tried to swing her own sword.

Almost contemptuously Britomartis blocked it with one scimitar as she plunged the other deep into the other’s belly, then pulled it out in a spray of blood to knock the sword out of the dying woman’s hand.

It descended once more to chop into her neck, leaving her head half severed.

She sprinted to the stable, shouting for Sergeant Wright.

“Mount up! He’s on horse!”

She heard more shouts from the other side of the estate as she pushed the bar open and entered the horse’s stall. It was spooked and she was an unknown smell, but she leapt on its back anyway, and spurred it out of the stall and after Liang.

She couldn’t see Liang or his guard anymore, but she knew the direction they had headed, and there was only one place they could be going: the gate to the Avenue of Boreas, and then out of the city.

“They’re heading for the gate! Cut them off!”

She galloped after them, and as she turned the corner of the estate she caught a glimpse of them far ahead, racing headlong toward the Boreas Gate.

She could see Sergeant Ng and his troop hurriedly mounting their own horses, but there weren’t enough of them to hold the gate. Nobody had expected cavalry!

Liang and his two bodyguards bulled through with the force of their horses, cutting down the lone man in their way. Before he was felled, though, the constable managed to wound one of the horses, spearing it in the flank. It wasn’t a fatal wound but it would slow it down.

Britomartis reached the gate about the same time as Sergeant Ng and a few of his troopers did, and they galloped through together after Poietes Liang.

* * *

Captain Ragnarsson rested his sword on the paving stone, hands on the pommel, frowning.

The few survivors from Liang’s estate huddled in front of him, blindfolded, kneeling on the dirt of the open garden. There was one guard left, with a bloody bandage wrapped around his head—he’d been knocked unconscious by a shield boss and escaped most of the fight. Next to him to were half a dozen servants of both sexes, weeping or shocked into silence by the bloodshed.

“Chuang? What do you think?”

Chuang sighed.

“I’m sorry, Captain. The only way to tell is to watch them for the rest of their lives and see if they’ve been infected or not.”

“But they’re not attacking us!”

“True, but even the infected can still think and plot.”

“So you see no alternative?”

“None.”

The Captain shook his head.

He didn’t like what he had to do.

Jabari coughed.

“Captain? I’ll do it.”

“No, Sergeant. I can’t ask you to do that. This is my debt.”

He unsheathed his dagger and walked up to the wounded guard, pulling his head back by the hair and quickly slashing his throat. He ignored the blood that splashed onto his hand and walked to the next prisoner, a woman—probably the cook, he thought. Another slash. Another prisoner, and another, and another.

He stood, dagger in hand, and looked up at the clouds scudding across the sky.

Bent over, wiped the dagger on the tunic of the body in front of him.

Slammed the dagger home into its sheath.

“Sergeant Wright!”

“Yes sir!” responded Wright, looking into the garden from beyond the fallen wall.

“Send to Sergeant Rossi—the Alchemist will provide you with thalassion fire to torch the estate. I want nothing left but ash, and no stone standing. Sergeant Rossi and his men are to bring the Alchemist and the Chief Artificer to the cistern immediately.”

Ragnarsson turned back toward the others, waiting in the garden.

“To the cistern. Sergeant Jabari, call your people. It’s time to end this.”

He led them over the fallen wall toward the stone enclosure protecting the cistern as Sergeant Wright began moving wounded constables out of the estate to safety. The four surviving raptors had already been recalled and were securely roped to some trees nearby.

The cistern was mostly underground.

The Captain signaled to surround the area. He turned to see the Chief Artificer Marcus approaching, still protected by a dozen constables under Sergeant Rossi.

“Where is the Alchemist?”

“Ihejirika will be along in a moment, just as soon as the domus is blazing,” said Marcus. “That thalassion fire is nasty stuff!”

“Which stones do we need to lift?”

Marcus pointed. “See the double circle there? That marks an opening. There are four in all.”

“All right, everyone. Listen up!” trumpeted Captain Ragnarsson. “We have a pretty good idea of what’s down there, and it’s probably awake. Think poisonous snakes and keep your wits about you! If you’re bitten, you’re dead. Just like those poor servants.

“Jabari! Rossi! Get those stones open!

The sergeants split their constables into teams and began prying up the paving stones, standing as far back from the openings as they could and still get leverage.

The stench of rotting meat filled the air and as a paving stone fell open, one of the women stumbled back, retching and rubbing her eyes.

Another paving stone lifted and slid to the side to leave the opening half open, a black semicircle, and suddenly a grayish-white tentacle whipped out to grasp a man, wrapping around his leg and yanking him back into the hole.

He screamed and caught himself on the edges, arms outstretched, seeking help. The other constables working on the paving stone with him jumped forward, grasping his arms and pulling.

He screamed, and with a terrible, wet sound pulled free—his right leg missing from the thigh down, blood spurting and he screamed in agony.

Another man at a different opening cursed and fell back, sword slashing down to sever a seeking tentacle, and then people began climbing up out of the openings—many, many people.

As dozens of men, women, and children emerged from the underground cistern, the Watch fell back, using spears and bows to hold them off, or swords when they got too close. The attackers were unarmed, for the most part, and all a grayish-green in color. Silent, they moved with surprising speed to the attack, biting and clawing without any attempt to protect themselves. A few small children were able to duck under or around the constables’ defense, but unarmed and facing armed and armored warriors they were doomed from the start.

Tentacles waved from the openings, seeking unwary targets but unable to reach them.

“Get back!” came shout from behind, and a small jar arced forward to fall into the closest hole, leaving a trail of smoke in the air behind it.

A muffled whomp sounded from underground as the thalassion fire ignited. The Alchemist and her assistant lobbed jars into all the openings and flames and smoke began shooting up into the sky.

Alchemist Ihejirika pulled her assistant, a young black man, farther back from the flames and watched the black smoke billow up.

“Nasty stuff,” she mused. “Naphtha.”

She turned to Captain Ragnarsson. Her dark skin was dirty with ash, beads of sweat glistening in the ruddy sunlight that filter through the billowing smoke. A large, delicate fragment of ash wafted down to land on one of her braids; she brushed it off impatiently. The ash lay white on her dark hair, but black on Ragnarsson’s own blond braids.

“Whatever was down there, it’s very, very dead,” she said.

“Master Chuang, may I leave this to you?”

Chuang nodded. “Ihejirika and I have it well in hand, I believe. Go!”

The Captain nodded his thanks.

“Sergeant Rossi! You’re in overall command here, including the King’s Guards. Get all those things into the cistern and burn them. Or build a pyre here, but make sure there’s nothing left but ashes!”

“Yessir!”

“Sergeant Jabari, get those horses over here. We have to catch up to Liang!”

* * *

Their morning shopping complete, Mistress Kileesh left the noises and smells of the farm market and stepped onto the Avenue of Boreas. It was busy as always, people and carts with business in the markets, or just moving along the avenue through the city. As the farm market was in the Circe’s Cirque, the outermost ring of the city, they would have to walk a few ten twelves of meters toward the Pinnacle to reach the Boreas Gate to Skala Eresou.

Suddenly, three horses burst out into the avenue from High City, scattering passers-by and toppling a cart full of melons.

“Out of the way! Make way! Make way!” they shouted, swinging their swords at hapless people who couldn’t move fast enough.

The avenue turned into a chaotic mess of people, horses and carts as the confusion spread, nobody sure of what was happening, but trying to flee at the sound of swordplay.

Pursuing horses following quickly, this time carrying warriors in the garb of the Guard.

“Halt! Halt in the name of the King!”

The first three men, stymied by the crush of people and animals, realized they couldn’t escape their pursuers easily. The man in the middle, muscular, with short-clipped salt-and-pepper hair and wearing expensive silks, reached down and grabbed Rogier by the arm, yanking him up to sit in front of him on the horse. He tore the boy’s pack off, mackerel and all, and threw it to the ground.

“Take the children hostage!” he shouted. “The Guard won’t kill innocent children!”

The other two men tried to capture their own hostages; one succeeded, picking up a flailing Opal and draping her sideways over the horse’s neck, the other man grabbed Ri Torshell but she twisted away, ducked and rolled to safety.

The pursuers galloped closer, revealing Britomartis and several city constables.

“Surrender, Liang! Surrender in the name of the King!”

“Let us go, Britomartis, and the children live!” came his reply.

The horses were moving slower now as the pursued and their hostages continued toward the gate to the outside fields, through the Wall of Thalia. The road was mostly empty now, but the three men had to defend themselves against their pursuers while controlling the hostages.

Britomartis drew her bow and shot at the third man, the one who had been unable to take a student hostage, striking him in the upper shoulder close to the neck. He screamed, hand on the arrow, and began to lean forward in the saddle, slumping over the horse’s neck. His horse began to drift in a different direction from the other two as he dropped the reins and finally slipped off to fall to the ground.

“Back, Britomartis, or the children die!”

“Surrender, Liang. You have no chance!”

Rogier, who had been sitting still in front of Liang, suddenly reached out and up, and without turning or hesitating, plunged his dagger into his captor’s eye. Liang screamed, convulsed, and toppled to the ground.

“Poietes Liang!”

The remaining man shouted in fear and anger, and plunged his own dagger into Opal’s back, throwing her limp body to the ground and spurring his horse, hoping to escape through speed alone.

Sergeant Ng, riding in from his blind side, chopped him in the neck, and watched as his horse carried him another ten twelves of meters toward the gate before he slipped off to lie in the dust.

Sergeant Ng slowly rode over to where Rogier sat on Liang’s horse.

“So, Roach, it seems you and I are fated to meet once more after all.”

Rogier just cocked his head, expression blank.

“My name is Rogier.”

“Rogier or Roach, you’ve killed a noble, and you’re to pay for it. Off the horse, boy!”

He dismounted quietly and stood waiting.

Britomartis rode up.

“Rogier, I will stand for you, for you acted in self-defense, but you must submit for now.”

“Hold it right there!” cried Mistress Kileesh, pushing past the Watch horses to stand between Britomartis and Rogier. “Rogier was defending himself! He did nothing wrong!”

Britomartis dismounted and walked up to face Kileesh.

“I’m sorry, but the law is clear,” she said. “I agree he acted in self-defense, but the King must decide his fate.”

“The King!? And who are you to be demanding such? You’re not the Watch!”

“No, I am no constable. I am Britomartis, Commander of the King’s Guard, and this is a matter of treason, and will be dealt with as such. I will stand for Rogier until the King’s judgment, and render truth in the telling of the matter.”

“Britomartis? I...” Kileesh fell quiet, mumbling the rest of her apology to herself, bowing as she retreated to straighten Opal’s bloody corpse. The other student, Ri Torshell, was still huddled against the wall, tears coursing down her face as she watched, wide-eyed.

Britomartis held out her hand to Sergeant Ng.

“Rope, please, Sergeant.”

Ng straightened up, and took a binding rope from his horse’s saddlebag.

“Shall I...?”

“No, I’ll do it,” replied Britomartis, taking the rope and walking to face Rogier. “I will stand for you, Rogier, but you must submit. It is the law.”

He silently held out his hands as she bound them, holding the end of the rope herself.

She lifted him up onto her horse.

“Captain Ragnarsson, may I ask you to clean this up? Those two,” she said, pointing to Liang’s fallen men, “are to be cremated immediately. Send a constable to ask Master Chuang what to do with Liang’s body.”

She snapped her reins.

“I’m taking the boy to The Pinnacle.”

>* * *

“Sergeant, all those women and children... the Captain just slaughtered them...”

The woman, a veteran with almost two decades of experience in the Watch, stood watching the foul smoke from the cistern. She made no effort to help carry the bodies to the conflagration.

Sergeant Rossi spat into the flames.

Captain Ragnarsson

“They looked like people, but they weren’t. Not anymore.”

He turned, searching for someone.

“Bhavna!” He called, summoning her over. “Everyone else, stop what you’re doing and come here a minute.”

She limped up, and he pointed to the pile of bodies waiting to be fed into the fire.

“Which ones were the children who attacked you?”

“There, Sergeant. The two on the right for sure; can’t see the others.”

Rossi walked over to the bodies she pointed to, and kicked the smallest one—a baby—out into the open.

“You all don’t like the idea of killing women and children. I get that,” he said, and held out his hand to a nearby trooper. “Lend me your axe for a minute.”

The man handed over his axe, and without a word Rossi swung it down and through the baby’s skull, slicing it neatly open.

There was little blood.

And no brains at all... the inside of the baby’s skull was full of a spongy, greenish gray blob, a smooth bubble that looked like the belly of a dead fish—or the cap of a mushroom.

“This is not a baby. It probably never was human, but now it’s just a part of that thing underground, one of its fingers. Worse than a Honeysucker, this is the spawn of the Goddess Herself. For years we have been destroying the Honey of the Goddess, but this is what those evil things really are: eggs to spawn monsters like these!”

The constables shuffled their feet, muttering to themselves, and returned to the pile of bodies, now more hesitant to touch them than feed them to the flames.

Chapter 10

The Palace was unusually crowded. In addition to the King and Chuang, Commander Britomartis and Captain Ragnarsson of the Watch stood nearby. Sergeant Ng and Sergeant Jabari stood farther back.

The Chief Artificer, Marcus, stood on one side, next to the Alchemist, their assistants behind them.

“So, Marcus, now that the cistern and tunnels have been properly ‘cleaned,’ you’re confident this thing is dead?”

“Yes, my lord,” replied Marcus. “Thanks to the assistance of Alchemist Ihejirika, they are very clean indeed. And I have instituted a new inspection regimen that should make this sort of problem unlikely in the future.”

“Thank you, Marcus,” nodded the King. “We know that Liang was behind this infestation, but whether he planted the thing here himself or was merely ensnared by it, we will never know.

“How were the honeydrops transported to Skala Eresou?”

“Sergeant Jabari?” invited the Chief Artificer.

She stepped forward.

“A surprisingly simple contrivance, my lord... they merely loaded the honeydrops into a bag, tied it to a rope, and let the current carry it downstream until it could be pulled out again by de la Corda. After she removed the drugs they just pulled it back to Liang’s estate again, until it was time for the next delivery.”

“No swimmers, no gnorri, just a bag and a rope.”

“Yes, my lord. Most simple and most effective.”

“Thank you.”

The Chief Artificer summoned his assistant forward. He was carrying a wooden box.

“My lord, we recovered these. Eleven twelves and four, to be exact.”

He opened the box to reveal a gleaming mass of honeydrops.

The King laughed. “A King’s ransom indeed! Chuang?”

“Burn them, of course.”

“Britomartis, dispose of them,” ordered the King.

She stepped forward and took the box, closing it to hold under her arm.

“Thank you, Marcus, and Ihejirika. You have rendered the city great service this day.”

He rose from his throne and walked up to them, handing them each a small bag.

“A token of my appreciation,” he said, and shook hands wrist-grip style with each of them.

After he sat down, he turned to Britomartis.

“I believe young Liang is next?”

“Yes, my lord,” replied Britomartis, and motioned to one of her guards, who left for a minute to return leading a young man.

“Liang Weiyuan, my lord,” he introduced himself, kneeling.

“Rise, Liang Weiyuan,” said the King, motioning with his hand. “You are aware of your father’s crime?”

“I am, my lord.”

“Liang was stripped of his rank when he committed treason, and has paid the price for it. Were you aware of his plot?”

“No, my lord, I was not. I have been in Lhosk for six years now, with little communication with my father.”

“So it seems,” nodded the King. He looked up. “Mistress? Is this true?”

A kimono-clad woman stepped out from the shadows behind the King. Mochizuki.

“Yes, my King. He speaks truth.”

The King looked back to the boy, still kneeling.

“Your father’s estate and wealth are yours, but your father’s title died with him. You are nobility no more.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“You may leave, Liang Weiyuan.”

He did.

“We must also decide the fate of Liang’s killer, my lord,” said Britomartis.

“I know,” said the King. “The law is clear, but the boy is not at fault nonetheless.”

“No, my lord. It is the King’s decision, however.”

“Bring him in.”

Britomartis signaled her aide again, and Rogier entered, hands tied together with a ceremonial cord.

“You are Rogier, also known as Roach, formerly of the farm market and most recently a student at Poietria Martine’s school?”

“Yes,” replied Rogier, voice as blank as his expression.

“My King, may I question the boy?” asked Mochizuki unexpectedly.

He cocked his head.

“Mistress? Of course, if you wish...”

She turned to Rogier.

“Is it Rogier, or Roach?”

“Rogier, Mistress,” he replied, looking at her with curiosity. “Or Roach.”

“If you had waited, the Commander probably could have ended things without killing. Opal could still be alive.”

Rogier stood, silent.

“Why did you kill Poietes Liang?”

“He gave me an opening.”

“And Opal?”

Rogier shrugged.

“You are not sad that Opal is dead?”

“We all die. She died today.”

Mochizuki turned back to King.

“My king, with your permission I would take this boy myself.”

The King frowned.

“That’s most unusual, Mistress.” He thought for a moment. “You do have a Writ and can use it to take the boy, of course, but then again I wrote that Writ myself and can certainly deny it... Do you stand for the boy?”

“I do, my king.”

“You’ll remove him from Celephaïs?”

“Yes, my king. He will be to Farlaway, until he is ready,” answered Mochizuki. “

Farlaway. Britomartis had never been there, but it was infamous. A village said to be somewhere in the mountains east of Celephaïs, between the Tanarian Hills and Utnar Vehi, it was where Mochizuki’s feared assassins came from. With his skill and coldness the boy would make a most potent weapon in her hands, if he survived.

“So be it,” said the King.

The audience was over.

END

Celephaïs: Mother Egret

Thibby bent over until his cheek touched the dirt, carefully checking the alignment of his thumb and the red marble. With his left hand he reached out and pushed a tiny fragment of something out of the way, then lifted his head again.

He straightened up, steadied himself with his left hand and both knees, and took the shot.

The yellowish marble flew out of his hand and clacked into the larger red, knocking it off at a tangent before to the ground and bouncing to a stop.

“Yes!” he shouted, both arms up in the air in celebration and all but one of the other children joined in. Odd man out was Ken, brows beetling, lips slightly pouting: he had just lost Big Red, his favorite marble.

Thibby picked up both marbles, the last two in the circle, and rattled them together in his hand for a moment, savoring his victory. This was his first win at their daily marbles competition in almost two weeks and he was loving every minute of it.

He opened his hand, picked up his yellowish shooter, and dropped it into his bag instead of adding it to the pile of marbles in front of him on the ground.

“Here’s Big Red back, Ken,” he said, holding out the other’s prize marble. “You’ll beat me again tomorrow like always.”

He pushed his pile of winnings into the circle.

“Thanks, guys, for the win. Take ’em all back.”

The other children—Ken and two other boys, and two girls—eagerly snatched back their own marbles, quickly settling one argument about who one common stone belonged to.

Mother Egret watched, quietly sitting in the shade of the giant oak. They met here almost every day, on the paving stones around the fountain when the weather was good, or under the broad branches of the oak when not. They’d played once in the public bath across the street, until they got chased out.

Mother Egret was always there, always with a gentle smile. She had a walking stick leaning against the rock she sat upon but nobody could recall her using it. In fact, as it occurred to them every so often, nobody had actually seen her walk at all.

They’d brought it up any number of times, determined to watch and see where she went, where she lived, who she really was, but every time they seemed to forget about it, only recalling their intentions after they were on the way home, or later that evening. It never seemed that important, after all.

Mother Egret never raised her voice, although when she told them stories her voice could reach the far reaches of the plaza easily. She enthralled her young audience with tales of kings and dragons, of buried treasure and cursed gems, of the heroes of the past and the future, almost every day after schola.

She could bring a smile to the saddest face, and kiss away the pain of a scraped knee.

Children began to leave, heading for home and their chores—most of them came from poorer families, and had to help with the family business, or even go to work for others.

He exchanged a few quips with his friends and turned to go home himself when he noticed Mother Egret beckoning him.

“Thibron, you were very kind to let everyone keep their own today.”

He smiled, white teeth bright though his sun-burnt complexion.

“Thank you, Mother Egret.”

She smiled back, nodding a few times, then reached out to touch him lightly on the head.

“Run along now, Thibron. I’ll see you soon.”

Thibby was smiling all the way home at his victory. He knew he could have kept all the marbles—some of the kids did that and got everyone all angry all the time—but he hated it when everyone got angry at him. Sometimes there were even fistfights when a kid couldn’t bear losing a precious marble in combat.

As he got closer to home, though, his smile slipped.

He slowed down, walking quietly and listening intently for his father.

No banging, no shouting, no crying… in fact, as he got closer, he could hear his mother humming.

The smile came back and he rushed inside the give her a hug from behind.

“Careful! You almost knocked the ladle out of my hand, you rascal,” she scolded with a smile, tousling his hair with her free hand.

“Run along and wash up now, and I’ll get you fed.”

“Yes, mama,” he said, and scampered off.

He ate alone, as always, although his mother sat across from him, watching with a slight smile as he devoured his soup and rice.

He scarfed down two bowls of rice and looked hopefully at the pot for a third, but his mother shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Thibron, that’s for your father.”

Crestfallen but not surprised, he picked up his bowl, cup and spoon and started to walk toward the open door, toward the running stream where he could wash them.

There was a bang at the front door as it was flung open, slamming into the wall.

Father was home!

“Quickly, Thibron, off with you! I’ll wash up later. Go!”

He set the utensils down and ran to the closet that was his bedroom. He pulled the sliding door shut, quietly of course, leaving it open just the merest crack so he could see into the larger room. It was the only room they had, the living, dining, kitchen, and master bedroom all in one, and often all at once.

Bare to the waist, belly bulging out over the filthy dhoti, his father looked even angrier than usual, his stubbled jowls pulled back to reveal yellowing teeth.

He paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the relative darkness of the apartment, then took a step toward the cushions spread out along the far wall.

“Ah! Ow! Gods dammit, what the..?”

He hopped up on one leg, then stepped back a bit to stand and reach down to pick something up.

His bag of marbles!

“Your damned boy leaving his damned toys about! Stupid bitch, can’t you keep things clean?”

He smashed the bag against the stone wall.

Thibron heard a marble shatter, maybe more than one.

He clenched his fists in anger and fear, one pushing against his teeth to stop himself from crying out.

“Denh, please… he’s just a little boy…” the woman pled, dropping to her knees.

He swung the bag of marbles with all his force, hitting her on the side of her face, toppling her to the floor. She screamed in pain and terror, barely catching herself with one hand, trying to scuttle backwards, her feet scrabbling uselessly on the stone.

“I’m sorry, Denh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

What began as a whimper grew suddenly into a scream as he grabbed her by the hair, dragging her forward like a bad puppy, holding her head facing up and he struck her again and again with his fist.

“I’ll teach you to be sorry, you bitch!”

Thibron burst out of his closet, leaping across the room to grab hold of his father’s arm, pulling on it with all his strength.

“Papa, no, please! Please don’t hit her anymore! Papa!”

“Leggo, you brat!”

With a snarl his father snapped that arm up, sending Thibron flying to crunch into the wall.

He felt something in his arm snap, and then something hit him in the side and his world collapsed into pain and fire.

Dimly he heard his mother screaming, and the sound of something hard being pounded into flesh, then heavy breathing in silence, and darkness.

* * *

“Thibron.”

He heard the voice clearly, although it was faint.

“Mama?”

“It’s time to go, Thibron. Come to me, child; your mother is waiting.”

It was Mother Egret!

Mother Egret was here, in his home.

But it was so dark.

He couldn’t see Mother Egret at all. Or mama.

“Mama? Where are you?”

He stood, squinting into the black, searching.

“Over here, child,” came Mother Egret voice, and he turned to see her seated by a wood door dimly lit by some indistinct illumination.

“Mother Egret? Where is mama?”

He walked toward her, noticing that his body didn’t hurt anymore.

“You’ve been very brave, dear Thibron,” she said, leaning forward to give him a hug, squeezing him tight for a moment. “Your mother is right through that door; she’s waiting for you.”

The door wasn’t scary at all.

It was pretty, with little carvings of birds and flowers all over it, and perfectly child-sized; just high enough for him to walk through.

“Just push it open, Thibron, and you’ll see. Before you go, though, you won’t need this anymore,” she said, and reached out to pluck something from his chest.

He couldn’t see exactly what it was… something small, something glowing gold, like a marble.

Mother Egret gave him a gentle push on the shoulder.

He pressed on the door and it swung open easily.

Sunlight spilled into the darkness on a playful breeze, rich with the scents of flowers and children laughing.

He blinked.

There she was! Mama!

He leapt through the door, racing into the waiting arms of his mother, her face radiant and unlined with the beauty of a dream.

Mother Egret watched silently as the wood door swung shut slowly, silently, and sighed.

She looked down at the glowing gem in her hand.

“I’m sorry, dear Thibron. Would that it were him instead of you,” she whispered to herself as the soulstone turned to mist and faded away with the light, leaving only darkness behind.

END

Celephaïs: Sludge

Bortras wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm, the clean one. Over the years he’d learned how to keep one section of one forearm relatively dry and clean, especially for that purpose, even though the rest of him was usually wet and covered in filth.

He no longer bothered with the cloth mask around his mouth and nose anymore… he’d gotten used to the stench of the tunnels of Celephaïs years ago.

He took another step in the muck, his feet automatically seeking stable bottom, his arms automatically pulling the rake back and forth, cleaning detritus from the huge grating. Forged of steel bars, each as thick as two fingers, the whole was far too heavy for any man to move, let alone lift.

The noon sun didn’t penetrate far into the tunnel today, and while he wouldn’t have minded a little sunshine to lighten his mood, it would have meant he’d be a lot hotter while he worked. And a lot smellier as the muck warmed.

He didn’t have to clean this grate too often, but as the final barrier between the sewers of the city and the churning waves of the Cerenarian Sea below, it was critical to the whole sewerage network that underlay the city.

Seven years already, he thought. Seven years of working in the darkness, buried in the garbage and the excrement of the teeming city above. Only meagre lamps and torches to illuminate the labyrinth of tunnels and caverns, light that rarely penetrated far enough into the murky water to reveal what caused those ripples and splashes in the darkness.

He’d really wanted to work on the city’s defenses: the walls, the scorpions, the gates. He knew how to build all the machines of war, how to reinforce tunnels dug under the walls by sappers and how to defend against them, how to anchor a ballistae to withstand the stress of multiple shots.

And he’d been working in water and shit for seven long years.

The north end of the city, where the waters of the River Naraxa were first drawn in, was clean and pristine, pools and streams almost glowing under the lamps ensconced around the walls. The air was clean there, too, just the smells of water and rock and lamp oil.

There, the boats could travel freely through spacious tunnels, often with towpaths alongside broad enough for even horses. With a map, an artificer could traverse the city underground, whether into the farm markets, High City and its noble houses, even Skala Eresou itself, forbidden to most males.

He’d ventured to Skala Eresou once, just for the thrill, and found the grates there locked securely. No doubt Chief Artificer Marcus had the keys.

The water was flowing more freely now.

He raked one more time to pull out a long thin pole that had somehow managed to be washed down here, and checked once more to be sure he hadn’t missed anything.

Years ago he’d been so disgusted with the stench and the never-ending boredom and had abandoned his work before it was complete—and on that day, of all days, Artificer Krunogle had come to check.

He’d been dragged up in front of the Chief himself, and if Krunogle hadn’t said he was worth giving another chance, the Chief would have drummed him out on the spot. As it was he’d only gotten three strokes of the cane, and he was pretty sure Krunogle had held back.

His back had hurt for a few days after, and he had thought of just quitting, but he’d promised he’d see it through. Pa had made him promise to stick it out until he finished his apprenticeship, and swore it would be worth it if he could only reach journeyman.

As a boy Pa had told him endless stories about the work he’d done for the King, both here in Celephaïs and all over the eastern continent. He’d even worked on Serannian, the King’s flying palace!

He shook his head as he dumped the last load of brush and garbage into the scow. The mule twitched its tail once at the spray of droplets across its nose but otherwise just continued standing there, ignoring him as it always did.

He’d expected to be working on erecting castles, buildings, and machines of war, drafting exciting new designs to awe everyone with his talent. Not this, not raking muck all day.

As luck would have it, he was assigned to the underground network that supplied water to the city and swept away its waste, dumping it into the Cerenarian Sea. The outlets, including the grate he’d just finished cleaning, were situated to the north of the city seadocks, taking advantage of the current sweeping northward to carry it all away from the city, ever northward toward Inganok, or the Northern Marshes off Lomar.

His apprenticeship should be over soon, and as soon as he was a journeyman he’d be out of these tunnels and up in the clean, fresh air as soon as he could. He couldn’t wait to start working on real projects, not just shoveling shit.

He swatted the mule on the flank and it began to trudge back upstream, pulling the loaded scow slowly but steadily away from the gate. The landing was only a few dozen meters away, and when they reached it he moored the scow to one of the posts. A second tunnel, almost as big as the one he was in, joined his tunnel here, and there was a ladder down from the street above, one of the several entrances in the fish market. Somebody else would be along tomorrow to get rid of it all.

They had to be careful of the weather, since even a mild rain could cause these tunnels to turn into raging torrents, sweeping any incautious artificer to their death. The scow would have to be stowed way safely, too, until next time.

He didn’t plan on being here by then.

He hesitated.

If he had been alone he could climb up and go back through the fish market, now that the grate was clean. The stench of the fish market was, in a way, even worse than the stench down here, though… he’d grown accustomed to this smell, and while he certainly didn’t enjoy it he usually didn’t even notice it anymore. Rotting fish, on the other hand, he definitely hated.

He had to take care of the mule, too, and so they slowly walked back through one of the smaller tunnels that ran almost under the Wall of Euphrosyne, handling mostly water from the public baths and fountains. Unlike the loathsome inhabitants of the sewers, those tunnels were home to more innocuous denizens: frogs, fish, and the like. And the towpath was dry almost the entire distance, with torches at hand.

Much happier at the different smells in the smaller tunnel, the mule even took advantage of the improved water quality to snap up a few stalks of grass every so often as a snack.

They approached the north end of the city, where the waters of Naraxa entered the tunnel system. The mule lived in the stables there when it wasn’t working, along with its fellows, with plenty of fodder and fresh water. The artificers had their own bath there, too, with its own hot spring feeding it!

Many of the city’s artificers, and all of the apprentices, lived in the barracks aboveground, at the north end of the farm market, close to the Avenue of Boreas. Once he became a journeyman he’d be able to live elsewhere, if he wished, even marry, although he hadn’t really thought that far yet.

He’d been paying little attention as he walked, familiar with every bend and stone of the tunnel after years of use, but suddenly something caught his eye.

A light was moving down one of the unused tunnels.

That particular tunnel was, as he recalled, entirely unused. He’d never entered it, and his map showed it as a dead-end extending toward the adamant upthrust of the Pinnacle. Offhand he couldn’t recall if that was one of the tunnels that had a branch extending down, deeper into the water, but he thought it might have been. There were a number of such submerged tunnels scattered about under the city, leading deeper into the watery depths, but he’d never heard of anyone venturing into them.

He could see a light moving slowly, bobbing slightly as if a carried torch.

The mule could get home by itself, he thought. It knew the way better than he did, no doubt. He needed to see just what was happening down there, and raise the alarm if necessary. He’d been warned countless times that these tunnels were off-limits to everyone without the King’s permission—which they had—and if they spotted an intruder to report it at once.

He dropped the rope and hesitated for a moment as the mule continued to shamble away into the darkness, leaving the circle of light cast by his lamp.

Bortras adjusted the brightness of his lamp, twisting the thumbscrew to lower the wick until it was a dull glow, barely illuminating the towpath.

He retraced his footsteps back to the prior bridge—a row of simple wooden slats nailed to beams—and crossed over to the other side.

He walked slowly and quietly, holding the lamp low to check his footing and also make it harder for anyone to see him coming.

He reached the corner and peered around.

Yes, the lights—there were three of them now, it looked like—were still there, and still moving a little. He thought maybe one of them might be in a boat, judging from the way it seemed to bob up and down.

He moved a foot around the corner, and stopped when his boot touched something.

He could barely make it out in the dim lamp light.

A cloth bag.

He knelt down to look inside, and pulled it toward himself, only to discover that it was surprisingly heavy.

He opened the top and lifted his lamp up a bit to see better.

Gold. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of gold tiaras. More than he’d made in seven years of working these tunnels, more than enough to live well outside the city.

He blinked.

A fine house in the country, a wife, family… he could have it all.

The faint echo of voices from the tunnel brought him back, and he hurriedly pulled the drawstring closed.

He pulled the bag back around the corner, out of sight from the mysterious intruders, and turned to walk back toward the nearest ladder.

It was only a short distance, and now that he was safely out of sight he could turn his lamp back up. He raised the wick and quickened his pace.

The ladder was of wood, old but well maintained. There was a faint light seeping in from above, so he could extinguish the lamp and set it on the nearby shelf.

Holding the bag with one hand, he climbed with the other, and quickly reached the stone-walled room at the top. The door could only be opened from the inside, thanks to a complex mechanism. Someone could knock a hole in the wall, of course, but the idea was that it would make enough noise to attract the Watch.

The strategy had worked for centuries already, in spite of a few attempts.

Except maybe for tonight… who were they? What were they doing in the tunnels? And where did this money come from?

He opened the door and stepped out into the street.

He was standing across the street from a merchant selling vegetables of all sorts, with a carload of carrots being unloaded.

“Hey, Bortras! All done for the day?”

He spun around to see one of the older men he’d worked with, Artificer Framo of Cornwall. He looked to be shopping, with a basket of produce in one hand, munching on an apple.

“Ah… yeah, hi, Artificer Framo,” he stammered. “Finished with the bottom grate, all done. Got a few things to pick up myself.”

“Might want to wash some of that muck off first.”

Bortras laughed.

“Yeah, maybe I should’ve. Bit busy tonight, didn’t think I had the time.”

“Hot date?”

“Uh, yeah. Gotta get a few things ready, and then clean up,” he agreed.

“Good luck to you, Bortras!”

“Thanks. See ya tomorrow,” he answered and waved goodbye, turning into a convenient alley to escape the conversation as quickly as possible.

He trotted down the alley and turned the corner onto the Avenue of Boreas. The Gate of Calaïs was a stone’s throw away, offering a glimpse of the fields outside the city walls. It was open to the daily traffic, the constables perfunctorily checking carts and wagonloads.

He could be outside Celephaïs and on his way to years of ease in only minutes.

Bortras laughed, and turned away to enter an older, weather-worn building.

He shouted even before his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the interior.

“Intruders in the tunnels! At least three, I think, with a boat!”

“We know, Artificer Bortras, we know,” came a quiet voice.

Artificer Krunogle.

As his eyes began to make out shapes in the darkness, he saw dozens of men and women surrounding him, standing silently.

“They dropped a bag of gold on the towpath,” he explained, holding it out, then spun around in confusion. “Wha…? Why don’t you…?”

Krunogle stepped forward, placing his hand on his shoulder.

“Artificer Bortras, you have done well.”

He stepped back as another figure stepped forward to take his place.

Chief Artificer Marcus!

“Artificer Framo, how do you say?”

“He did not take any of the gold, and came here directly. He is worthy.”

“Artificer Krunogle, how do you say?”

“He has completed his tasks with skill and responsibility, as an Artificer of Celephaïs should,” said Krunogle. “He is worthy.”

“Does anyone have reason to doubt this man?”

There was silence from the assembled crowd.

“Artificer Bortras,” continued Marcus, “I hereby certify that you have completed your apprenticeship, and proven that you are a man to be trusted. You are now a journeyman, and, if you wish, free to leave the tunnels of Celephaïs behind.”

He could escape those damned tunnels! And work outside, in the clean air!

“I… I did it!” he gasped in shock, then shook himself. “Thank you, Artificer Marcus! Thank you!”

Marcus held out his hand, and Bortras reached to grasp it before stopping.

“My hand… it’s filthy.”

Marcus shook it anyway.

“You’re one of us now, Artificer Bortras.”

At that signal the whole crowd erupted into cheers and laughter, his friends pushing forward to clap him on the back or shake his hand. A key of ale appeared from somewhere and suddenly the oil lamps were lit and three people in aprons wheeled in an enormous haunch of roast buopoth, followed by a tableful of vegetables and fruit.

A panpipe started hooting in one corner of the room, almost drowned out by the noise.

“But what should I do with all this gold,” he asked Krunogle.

“Things you find in the tunnels are yours to keep.”

“There are no intruders down there?”

“No intruders. Just some of us testing you, and you passed with flying colors.”

He hefted the bag again.

“That’s a lot of gold…”

“Heh. Don’t worry, only the dozen or so on top are real… the rest is all skelfs; not enough to buy a meal with.”

Someone pushed a mug of ale into his hand.

So he couldn’t have lived happily ever after anyway. Whatever.

He was a journeyman now!

END

Celephaïs: The Dreamer

Klar always wanted to be a Dreamer.

Ever since he was a little boy he would focus on an ant, a leaf, a pebble, willing it to change into something else. At night before he slept he would stare into the darkness, willing a light to shine, or a sword.

Nothing ever came of it, except getting swatted on the head a few times for daydreaming, but he never lost that secret wish.

He thought of it once again as he rubbed his shoulder, that hand on the haft of his shovel as he caught his breath.

The sun was slipping westward, already close to the soaring minarets of Celephaïs, shadows creeping longer and longer.

It’d been a hard day—weren’t they all?—but the field was all done, plowed and seeded, and the packed dirt walls of the perimeter drainage ditch study enough to handle the coming rains.

The soil was good this year, a rich brown pungent with the scent of fresh life.

He could almost feel the seed corn wriggling with delight, bursting into explosive growth.

“It’ll be a bumper crop this year, Clyde,” he predicted, but the deino merely kept chewing its cud.

Clyde wasn’t the brightest deino he’d ever met, but he never complained and he kept that plow moving all day come rain or shine.

He patted the deino on the neck, receiving a head-butt in return, and unhitched it from the mouldboard plow. The plow was too heavy for him to lift by himself, but it was balanced so that the force of his arms would lift the pointed prow out of the soil and place most of the weight on the rear wheels.

It took practice, but practice he’d had: decades of it.

He looked over at Chek, his second son, and saw that he had already finished his plot and was scraping mud off the plow. Looked like Chek had finished a little before he had.

“Everything OK?”

“No problem, pa,” came the response. “Just cleaning it up a little… big patch of mud in the middle—damned heavy, too.”

Klar chuckled.

“Why do you think I offered to let you take the cooler plot, in all that nice shade?”

“Hey, apologize to Barrol, not me! He did all the heavy work.”

Barrol was their other deino, and now stood placidly chewing something, all four legs covered in drying mud. It wouldn’t bother him, of course, and that was hardly enough weight for him to even notice, but they’d just as soon not track all that mud into the barn if they could help it.

He whistled to Brute, their enormous wolfhound, who rose from where he’d been lazing in the shade to stretch and yawn. Brute snoozed most of the time, but Klar knew he always slept with one eye open, and woe to any fox that came after their chickens.

Brute’s mate, Boka, was back at the house with a boxful of puppies, one or two of which he’d be keeping for Brute to train… the dog was getting old.

The plows were stored safe in the shed a few minutes later, and they started the walk home. There was no worry about hurting the crop since they’d only plowed and seeded today, and it was far easier to just walk across the fields than take the balks. That’d change once the shoots popped up, of course.

The city was mostly in shadow now, black against the setting sun, but the orange light still illuminated the forest on the other side of his fields. The Tanarian Hills started here, just the first foothills, too hilly and rocky for cultivation but covered in verdant forest.

He’d cut these fields out of the wilderness himself, he and his family—his wife Myrn, and later his sons Brytos and Chek and daughter Kyrantha. It had been hard, those first years when he and Myrn were here alone, and later when the baby came… but they’d persevered.

He glanced at the trees once again. The sunlight was strange, somehow. The sunset looked normal, puffy clouds all lit up in orange, but the trees looked… different.

“Somethin’ funny with the light,” he commented offhand, but Chek just gave the trees a glance and shrugged.

“Doesn’t look strange to me,” he said. “The sunset, maybe?”

Klar grunted and kept walking until he could close the paddock gate behind the deinos. Clyde and Barrol stuck their heads deep into the water trough, slurping it up.

Myrn and Kyrantha would be putting the chickens back in the henhouse for the evening, or already inside making dinner.

It was just the four of them now that Brytos was in the Watch.

He was proud that the boy had become a constable. He was a strapping youth, and quick; he’d go far in the Watch, Klar thought. But he missed his son’s smile, his laugh, and, lately, his strong back.

They entered the mudroom and sat on the edge of the floor, built high off the ground, to pull their boots off. There were dozens of pairs there… those dusty ones at the back belonged to Brytos, he thought. He should really clean those up and put them away. Brytos might want them next time he came home.

He could hear Kyrantha and Myrn talking in the kitchen, a comforting sound.

The world shivered, the edges of his vision shimmering as through water for the briefest moment.

He blinked; it was gone.

The sunset was almost gone, too, the sun below the horizon and the orange glow faded to a somber maroon, the minarets of Celephaïs black in the dusk.

He blinked again and listened, but there was nothing but Brute’s breathing and the distant cry of crows heading home.

He and Chek washed up and changed into cleaner clothes, and by the time Klar was done, the food was already being served. Myrn was doing something over the stove, and Kyrantha was sitting at the table, pouring a rich stew over a heaping plateful of rice.

Klar pulled the salad closer and used the tongs to fill up four smaller plates, one for each of them. The salad came from their garden, of course: lettuce, broccoli, cauliflower, bell peppers, and few other bits and pieces to delight the palate.

“I think I’ll send a load of peppers and broccoli to the market tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll take the carrots and radishes in myself the next day.”

“On Garibon’s first wagon?” asked Chek. “You need help getting it ready in time?”

Klar chuckled. Garibon lived a few kilometers up the road, and some years ago had the bright idea of offering to carry people and goods into the city and back, for a price. He had three wagons running now, and a lot of people found it awfully convenient to be able to just pay him a couple skelf—or a few pence at the end of the month—instead of carrying a dozens of kilograms of produce on their backs all the way to Celephaïs.

“While you were playing in the mud I took a little break and picked half a dozen bushels. All ready to go.”

“I wondered where you’d gotten off to!” snorted Chek. “Figured you were just relieving yourself. Wish you’d told me, though… I wouldn’t have minded a little break from that mudpuddle.”

“Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty more mudpuddles. Maybe next time.”

“Gee, thanks, pa. And maybe next time you can plow the soggy one.”

“Nah. Mudpuddles are definitely for young boys, not proper men such as myself.”

“Proper!?” broke in Myrn. “You, proper!? Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

They broke up laughing, and Kyrantha almost choked on her tea.

That night he awoke in the darkness, alone but for the warmth.

What had awakened him? Some noise?

He looked at the wolfhounds: they’d hear anything long before he did.

Brute and Boka were alert, standing with ears sharp, hunting for something unseen. It wasn’t a threat or they’d behave their haunches up and fangs exposed. Just something that made the uneasy.

Just like him.

Myrn?

He looked over at his wife, her long black hair clearly visible even in the dimness of the midnight stars. She was breathing slowly, her lower lip quivering slightly with each exhalation.

He sat up.

Something was off.

He reached for the blanket to get up and check the house, when the world shivered again, a spasm of reality that left him disoriented and dizzy.

Off balance as gravity shifted, he fell to the floor, sliding along the rough-hewn boards until he hit the wall that was somehow below him, bright in shades of yellow and blue.

Brute whimpered, ears flat, teeth bared, head searching back and forth and finding nothing. Behind him Boka stood over her pups, protecting them from anything that might come.

A thump, color vanished.

He slid back from the wall to the floor.

The Dance of the Oneiroi!

A dreamquake, a spasm in reality as a Dream was birthed.

Nobody really knew how common they were, save perhaps the King. When the reality of the Dreamlands itself changed, they changed with it, new memories of a new past replacing the old. Usually.

Sometimes somebody might recall some previous reality, or some object, some flotsam of the eddies of transformation, might remain to fascinate and awe. Or maybe it happened all the time, and they just never noticed.

He climbed back into bed, reassured by Myrn’s quiet breathing.

Nothing had changed… had it really been a dreamquake?

Or had he just fallen out of bed?

He glanced over at the dogs, but they were quiet once more, seemingly asleep.

He listened intently, and heard nothing but the wind and the insects. In time, he slept.

* * *

He always woke with the sun, but it looked like he’d overslept this morning.

Time to feed the deinos and get started on plowing the pair of fields farthest from the house, up close to the forest. They were the newest, too, which meant they still had plenty of rocks and old roots left. It’s be another day of hard work getting that ground plowed and seeded right.

He heard the rooster crowing away, and the heavy footsteps of Chek.

His head throbbed with pain, and his vision was blurry. He wondered if he’d caught something. He really didn’t feel like getting out of bed, but he did anyway. No sleep for the farmer.

He looked behind him—Myrn was already up and about.

He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed and onto the floor, and caught himself. His head pounded and he closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment at the sudden pain.

When he opened them again, head still hanging down, he saw his body for the first time… his belly ballooned out over his thighs, the hard muscles of a farmer gone.

He blinked, shook his head, reached out to feel his own stomach.

Fat.

He was fat.

And the arm he’d used to poke his own bulk was itself flabby, bags of soft, pale flesh hanging down from the arm that had only yesterday been tanned and muscular.

“Myrn!”

His voice came out in a squeaky rasp. He cleared his throat, tried again.

“Myrn! Could you come here for a moment?”

There was a bang in the kitchen as something was set down with considerable force, and then footsteps.

“What?”

She demanded an answer, hands on hips, lips tense with suppressed anger.

“Wha…? Why are you… so angry?”

“Get your lazy ass out of bed and get off to work! We’ve all been up for hours while you’ve been snoring away.”

Astonished, Klar could only gasp like a landed fish, unable to gather his wits before his wife has turned and stalked away again.

He followed her into the kitchen, expecting to see her making breakfast, or taking bread out of the oven. There was no food on the table, and she was sewing a linen dress, a basket of other clothes at her feet.

She didn’t even look up as he entered, merely grunted something indistinct.

Still wondering what he’d done to upset her so, he walked to the front door to scratch Brute and Boka on their heads. Boka was busy feeding the pups, lying on her side as they pushed and shoved over each other in search of morning milk.

He heard a gasp of surprises from behind him, and turned to see Myrn staring at him, eebrows raised, mouth open.

“He didn’t bite you!”

“He… wha…? Brute?” he sputtered. “Why would Brute bite me?”

Myrn, shaking her head and muttering to herself, returned to the kitchen without replying.

He gave the dog another scritch and sat down on the edge of the mudroom to pull on his boots, glancing outside to check the weather.

And froze in disbelief.

An expanse of dry dirt and dead trees met his eyes, stretching away for hundreds of meters to the distant line of trees farther up into the hills.

No cornfields. No freshly turned earth, no line of pumpkin plants, or cucumbers, or herbs.

No paddock. No deinos.

He rose on shaking legs to stumble outside.

The house was much the same, log and slat construction with mortar packed into the cracks, a turfed roof that slanted back into the earth on the north side.

The chicken coop.

A cow—not three cows and a barn, like it should have been, just one single cow.

He heard someone behind him, and spun around.

It was Myrn.

“We’re out of fish again, Klar. Buy some on the way home, if you can spare any from your drinking.”

She snorted in disgust as she spit it out.

“Way home? Drinking? I don’t…”

“Drunk again, and so early?” she sneered. “Go on, take it and off with you. Late again and they’ll fire you, and then where’ll we be?”

“Late? Who…?”

He shook his head in confusion, took a deep breath.

The dreamquake… it had to be the dreamquake.

“Myrn, love, please, sit.”

He sat down on the mudroom edge again, and grasped her by the arm to join him. She yanked her arm out of his grasp with a yelp and spat at him: “My love!? You haven’t called me that for two twelves of years. Got me confused with one of those nighthawks at the pub, have you?”

“Please, just sit, Myrn,” he asked again quietly, and patted the floor next to him. She did sit, grudgingly, her feet atop her sandals in the mudroom. She kept as much space between them as she could.

“Did you feel the dreamquake last night?”

“Dreamquake? Here? There was no dreamquake last night… everything’s the same as it’s always been. And we’ve all got work to do, no time to sit here jabbering away.

“Now off to the tannery.”

Tannery!? I’m a farmer, not a tanner!”

“You? A farmer?” laughed Myrn. “You barely know which end the milk comes out of.

You said you would turn all dirt into fields and crops, and we needed to move out here to make our own farm, but you never did, no matter how much I pushed you.”

She was getting angry now, nostrils flaring and lips thin.

“You took the little we had saved and spent it on drink. No matter where you work you get fired, because you drink. Every time. Chek and Kyrantha and I work our hands to the bone, even Brytos, thank the Gods he escaped, sends half his pay, and you drink it all up!”

He blinked, hearing every work and unable to process it.

He rarely drank; perhaps a cup with dinner once in a while, or at the Festival of the Horned God. But to drink away his family, his farmland, his crops—his dreams—he couldn’t conceive of it.

He stood, and then fell to his knees in the dirt in front of her, grasping her hands and holding them tight even as she tried to pull away.

“Myrn, I swear to you by Nath-Horthath that I am not the man you speak of. I am not a drunkard, or a tanner, but a farmer, and by the Gods I shall prove it to you to you all!”

He stood, still holding onto one of her hands, and looked out over the barren scene.

“Have we a plow, and hoes, and axes?”

She looked up at him, this time her mouth gaping open in surprise and wonder.

“A plow? Yes, old, perhaps, but serviceable. All the tools we brought with us years ago, to build a farm…”

“Do I still have time to catch Garibon’s wagon into the city?”

“Garibon?” asked Myrn, cocking her head and frowning. “Who?”

“Garibon! The wagons into Celephaïs every day? Our carrots and radishes?”

She pulled her hand back out of his.

“Never heard of no Garibon, and Gods know we have no carrots to sell! Would that we did.”

Klar looked out over the barren land before him.

He’d tamed this land once, and by the Gods he’d do it again.

He was older, and fat, for Gods’ sake, but he had Chek to help him, and Kyrantha.

“Do we have enough to buy a deino? Twelve laurels, no more than twelve and six.”

Myrn gave a bitter bark of laughter.

“Twelve laurels? I’d be thrilled if we have twelve pence to spare!”

Klar emptied his wallet into his hand.

Three pence.

He handed them to Myrn silently and bent to lace up his boots, ignoring the expressions on the faces of his wife and their two children, as they stared at this man who no longer acted like the father they knew.

If this were a dream, thought Klar, then he would Dream it properly.

* * *

His first step was seeing what he had to work with.

He found the plow easily enough, in a dark corner of the ramshackle barn. It was the first plow he’d had, years and years ago, designed to be pulled by a deino or a horse. He had neither.

He did have hoe and axe and pickaxe, though, and by that evening he’d cleared the scrub and rocks from a broad rectangle of ground.

“This will be for vegetables,” he explained to Myrn, who had brought him a cup of cool tea in the afternoon. “Lettuce and broccoli here, and over that way will be spinach, pepper, beets…”

“The stream is a long ways from here, Klar,” she warned. “Who’s going to carry all that water every day?”

“Trust me, Myrn. There is water,” he smiled. “See that bent pine over there? I’ll make a well right near it, you’ll see. Enough water to turn all this green.”

“I can’t tell if you’re really a different man, or just plumb crazy,” she said, shaking her head. “You sure sound like the man I married, but… Maybe there really was a dreamquake after all.”

“There was, I’m sure of it.”

“Brute seems to think you’re a different man. Yesterday he’d snarl every time you got close to him or Boka. You kick him all the time.”

“Me? Kick Brute?” He was flabbergasted. “I would never kick Brute!”

He eyebrows shot up and she pursed her lips.

“Maybe you wouldn’t, now, but you sure used to. Used to hit us all, too.”

Hit you!?” He almost dropped the tea in astonishment. “Hit you? I have never… I would never…”

“You did,” she said quietly. “Especially when you’re drunk. Which is—was—often.”

He fell silent.

“Looks like I’ve got some hard work ahead of me,” he sighed. “And not just here in the field.”

She took the empty cup from his hand and glanced at his blistered, bleeding palms.

“Let me get you some salve and cloth to wrap your hands in. Your hands aren’t used to honest work.”

“Yet,” he added.

“Yet,” she agreed.

That evening she helped him wash and bind his hands, and when they sat down for dinner he noticed a jug of ale on the table. It was far enough that it wasn’t obviously his, but close enough he could easily reach it.

He reached out for it, and watched Myrn out of the corner of his eye. Her fork had come to a stop and was slowly descending again, forgotten, as she followed his hand and the jug.

“Anyone want some ale? If not I’ll stopper it up.”

Dead silence for a moment, then Chek cleared his throat.

“You don’t want any?”

“Just tea for me, I think… good cooking’s always better with tea, don’t you think?”

He pressed the cork in and set the jug down on the floor where it would be out of the way.

Myrn let her breath out and suddenly noticed the forkful of food she was still holding in the air.

Conversation started, hesitantly, as painful as his unused muscles.

After, he left Myrn speechless by thanking her for making dinner, though it had been a sad affair of little more than some greens and rabbit stew.

He picked up the jug of ale, and as his wife and children watched, expecting him to swig it down and collapse in a drunken stupor, instead walked the family altar, and poured a cup for their household god. He knelt, and set the ale on the altar as an offering, head bowed in silent prayer.

* * *

Several days later Myrn didn’t shy away when he gave her a kiss.

He and Chek dug deep near the pine, where the well had been, and it was as he had remembered. They had water now, all the water their gardens and fields would need.

He was sure it had been a dreamquake, and Myrn and the children were beginning to believe him. Finding buried water in this barren waste had almost convinced them. Quitting drink had convinced them even more.

He needed seed now. The tiny amounts they had wouldn’t even be enough to feel themselves, let alone produce enough to sell at market.

Klar suggested asking one of the nearby farmers to loan them seed, but Myrn shook her head.

“They’ll never loan to a drunkard, Klar. And they’ll not believe you’ve changed, either.”

He needed a deino to plow the fields. It wasn’t impossible to do it by hand, of course, but it was backbreaking toil, and his hands were bleeding raw already.

Once the ground was plowed, he’d need seeds. To buy seeds he needed money.

They were broke, though, relying on what they could trap or hunt in the woods, and the pittance Brytos brought each month.

That night he woke again in the pre-dawn darkness, but this time there was no dreamquake. He knew how to do it.

“I’m going up to see Master Garibon,” he announced at breakfast. “He lives up near the bend in the river, just below the ford.”

“Garibon? Near the ford?” Myrn shook her head. “Never heard of him.”

“Chek, would you come with me? It’s a short walk; if I’m wrong we’ll be back soon enough.”

“And if you’re right?”

“Then I think everything will work out wonderfully.”

Chek was unconvinced, but half an hour later they were walking up the road, deeper into the Tanarian Hills. The river, still young and fierce as it came out of the hills, ran close to the road, and Klar recalled it had flooded several times over the years.

Garibon’s house stood near the river, on an embankment that kept it out any floodwaters.

“Master Garibon!”

There was a muffled shout from the far side of the house, and a moment later a stout man came toward them. He stopped short when he saw who it was, then started walking toward them once again more slowly.

“Master Klar. And Master Chek.”

“Master Garibon, sorry to call unannounced. Have you a few moments we can talk?”

Garibon scowled. “About what?”

“About a business proposition that I believe will profit us both, and handsomely.”

“You asking me for money, is that it?”

“No, please. No money. And no ale, either,” pleaded Klar. “Ask Chek; I’ve changed.”

Garibon looked at Chek, who nodded.

“Well, I’ve never known Master Chek to lie, and you do look a lot healthier than I’ve ever seen you,” admitted Garibon. “From the look of those hands and your sunburned face, you’ve been doing honest work, too.

“I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

An hour later they had a deal.

It took two full days to get their wagon wheels fixed and the axles greased, and another day to get the benches installed and the harnesses and traces repaired, but finally it was done.

Klar already knew who his best customers would be, and what the market would bear, and the following morning they launched the new venture.

Drawn by two of Garibon’s horses, the wagon travelled from Garibon’s homestead at the base of the falls to the city walls, picking up people carrying their loads to market, or (thanks to Garibon’s well-known trustworthiness) transporting their produce for them. They made one round-trip in the morning, and a second in the evening, and by the next morning everyone knew.

For many of the farmers in the region it was well worth two or three skelf for a ride to the markets of Celephaïs and back again. Once Chek had proven trustworthy more and more of them began entrusting their goods, and receiving payment for them when the wagon returned once more.

Word began to spread that it had not been Chek, but actually Klar the Drunkard, a drunkard no more, who was behind it all.

Two months later there were three wagons running the route, and they’d had to hire a few people to help keep things moving smoothly. Garibon was scouting a possible new route from Celephaïs down toward Cornwall, where a whole new town was coming into existence around the new madrasah erected there by the King. He was delighted with the handsome return he was getting on his share of the business.

* * *

“Thank you, Treana,” Klar said, smiling as he held out his cup for a refill.

His six-year-old granddaughter beamed, carefully holding the heavy teapot in both hands as she poured.

Klar tasted the tea and smacked his lips in appreciation, earning a giggle for his trouble.

Sitting on the porch bench, he looked out over the fields: the green vegetable fields closest to the house, bursting with vitality, with tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and more hanging ripe. Beyond stretched a towering forest of corn, countless stalks waving gently in the breeze, tassels glinting in the late summer sun.

Treana’s mother was there, picking fresh greens for dinner, three-year-old Conal staying close but more engrossed with the progress of a huge caterpillar. Instead of holding onto Kyrantha’s skirt he had one hand on Marpo’s back. He was beginning to spend more time with the young wolfhound than his mother.

Klar felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Myrn’s face as he covered her hand with his own.

Had the dreamquake itself been a dream, a nightmare that knocked sense into him?

Perhaps he was a Dreamer after all, and as he looked out over his Dream made real, he was content.

END

Celephaïs: The Cheesemaker

– 1 –

“My usual, please, Master van der Kerk.”

“Mistress Chuli, good to see you again,” replied the man behind the counter. “That’d be a block of Gouda and a block of my own Ambroli, right?”

Chuli smiled, white teeth bright against dark brown skin.

“Yes. I love your Ambroli... can’t find it anywhere else!”

The man stopped with a look of mock horror on his face.

“Mistress Chuli! Surely you haven’t been to a different shop!?”

“On, no, of course not! Of course not,” she laughed. “I’ve been coming here for years and have no intention of ever going anywhere else.

“No, my husband and I visited Lhosk the other day, and I tried to find something good to eat there... most of them knew it, but none had any to offer.”

“It doesn’t ship very well, I’m afraid,” said Lujan van der Kerk, wrapping up a block of tan-colored cheese in a large leaf and placing it on the counter. “Something about the sea air. Too salty.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I’m sure they’d fall in love with it, too.”

“I have more than enough happy customers here in Celephaïs, Mistress.”

He finished wrapping up the Gouda and handed her both packages.

“Thank you so much, Master van der Kerk,” she smiled, and dropped a few coins into his waiting hand “Until next time, then.”

“Have a pleasant day, Mistress. Best to the Poietes.”

She blew him a kiss as she stepped outside and vanished into the crowd of the marketplace.

Lujan van der Kerk, once of Imaut, pulled a long, thin knife out of the rack.

He carefully shaved off a thin, almost transparent slice of orange Yann Sharp, folded it over twice, and popped it into his mouth.

He closed his eyes in momentary delight at the tangy flavor, then dutifully wiped the knife clean and returned it to the rack. It was almost time for closing anyway, he thought as he checked the position of the sun against the silhouette of the Wall of Euphrosyne. His shop would be in shadow in minutes, and that meant he could expect only a very few customers.

Lujan lit the oil lamp on the counter, then closed the wood shutters over the window and drove the iron bolts home to lock them in place. The door was locked and bolted, of course. The stairs to the living quarters on the second floor danced in the flickering lamplight, and the massive door to the storeroom looked heavier than ever.

Instead of heading upstairs, he opened the storeroom door and stepped inside, closing the door again behind him.

The walls were lined with shelves, packed with wheels of cheeses of all sorts, but he walked past them all without a glance, straight to the second door at the back of the room.

He pulled the ornate key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. It was too dark to see inside, but he didn’t hesitate: he knew every inch.

Lujan snuffed the oil lamp out and set it on a nearby shelf, closing the door as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the faint bluish light.

In the center of the room a large iron grate was set into the floor. Coolness flowed up from below, making the tiny brilliant motes dance in the air.

Spores.

They glowed blue, their dim light revealing dozens of wheels of Ambroli. He checked each one carefully, looking for the slightest imperfection or discoloration, until he reached the end, and stood in front of the altar. It was covered in fungi of all shapes, all blue in the light of the spores.

He knelt to kiss the low stone pedestal.

“Mycelia Spore-Mother, I offer my flesh and blood to you freely. I beseech your blessing for myself and my house.”

He held a small knife to his palm and sliced it open, grunting in pain as blood spurted out onto the pedestal. He gritted his teeth and set his bloody palm flat onto the pedestal, and waited, head bowed, chanting the prayer to his goddess under his breath.

The pedestal slowly turned darker, stained with blood shining black in the dim lighting.

The prayer ended, and he lifted his head to gaze upon the misshapen form of his goddess above the altar. Was that the faintest hint of a smile on that rough-hewn face? Were her swollen limbs, her pendulous breasts, more shapely, more human, than before?

He thought so, but he’d thought that every day for dozens of years. Perhaps she would never come to him here. Perhaps.

He lifted his blood-stained hand from the pedestal and stared at it in awe.

Her blessing!

The wound was gone, healed to leave only a smear of blood and one more scar to join the dozens upon dozens that already crisscrossed his palm.

A few shining motes danced across his palm, or in it.

Lujan van der Kerk, Godsworn of Mycelia and purveyor of fine cheeses to the people of Celephaïs, kissed the pedestal once again and turned to go upstairs to family and supper.

– 2 –

“What is it, Gobbler? Is daddy back?”

Wiping her hands on her apron, Glaire stuck her head out and looked into the street. Gobbler, their pet raptor, was pushing at the bars across the lower half of the doorway, eager to get outside.

It was Finh, alright, walking beside the enormous deino pulling the wagon. It slogged along, one heavy clump at a time, oblivious to angry objections of passers-by who had to step out of the way to let it pass, and also seemingly oblivious to the ton of wet clay in the wagon.

“I’m home!” came her husband’s voice in confirmation. “Let me get this wagon out of the way, and take the deino back. Everything OK here?”

“Sure, everything’s fine. I was just having a cup with Nessie. The kids are still at schola, should be back soon. You want some tea?”

“I need something cold more than some tea, Glaire. Be a bit yet, though… later.”

He prodded, whacked, and cajoled the deino until the heavy wagon was safely in the workroom, then unhitched it and walked it back toward the Street of Pillars where he’d rented it earlier that day. He could afford to buy his own deino, of course—he could get a perfectly good deino for six or seven tiaras—but finding a place to keep it in the city was more difficult, especially when you considered how narrow these alleyways were. Not to mention how much food they ate!

He only needed one when he went off to his quarry in the Tanarian Hills to fetch more clay, once a year or so.

He returned the deino and collected his surety. They’d dealt with each other so long he probably didn’t even need to put up a surety anymore, but he’d never asked.

He took a small detour and picked up a half-dozen cinnamon honey cakes shaped like butterflies.

By the time he got home Kahlia and Finjul were waiting, and delighted to see his present.

“Thank you, papa,” said Kahlia as she accepted a cake politely, and gave a small bow in thanks. Only ten, she was already acting like the beautiful lady she would no doubt grow to be.

Finjul, two years younger and far more energetic, was less polite, snatching up one cake in each hand and managing to get a muffled thanks out in spite of cramming them into his mouth at once.

He sat down at the table with his wife and Mistress Nessie from across the street and wiped his face with the moist towel Glaire handed him.

“Hot day to be dragging all that clay around, Master Finh,” said Mistress Nessie.

“Poor deino did the draggin’,” he explained. “I just told it where to go.”

“Uh-huh,” nodded Glaire. “And who loaded all that clay onto the wagon?”

“I told that clay to get in the wagon, and it jumped right up there by itself! Magic!”

“Here, Oh Great Sorcerer—some cool ale may help the cake go down.”

He accepted the jack of ale gratefully and down half of it in a single gulp. He visibly relaxed and set the jack down on the table.

“Getting pretty old to be carting around tons of clay anymore,” he sighed.

“Can I have the last one?”

Glaire reached out slapped the boy’s hand away from the last cake.

“You already had two, you pig! That’s your father’s, and say thank you properly, young man!”

“Thank you, father,” he parroted at once. “But if you don’t want it…”

“No such luck, Finjul,” laughed Finh and popped the cake into his mouth.

He turned back to the two women.

“Forgive me, I must smell like deino… Let me go wash up. I won’t be able to get that clay all cleaned up until tomorrow; might get some throwing done in the afternoon, though.”

“Fin! Kahlia! I’m going to the baths. You want to come?”

“No thank you, papa,” came the girl’s voice. “I’ve got to finish my sums before it gets dark.”

“Good girl!” he nodded. “And you, Finjul? No homework for you?”

“I’ll do it later, papa, promise!”

“A man keeps his promises, Finjul,” broke in Claire. “And I’ll hold you to it, later.”

“You and Kahlia’ll go later? Or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, I think,” replied his wife.

“I’ll pay for you, too, then. Be back in a bit,” said Finh, draining the jack and standing from the table. “C’mon, lad, let’s go see who’s at the baths today.”

* * *

Finjul, riding a sugar high from the cakes he’d wolfed down, stayed reasonably close to his father as they walked down the alley. He’d learned that much, at least, and Finh kept an eye on him to be sure he didn’t break anything or get trampled by a passing horse.

Most of the shop owners merely watched the boy pass: a few scowled, perhaps at some unfortunate recollection, one handed Finjul a piece of apple and sent him on his way.

The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon and the baths would be getting busier as people finished their work for the day.

They headed toward the public baths. Finh had left his wallet at home, carrying only two iron skelfs, the smallest coin. The public bath was only a skelf, cheap enough that even the lowest-paid laborers could afford it.

The entrance to the bath was crowded with people coming and going. There was the usual assortment of soldiers, merchants, dock workers, housewives, children of all ages, even a Godsworn or two. Many public baths in the Dreamlands were mixed bathing, but this particular one had separate baths for men and women to prevent undue problems. In theory it was to keep the noisy children away from the men’s bath, but nobody had any illusions about what sort of problems they were trying to prevent.

The Lofts and its vast array of entertainment were quite some distance away, but the fish market and the cargo seadocks were a short walk. Not everyone in Celephaïs was gentle and restrained, regardless of what King Kuranes might think.

Finh coughed.

It was a small cough, the sort of cough anyone might make.

He coughed again, and felt a searing pain in his chest.

He clutched his side, over the lower part of his right lung, and stopped, bent at an angle to the right by the pain.

His face contorted in pain, he slowly collapsed onto his knees, catching himself from toppling facedown with his other hand.

“Papa…?”

“Finjul… I can’t…”

“Papa? Papa!”

His hand failed and he fell the rest of the way.

The boy knelt at his father’s side, pulling helplessly on his tunic as a thread of spittle dribbled from his mouth to the cobblestones.

Before the blackness claimed him, he heard a woman’s voice shouting for Healer Pontil.

– 3 –

Lujan frowned and held his breath for a moment.

There it was again… a tiny movement.

The boards of the wood floor creaked faintly, one rising the merest fraction of a millimeter as he watched.

Something had stirred them up, he thought.

“Crija? Could you take over for a few minutes?”

“Be right down!” shouted his wife from upstairs. She joined him shortly, wiping her hands on her apron. “What’s up?”

“Just need to check on something in the storeroom,” he said. “Shouldn’t be long.”

He hurried through the storeroom with its wheels of cheese and unlocked the door to the second room at the very back. He had brought no oil lamp with him this time, but long years had etched every step into his memory, and by the time he’d raised the heavy iron grate from the floor to reveal the yawning pit beneath, his eyes had adjusted to the point he could see perfectly well in the dim blue light emitted by the tiny motes drifting in the air.

He pulled his sandals off, setting them neatly next to the yawning pit, and without any hesitation swung his legs in and climbed down into the darkness.

There were no motes here to illuminate his way, but the walls and ceiling were covered with splotches of something that looked like lichen, giving off a dull red light. It was enough to make out the walls of the rough-hewn tunnel and the enormous mushrooms growing from every surface except the narrow, twisting path leading into the gloom from the ladder.

As he walked deeper into the tunnel, following the trickle of water that ran down the center of the path, he picked off a few convenient mushrooms to nibble on, enjoying their pungent flavor and chewy texture. He’d always wanted to sell mushrooms, too, but all the truly delicious ones dried out so quickly in the outside world…

He could hear them twitching and sliding before he could see them.

The tunnel opened up on one side into a fairly broad space, filled with thin stalks waving back and forth like wheat in the autumn breeze: a multitude of mushrooms. In the reddish light they all looked black but he knew they were really a yellowish white, the shade of old ivory, the tiny cap at the top of each stalk a brilliant, electric blue.

“What is it, my lovelies? What do you hear?”

There was no response, of course, and Lujan wriggled his toes in the damp soil, digging his feet slightly into the earth. He closed his eyes, relaxing his body as his breathing and heartbeat slowed and his senses sharpened until he could feel the fungoid life around him.

The tall, thin mushrooms waved as if in an unseen wind, uneasy, afraid… the gardeners, dozen-centimeter long slugs, had pulled in their eyestalks and were huddled in place, afraid to venture forth even into the safety of this hidden garden.

This was the third time he’d seen this, although he didn’t realize what was happening the first time until much later. Fatally later.

Something dark had come to Celephaïs, something evil.

– 4 –

“Healer Theros?”

“Yes, what is it?” she answered, putting down the hairbrush and stroking the long-haired cat one last time.

“It’s happened again, Healer, this time in the Cirque of the Jade Bull just south of the Avenue of Amphitrite. Healer Pontil says he’s tried everything and nothing works.”

“The same thing?”

“It seems to be,” said the young Godsworn, nervously pushing his long black hair back up atop his ear with one hand. “Acute pain and coughing, weakness, bluish vision with ‘flies’, a growth of whitish-gray tissue around the mouth, eyes, and elsewhere. Fainting. The first case was just reported yesterday, and so far there are no reports of anyone reaching the final stages.”

“Eaten alive from the inside by those creatures… a horrible way to die…”

The cat, ignored, plopped off her lap to the floor, and leisurely stalked out of the room.

“I hoped we’d seen the last of that horror years ago…”

“As did I. But it’s back, and Healer Pontil asks for your urgent assistance. A family of four: the husband and two children are sick but the wife is not.”

“At once, of course, but I fear I can do little,” said Theros, standing and adjusting her simple sky-blue robe. She picked up her serpent-entwined staff, sign of her calling and her goddess, and strode out of the room with the vitality of a young woman in spite of her salt-and-pepper hair.

“Find Godsworn Cressida and tell her everything you have just told me. It is of the utmost urgency,” she commanded as she left, and he bowed as she passed.

“To the altar,” she said to the two women waiting outside her room. They were young, only admitted to the order a few years ago, and although they were still studying and mastering the techniques of healing, today they would serve as her assistants.

They would certainly remember the lessons learned today, she thought to herself.

Her quarters were only a short distance from the central altar of the temple, and as the four of them entered the main hall she noted half a dozen people who had come to be healed. Other Healers were already talking to them, helping them as needed.

She smiled to herself as she recognized Pharad, a rotund pubkeeper in his forties who came every week without fail, complaining of new aches and pains. She’d looked at him herself, and agreed with the opinion of the other Healers who had seen him in the past: he was merely a hypochondriac. Still, he was a wealthy hypochondriac, and if he felt better after a Healer laid hands on him and proclaimed him cured, then it was a just fee for a service rendered.

She knew of several Healers who visited his pub to give him a “quick checkup” which somehow always seemed to involve a drink or two on the house.

The altar was immaculate, as always, the light shining in through the high windows reflecting off the polished bluish marble surface. In the center of the altar was a wide, shallow bowl of golden orichalc, half-filled with fine white sand and scattered piles of powdery white ash. Two sticks of resiny incense still smoldered, standing upright in the sand and giving off wisps of pungent smoke. A smaller plate to the side held ruddy embers.

It was flanked by coiled snakes, captured with the energy of life in silver, the one to the left coiled tightly at rest, tongue flicking out to test the supplicant, the one to the right with head up, poised and ready to strike. Rumor said that the right-hand snake would come to life to bite and kill any who failed the test.

Theros knew the truth of the matter, of course, but wisely made no comment.

She pulled back the sleeve of her robe and picked up a small stick coated with yellowish resin, praying to Panakeia, Goddess of Healing, in ancient Greek. She waved her hand to flare the glowing ember to life, and touched the incense stick to it until it caught, then carefully stood it in the sand. She inclined her head in respect, still chanting, and repeated the process two more times before she was done.

She stood and adjusted her robe once again, then turned to face the others.

“And now to work,” she announced, and they trailed her as she strode from the temple. North along the Wall of Aglaea, and across the Avenue of the Lad in Green, then the broad Street of Pillars. The buildings were fairly clean here, merchants and craftsmen showing their wares or working in their shops; shoppers, hawkers, children, even tourists, were common here, but shortly they reached the Healer blocking the entrance to an alleyway.

“Healer Theros! Thank goodness you’ve come,” he said, stepping back to open the way.

“May we pass, Healer?”

He bowed and waved them on.

“Of course, my apologies! Healer Pontil is with them now.”

“Thank you,” she replied, nodding briefly as she led her party past.

There was another Healer standing at the doorway to an older, two-story building. Like many of the homes in this area, the structure consisted of two homes, each with its own entrance and in this case each housing a family.

“Healer Pontil!”

A youngish, balding head popped out of a nearby window.

“Healer! Thank Panakeia you’re here! Come in, come in, please!”

The rooms smelled faintly of pine and lavender, additives used to provide a gentle, cleansing scent to the medicinal incense healers used. She noted that every doorway and window had been properly “sealed” with a stick of slow-burn incense to contain whatever was loose in these poor people.

A middle-aged woman knelt in the atrium, beseeching her aid.

Theros squatted in front of her, placing her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“I am Healer Theros of Panakeia, Mistress. Lift your head and come, sit with me.”

The woman looked up into Theros’ face for a moment, then wiped the tears off her cheeks with her sleeve. Theros sat, patting the bench next to her until the woman joined her.

“What is your name, Mistress?”

“Glaire, Healer. Glaire of Ophir.”

“Ophir is a beautiful city, Mistress Glaire. I love the beauty of its iridescent domes in the fires of the setting sun.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Oh, many times, Mistress Glaire, many times. Tell me, when did you come to Celephaïs?”

“My father promised me to Master Finh a little more than a twelve of years ago, and I have lived here with him since.”

“A potter, I see, and judging from that vase over there, a very good one.”

“My husband is an artist; many of his works can be found in High City.”

“A talented man indeed,” soothed Theros. “Tell me about him.”

The conversation proceeded, Theros gradually relaxing the woman, taking her mind off the sickness affecting her family while probing for more information. Theros knew that Healer Pontil had already examined the sick, and for now she wanted to know why Glaire’s husband and two children had fallen sick while Glaire had not.

She discovered that the potter, Finh, had gone into the Tanarian Hills east of the city to gather more clay. He had a secret source deep in the Hills, Glaire explained, that yielded high-quality clay. He’d returned only a few days earlier, with a wagonload of clay.

Yes, Glaire nodded, he’d been doing the exact same thing, and bringing home the exact same clay, ever since they’d wed eleven years earlier.

He hadn’t taken the children, ten-year old Kahlia and eight-year old Finjul, with him.

He had fallen unconscious suddenly on the way to the public bath, and had been falling in and out of consciousness since. The children—the boy first, then later the girl—had started coughing several hours later and were now unconscious as well... infested with ravenous creatures that would eat them from the inside out before bursting free to escape back into the wild.

She had seen all this before and felt as helpless now as she did then—unable to do anything to help, unable to even discern the track of the evil as she could so many other injuries or diseases. It was invisible to her, and even physicians could find nothing to treat but the symptoms.

And thus far these symptoms always meant death.

Was it something in the clay?

She questioned the woman in depth. Had she ever touched the clay? Had her children?

Glaire herself never touched slimy clay, she said, and she was busy with housework and the children besides. The children might have, she admitted; they were always getting into things they shouldn’t.

But Finh had used this clay countless times before, she wailed.

She comforted the woman as best she could, then stood.

“Let me tend to Finh, and to your children, Mistress Glaire. Rest for now.”

Finh was awake, lying face-up on the bed. Only his eyes were moving, seemingly following insects about the room. She knew bluish spots were dancing in his eyes, making him think there were tiny insects circling him, but there was nothing there. The tiny specks he saw were actually inside his eyeballs, not mere hallucinations, but the Healers would keep that unpleasant fact to themselves.

A flaky, whitish material was caked around his mouth and nostrils, thinner in the corners of his eyes. From experience she knew it couldn’t be washed off, and if scrubbed or picked off would leave the flesh bleeding and raw.

“They are just dots in your eyes, Master Finh. They can’t hurt you at all.”

“Who…?”

“I am Healer Theros, Master Finh. I bring the blessing of Panakeia for you and your children,” she said, even as she wondered if her Goddess’ blessing could succor him.

With the help of Healer Pontil and her two assistants she set up the portable altar, and measured out the ingredients for the incense herself. She ground them slowly and precisely in a ceramic mortar until they were a fine dust, then added the tarry oil to the mixture, kneading it with her fingers until it reached the desired consistency.

Silently, she worked it into a small pyramid, perhaps a centimeter on a side, and placed the finished piece on a small bronze dish. She sat down cross-legged next to Finh and accepted a piece of lit punk from Pontil, using it to light the pyramid.

She handed it back as the pyramidal incense began emitting a light green cloud of smoke that smelled vaguely of wet dog. With her two assistants mimicking her every move, she began to chant once again in ancient Greek

She closed her eyes and used the gift of the Goddess to look into his body, searching for the tracks of disease. There was an insect bite, easily cured. A bit of tooth decay that might become painful in a year or two, impossible for her to fix but she could at least slow it down. Nothing in the heart, the lungs, the brain, the spine… she dug deeper, inspecting individual organs one at a time, probing, searching for any trace of the invader.

His lungs were seeping blood, slowly, through damaged tissue. She helped his body begin to repair the damage, but try as she might she could detect no sign of any possible cause. And even as she worked to stop the flow and heal Finh’s lungs, blood began to seep through in new places, undoing all the gains she had made.

A sense of hopelessness washed over her… even with the help of the Goddess, she could see nothing. No track of illness, no injury, no sign of the hungry worm she knew lurked within.

She thought furiously, searching for anything that might help, and her concentration flagged. Her sense of Finh’s body spread, became indistinct.

Something was off.

She couldn’t identify it at first, but once she figured it out she couldn’t understand how she’d missed it. How they’d all missed it.

“It’s not what we can see,” she whispered, “It’s what we can’t.”

Where there should be a pulsing tapestry of blood vessels, nerves, muscle, the architecture of a man in his prime, there was a blank, a splotch of emptiness, in one lung. She couldn’t see what it was, she could only see where the natural tissue of Finh’s body ended, vanishing into a blob of nothingness that was impossible to bring into focus.

“Look at his left lung, Pontil. At the bottom. And you too,” she added to her assistants. “There’s something there, something I cannot track at all.”

There was a moment of silence, and then a gasp from Pontil both

“But what is it? Why can’t we see its track?”

“And how did we miss it until now?” asked Theros. “If the Goddess cannot show us its track it must be Other… something from Outside.”

“The stones of Mnar, in the Temple!”

“Yes, the starstones of Mnar may help. We must bring one here at once.”

Theros spun around to face her assistants.

“Ban Thua, return to the Temple at once, and bring one of the starstones.”

The woman nodded, stood, and hurried out of the room on her mission.

“Treyd, summon the city Watch. I need the whole block cordoned off, nobody in or out until I can check them. Godsworn Cressida, Master Chuang, and probably others will be coming; guide them to me immediately. you are also to the temple.”

“Yes, Healer,” said the young Godsworn, and fled.

“Healer Pontil, assist me. We must check the children as well, and also Mistress Glaire.”

“And perhaps even the clay, Healer,” suggested Pontil.

“Yes, good. But first the children.”

They turned to their work.

– 5 –

It’s still early, he thought. If I’m lucky I can find it—or them—before it’s too late.

He’d dealt with a wide variety of visitors, some inimical, some not, over the years, and had a matching variety of scars and aches that spoke to his years of service. The King and Chuang always did what they could, of course, but his injuries were rarely of this world. Or even of Wakeworld.

The wounds of Outside lingered for far too long.

He walked through a rough-hewn doorway to another chamber. The flood ended right in front of the doorway, with a narrow path leading to the right, into a deeper darkness. In front of him dark, oily liquid rippled, glinting a sullen red into the dim radiance of the mold adorning the walls and ceiling.

He knelt next to the pool, leaning forward to peer into its depths.

It was too dark to see anything, of course, but he only needed to discern a fine, hairlike mass floating on the surface. He picked up the simple bamboo rake lying there and swept it across the surface of the pool, hoping to capture one of the writhing organisms.

Once, twice… on the third sweep he felt something touch the stick, and slowly pulled it toward himself. Something that looked like a tangled ball of yarn hung suspended, soggy filaments lying limp on the surface, those submerged twitching and wriggling as they continued to blindly hunt their microscopic sustenance.

This’ll do nicely, he thought, and picked it up.

Holding it carefully cupped in one hand he reached out and picked up a wood bowl, scooping up a bowlful of water and then gently sliding the blob in. It floated, quiescent, on the surface, seemingly a bit of pond scum you might find in any pond.

He retraced his steps back through the darkness, holding the bowl as still as possible while watching the dim reflections in the water that revealed the profile of the floating creature. There was no motion that he could see.

He breathed a sigh of relief… there were no spores from Outside down here at least. He set the bowl down. He transferred the contents of the bowl to a deep glass jar that would be easier to carry without spilling. Outside in the light a glass jar would be ideal.

If he could locate the spores before they’d fully taken root, he’d need the potion, too. He snapped off a fist-sized chunk of fungus from one of the many niches lining the walls, then picked a clump of delicate pink toadstools and dropped them into a pocket. He picked up another, larger bowl and pressed it flush against the wall under a huge gray mass of fungus hanging from the ceiling. Carefully, taking care to avoid getting splattered, he used his knife to cut a hole and let the clear, pungent liquid drip out.

Even he, accustomed as he was to the stench, pressed his nose again the inside of his elbow, breathing through his tunic sleeve held tight over his mouth.

He had enough in a few minutes and thankfully retreated toward the ladder up leading up out of the darkness. He could make the rest of his preparations upstairs in the light.

“Crija, I’m afraid I have an errand to run,” he said as he stepped out of the storeroom and into the shop. His wife was just wrapping a block of flaky whitish Ylourgne for the dumpy matron at the counter.

“Give my regards to Lord Atridoon, Mistress, and have a pleasant day.”

The customer nodded fractionally as she accepted the cheese and stumped out without a word.

“What’s happened?”

“Something is loose in the city.”

“You don’t mean…!”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Something from Outside,” he explained. “I’m going to mix up the potion now, and then see if I can find it.”

“Dogs again?”

“They just scented it, so it can’t be very big yet… rabbits should be fine if I can find it quickly enough.”

“Let me grind it for you,” said Crija, holding out her hand.

He dropped the chunk of shelf fungus into her waiting palm and turned to the workbench. He set the bowl of foul-smelling liquid on the bench, then pulled the pink toadstools from his pocket.

He hooked his foot under a nearby stool, dragging it over to sit so he could see wat he was working on more easily. He gently separated the individual toadstools, and then pulled the caps off, scraping out all of the stem material. He washed the tiny caps, only a few millimeters in diameter, in running water, and set them to dry on a linen cloth. He thought four would be enough, and he’d have difficulty carrying more than four rabbits in any case. Just to be sure, though, he decided to prepare a dozen in case he needed them later.

If he needed more than four right now, or if the rabbits were too small, even a dozen extras might not be enough…

“Moggy! I need you to run an errand for me!”

“Yes, father,” came the muffled response from upstairs, and he was shortly joined by his eldest, Mogucent, a slim boy of twelve years.

“Take this to the King’s Guard at the main gate of the Pinnacle. He’ll know what it is,” he ordered, handing the boy a small ceramic tile with an enameled picture of yellow butterfly on it. He could send the red or purple signs later if necessary, but for now he had to let Chuang know.

Moggy dashed out of the door and Lujan turned back to his toadstools. They were probably dry now, he thought, and inspected them closely to make sure.

He added six drops of ammonia and the quicksilver to the clear liquid he’d tapped from the fungus, and Crija measured out the powdered fungus. When the mixture was ready he gently immersed the toadstool caps. They waited for them to change color, watching as they gradually darkened from soft pink to a harsher, more fiery red before finally reaching the deep, dark red of ripe cherries.

He fished them out with a broad, flat net, and set them out to dry on the linen once again.

“What should I do with the leftover?” asked Crija.

“I’ll clean it up later; just leave it in the back room for now. It’ll be fine as long as nobody gets near it.”

“How much do you need for the rabbits, you think?”

“Haven’t bought one recently,” he replied, grimacing. “Four rabbits… uh, I think the warrener sells two for a penny. Let me have two pence for now. Bokash knows me; he won’t mind the rest later if it’s more than that.”

“You sure rabbits are big enough?”

“They should be enough. If I get there in time.”

She nodded and took a small sack of coins out from somewhere under her tunic. She pulled open the drawstring and poured out a handful of coins, picking up two iron pence and handing them to Lujan.

“Send a messenger as soon as you have an idea, and I’ll tell Master Chuang.”

“Right,” he replied curtly and opened the door. “Be right back with the rabbits.”

It was a short walk to the Street of Pillars, and the warrener was only a half dozen meters beyond, on an alley off the main street. His warren—where he raised his rabbits—was outside the city walls, but since rabbits were small and easy to handle, he kept a big stock here instead of at the livestock market.

Bokash had told him once that the spells to keep meat cold at the market cost him almost as much as the meat itself, and Lujan helped him out with a few minor concoctions that would retard mold and such. Nothing he could do about insects and bacteria, but mold, at least, was not a problem.

“Master Bokash, you have a minute?”

“Master van der Kerk! Come in, come in,” warbled the short fat proprietor. “Always have time for an old friend. Even better if you have time for a drink or two.”

“Not today, I’m sorry,” declined Lujan, setting his bamboo cage down on the floor. “I need four rabbits. It’s urgent.”

“Some special event?”

“Just an unexpected surprise, I’m afraid,” said Lujan, keeping the details to himself. “Maybe I can take you up on that drink tomorrow?”

“Look forward to it, Master Lujan,” replied the warrener. “Big and fat? And do you want a doe or a buck?”

“Actually, no… Small is best. Healthy, but nice and light. Doe, buck, it doesn’t matter.”

The butcher cocked his head in curiosity, then shrugged. “Demta! Demta, where are you, boy?”

A boy, perhaps ten years old or so, stuck his head out from the back room.

“Fetch four young rabbits for Master van der Kerk, boy. Bucks.”

“Yes, father.”

The face vanished, replaced by the sound of padding feet, and then rattling cages.

He was back very quickly, four rabbits—not fully grown yet—held by the scruffs of their necks.

“In the cage, Demta, don’t just stand there.”

Demta dropped the rabbits into the bamboo cage and stood there waiting for the next order, but the warrener had already turned back to Lujan.

“Three pence?”

“Pretty expensive rabbits, seeing as how they’re not even grown yet. How about a penny for the bunch?”

“A man’s gotta make enough to live on, Master Lujan! Two for the lot?”

“Deal.”

Lujan handed over the coins and picked up the cages, one in each hand.

“Thank you, Master Bokash. Save some of that brandy for me!”

He pushed the door open with one foot and hurried back to his own shop.

As he entered his own shop, cage in hand, he noticed another customer.

“Ah, Master Kuloni’e, a good day to you! I trust the Factor is well?”

“Master van der Kerk, yes, well, thank you. I was just arranging to have a wheel of Ylourgne delivered.”

“Excellent choice, Master Kuloni’e. I know the Factor will be delighted.”

“He always is! As am I, since he is kind enough to share.”

“Crija, give Master Kuloni’e some Ambroli as well,” he directed. “A way of thanking you—and the Factor, of course—for your patronage.”

“Oh, really, I shouldn’t…” said the customer, protesting weakly as he held his hand out and accepted the gift from Crija. They always had a number of wrapped slabs of Ambroli ready at hand to give to customers, and Lujan doubted the Factor would ever hear about it.

“Excuse me, Master Kuloni’e… I must take care of these rabbits. My regards to your wife,” he said, bowing slightly as he backed into the storeroom, cage in hand.

He shut the storeroom door and set the rabbits down on the table, the smile slipping from his face. Leaving them there for the time being, he walked to the kitchen and picked up a stalk of celery, which he cut into several handy pieces.

He made a small incision and inserted one of the red toadstool caps in each piece.

He pulled one rabbit out of the cage and dropped it into a second, topless cage on the floor. He offered it one of the pieces of celery, which it happily accepted and began munching away on. It took only a few minutes for the celery to disappear, toadstool and all, and the rabbit to fall asleep.

The process was repeated for the remaining rabbits, and a short time later the four were returned to their carrying cage, slumbering away.

Now to find those damned spores, he thought to himself. Guess I’ll take the pushcart this time... I’m really getting too old for this.

He set the rabbit cage on the cart’s bed along with the glass jar and its slowly writhing inhabitant, and lifted the two shafts up off the floor before he stopped in thought for a moment, then set them down again.

Best take a few bits of cheese with me… never hurts to advertise.

“Crija? Give me a few of those Ambroli samples, would ya?”

She brought half a dozen of the small cheese blocks, glancing at the unconscious rabbits as she handed them over.

“I hope you don’t need them all… the kids’d love another rabbit for a while.”

“I hope so, too, but… We’ll see.”

“Good luck.”

He picked up the shafts again and pushed the cart into the alley, the little bell jangling quietly.

“Take care of the kids,” he said, and started down the alley toward the larger street, pushing it ahead of himself and exchanging greetings with shop-owners and passers-by.

As he walked he kept on eye on the thing floating in the jar. It hung, mostly submerged, limp tendrils hanging down, twitching gently every so often. He would walk up and down the alleys of the area until he got close enough for it to detect the invaders.

He walked in rough circles around his shop, gradually working farther and farther away. He knew it couldn’t be too far because his gardener slugs had cowered in fear, but there were still far too many streets and alleys to cover quickly with his pushcart.

Half an hour later, after he’d given away a few of his free samples of cheese and worked his way toward the Avenue of Amphitrite, the hanging tendrils began to twitch. He continued a bit in that direction, confirming he was getting closer, and when he raised his eyes to look at the homes and shops lining the alley he immediately spotted a young constable, blocking an alleyway and looking quite bored.

There was another constable up ahead, he noticed… they had obviously cordoned off a section of the block.

“Robbers?” he asked as he trundled his pushcart closer.

The constable spat and grimaced.

“Just some sickness. Pulled off our regular patrol and have us standing around all day instead.”

“Sickness!? My goodness!”

He pulled back a bit, feigning surprise.

“Thank you for protecting us, constable,” he said, and reached into his cart. “Here, let me give you a little of my Ambroli in appreciation.”

“Ambroli? The cheese? That’s pretty pricey stuff!”

“I just have a few samples with me, but please, enjoy it.”

The constable accepted the little block of cheese and immediately bit off a chunk.

“Mmm. Good stuff! Now if I only had a little ale to go with it…”

Lujan laughed.

“Sorry, can’t help you there, I’m afraid. Perhaps one of the shops here…?”

“Nah, can’t leave my post or the sarge’ll crucify me. Thanks for the cheese, though.”

“Where could I find your sergeant? I’d like to thank him, too, if I may.”

“Sarge? Down there at the crossroads,” mumbled the constable around his mouthful, pointing at the next intersection.

Lujan could see a few horses tethered at the corner, and another constable.

“Thanks.”

He began to push his cart in that direction, keeping an eye on his jar. The twitching was getting weaker. Definitely down that alley behind the constable, then.

“Godsworn van der Kerk!”

– 6 –

He spun around at the man’s voice to see Chuang striding toward him, robes clutched up out of the way for speed.

“Master Chuang! How did you find me?”

“Godsworn Cressida contacted me, too. She’s on her way, I think… might already be inside.”

“Down there, I gather? How bad is it?”

“I heard three people, just started yesterday afternoon,” said Chuang. “Come on with me.”

Lujan turned his pushcart around and walked briskly with Chuang to the alley, no longer worrying about jostling the glass jar.

“I can’t let anyone—” began the constable, but Chuang just glared at him and kept walking.

“Run and tell your sergeant that Chuang Tsu is here.”

“Chuan… Master Chuang!”

The constable was mortified and began blathering an apology but Chuang waved him off.

“Your sergeant, lad, now.”

The constable ran down toward the intersection with relief, and the two men walked into the alley.

“I prepared four rabbits,” explained Lujan. “Hopefully that enough, and we got here in time.”

“It didn’t work very well last time.”

“We caught it in less than a day this time,” countered Lujan, “and I’ve made a few changes. I think it’ll work better.”

“If it gets out of hand we’ll have to torch this whole area,” grimaced Chuang. “…so much death and destruction. We have to avoid that at all costs.”

“We’ll not have a repeat of last time.”

Healer Pontil met them at the door.

“Master Chuang, come in, please,” he urged, waving Chuang through. “I’m sorry, are you with Master Chuang?”

“Well, yes, I suppose I am,” smiled Lujan, and was about to give a more useful response to allay the poor man’s confusion when Chuang broke in.

“This is Godsworn Lujan van der Kerk of Mycelia.”

“Ah! Godsworn! My apologies, I didn’t recog…”

“Get out of his way and bring that cage of rabbits inside.”

“Of course!” said Pontil, chastened by Chuang’s brusque order.

Theros was kneeling next to Finh, who was lying on a futon on the floor, holding up an eyelid to peer into one of his eyes. On the other side of the Godsworn lay the two children, ten-year-old Kahlia and eight-year-old Finjul, their mother wiping their faces with a damp cloth.

They all looked terrible, especially the older Finh. There was a whitish, flaky buildup around his eyes, nostrils, and mouth. A starstone of Mnar lay on his chest.

The children had only a few traces of white around their mouths, and while Finh was apparently unconscious the children drifting in and out of consciousness, breaths rasping in their chests and their eyes darting around the room in pursuit of something no-one else could see.

“It won’t come on,” whimpered Glaire, rubbing the towel over the girl’s face again and again. Tears were dribbling down Kahlia’s cheeks, and wiped off cleanly on the towel although the white growth around her mouth stubbornly remained. In one place it had come off, tearing off a patch of skin from her chin to leave the pale red of a shallow wound, plasma welling.

“Mistress, stop, please… it won’t come off,” advised Theros, no doubt for the fiftieth time. “Master Chuang is here from the King, and Godsworn van der Kerk. They are here to help.”

She looked up and noticed them for the first time.

“Please! Please help them!”

Chuang knelt down next to her and placed his hand atop hers.

“Let us help, Mistress. Give us room to work.”

She straightened her back, took a despairing look at her husband and children lying on the futon, and folded up even further, hiding her face between her clutched knees, sobbing.

“Healer Pontil, perhaps the Mistress would feel better if she had some tea,” suggested Chuang gently. “In the kitchen.”

Pontil understood, and helped the woman rise to her feet. He led her out of the room and into the kitchen, and nodded to Chuang as he went. He’d keep her out of the way.

Chuang laid his hand on Finh’s chest and closed his eyes.

“At the base of the left lung,” said Theros. “That empty space.”

“I see it… or rather, I don’t see anything,” said Chuang. “That’s why we had so much trouble last time. We were looking for something and we should have been looking for the lack of it.”

There was a bustle at the door and another blue-robed woman strode in.

“Godsworn Cressida. We’ve just started,” explained Lujan. “Join us.”

“I heard your conversation just now… The sergeant is here with me.”

“It would be best to get the sergeant started rounding up the people nearby,” said Chuang. “We’ll have to check them all, now and later. Oh, and we’ll need a constable to stop anyone from bothering us in here, too.”

“I’ll assign Pontil here to keep an eye on things for another week or so. And you two with him,” said Cressida with a glance at the young Godsworn, Ban Thua and Treyd. “For now you two just watch and learn. Oh, wait—Treyd, fetch Pontil. He needs to see this, too.”

She turned back to Finh.

“Now let me see…”

She knelt and laid her hand alongside Chuang’s. After a moment she opened her eyes.

“There’s another strand of emptiness leading from the lung down into the intestines… it’s spreading fast, but I think we still have a chance.

“Where are the dogs?”

“I brought rabbits this time. It’s yet young. If it’s big enough to need a dog there’s no hope for him.”

“The starstone has had no effect?”

“None yet.”

“No time left,” snapped Chuang. “What do we need to do?”

“The rabbits are drugged, and I’ve adjusted their blood to attract the larvae. The next step is to lower their body temperature as far as you can and get them to move to the rabbits.”

“Last time, with the dogs, you didn’t do prepare them, did you?”

“Just a sleeping drug,” said Lujan. “Rabbits are generally a degree of two warmer than dogs, and these poor bucks are running a fever to make them even hotter.”

“Are you sure the wife is still clean?”

“I’ve been checking her regularly, Godsworn Cressida,” said Theros. “If she is infected it’s just started, and we can deal with her later. These three need us right now.”

“Theros, you take the boy. Master Chuang, will you handle the girl? Or would you prefer the man?”

“You are the Healer,” smiled Chuang, and turned to Lujan. “We are in your hands, Godsworn.”

“It’s impossible to tell what will happen even if the things do move to the rabbits,” he warned. “They won’t care what happens to their current hosts, and I think you’ll need to act quickly to save the man if it’s beginning to root into his body.

“He might not live even if it does move.”

Healer Pontil entered the room. Cressida directed him to work with Chuang, Treyd with Theros, and Ban Thua with herself.

The six bent to their tasks, silently summoning the power needed to lower the body temperatures of the three victims. Cressida and Theros were mumbling prayers under their breaths while Chuang just sat motionless, both hands on Kahlia’s abdomen.

Lujan pulled a rabbit out of the cage and carefully made a shallow cut into its foreleg with his dagger. The blood seeped out, staining its fur bright red as he laid it down next to the sleeping face of Finh. He repeated the process for the each of the children.

“Now we just wait.”

He rocked back on his heels, watching the rabbits closely and listening to the congested breathing of the three.

Kahlia, the ten-year-old girl, was the first to react, her body arching up off the futon, head tilted back with open eyes and mouth in silent scream.

She was thankfully unconscious, and stayed that way as something gray, a writhing, amorphous blob of slime and blood, oozed out of her rictus of a mouth and flowed toward the rabbit. In seconds it had forced itself into the rabbit’s mouth and vanished.

The rabbit’s belly bulged and moved as it settled in.

Chuang’s hands moved about over the girl, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Kahlia spasmed, coughing up something thick, and Chuang used a finger to scoop it out of her mouth, deftly flipping her over his knees and massaging her back. She coughed a few more times, burped, and collapsed, the rigor seeping out of her body as her breathing quieted.

“She’s fine,” whispered Chuang. “It hadn’t attached itself yet.”

The other two showed no change.

Lujan picked the rabbit up and dropped into a huge pottery jar he’d had on his pushcart.

Chuang and Pontil concentrated on the girl for a few moments, and finally Chuang pronounced her clean.

“It’ll take a while to fully recover, but she’s safe now. Healer Pontil, would you take her to her mother?”

Pontil nodded and scooped up the young girl. He carried her out of the room, and the sounds of a vastly relieved mother could be heard.

Chuang shifted to work with Cressida on the man, and when Pontil rejoined them shortly he knelt down next to Theros and Treyd, working on the boy.

He was already showing signs of reaction, his spasms getting more energetic, saliva and mucous running dripping from mouth and nose.

He made a horrible sound, a cross between a burp and a death cry, and curled up into a fetal ball, knees up under his chin and arms wrapped tight around them. His face, instead of being buried into his clutched legs, stared out straight ahead with wide-open but unseeing eyes, his mouth stretched wider than should have been possible for an eight-year old boy.

A long, thin pseudopod of pale grey flesh crept out of his mouth, inching toward the bleeding rabbit, tasting the fresh blood and probing the invitingly open mouth. It slowly crept inside, and shortly it thickened, pulsing like a snake that had swallowed dinner as it transferred itself from the boy to the rabbit.

The boy was immobile, even his breathing stopped until the thing had moved into its new home. Again, Lujan picked up the infested rabbit and dropped it into the pottery jar with the first one.

“He’s not breathing,” whispered Theros, ear pressed to the boy’s chest. “And his heart’s stopped… can any of you…?”

Pontil laid his own hands on the boy and closed his eyes, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling with closed eyes. They sat motionless for a moment until Theros slumped in defeat.

“Nothing… No reaction at all. Pontil?”

“Me neither. He’s just not responding… I think he’s gone.”

Treyd, the youngest Healer there, spoke up quietly.

“Healer Theros… I was one of the Healers selected to attend classes at the King’s new medical madrasah in Cornwall. Classes start in a few months—they’re still building it—but Physician Nolan gave us some special advance training.”

“This is not the time nor place—” started Pontil, but Theros held up his hand to quiet him.

“What, Treyd?”

“He showed us something called CPR. It’s a way to get the heart beating again.”

“You can do it?”

“I think so… it’s not that difficult…”

Finh, lying down next to them, suddenly started thrashing, arms waving and legs kicking. Cressida narrowly avoided being hit in the face, and grabbed the arm with one hand, leaving the other on his chest.

Ban Thua, a thin Asian girl, wasn’t so lucky, catching a kick in her abdomen, but instantly latching on, wrapping her arms around it and holding it down with the full weight of her own body

“Try! It’s his only chance!” pleaded Theros, yielding his position to Treyd and turning his attention to the writhing man instead.

Treyd stretched the boy out and began thumping the boy’s chest.

“Please tilt his head to one side and clean out as much of that gunk as possible, so he can breathe,” he asked. Pontil reached for the boy’s head.

As soon as the airway was clear Treyd gave the boy his first breath, pushing his own air into the boy’s lungs mouth-to-mouth, and then back to pressing the chest.

“How long does it take?”

“Physician Nolan said to continue until it starts beating, or the patient is dead.”

Another breath.

Pontil, his hand on the boys wrist, suddenly lifted his head.

“His pulse is back! It worked!”

Treyd stopped for a moment to let Pontil lay his hand on the boy’s chest and check.

“It’s beating. And look,” he said, “he’s breathing now, too. You saved him!”

Treyd say back on his heels and took a deep breath.

“It really did work, didn’t it…” he said, almost to himself. “Physician Nolan said it worked… and it worked.”

“Chuang, can’t you still his arms and legs?” snapped Cressida, narrowly dodging another whack.

“I’m trying, but they’re not entirely his anymore!” answered Chuang through clenched teeth, his attention obviously elsewhere.

Finh’s left hand slashed through the air, raking across Chuang face and leaving three ragged, bleeding wounds down his cheek.

“Almost… almost there…” grunted Chuang, yanking his head back a bit but not removing his hands from Finh’s body. “Just a little more…”

The man spasmed with all his strength, throwing Cressida off entirely and knocking the others off-balance. They wrestled him down flat again and the first blob of slimy gray matter oozed from his mouth.

There was a terrible sucking sound, like a boot pulled from deep mud, and the man collapsed.

More blood-streaked tendrils came from his mouth, then his nose, gradually thickening as the thing moved into its new home in the unconscious rabbit.

The rabbit began to bulge, swelling gradually to twice the size of its fellow.

The last tendril slowed, thinned, and finally withdrew into the rabbit entirely. The transfer was complete

Lujan snatched it up and dropped it into the jar with the other two, replacing the lid promptly.

Finh was splayed out like a discarded ragdoll, a pool of dark blood slowly spreading from his nose and mouth, skin ashen. There was a weak movement of air bubbles around his mouth suggesting he might still be alive.

“That lung is in bad shape,” said Cressida, eyes closed. “That thing ate a lot of his lung, and he’s dying. We must stop the bleeding quickly.”

“Turn him on his side so that lung is on the bottom,” said Chuang. “Healer Cressida, Healer Theros, we have to work as one or this man dies.”

“And me,” said Healer Pontil, joining them from the boy.

Cressida shifted to give him room, and they all laid hands on Finh’s body.

“Healer Pontil, get all that fluid out of his lungs and airway. The rest of us will stop the bleeding. If we can.”

They fell silent, their attention turned inward, and knelt for a few minutes until Cressida slumped and opened her eyes.

“That’s enough for now. It’s stopped, thank the Goddess.”

“Thank our combined skill, I think… I saw no Goddess in this room,” said Chuang, sitting back and taking a deep breath.

“You don’t have to see her to feel her presence,” said Cressida, her nose and eyebrows lifting up in scorn. “It is clear that the Goddess Panakeia lent us her power to help save this man.”

“Perhaps, but I rather suspect we saved him, together with Godsworn van der Kerk and Physician Nolan’s CPR.”

“Mere accessories, mere accessories,” she replied, waving her hand in dismissal.

“Mama?”

They all turned to look at the boy. Finjul was sitting up, half-supported by Treyd, and calling for his mother.

“Constable!” called Chuang. “Let the Mistress in now!”

There was a bustle at the door and Glaire came running in, embracing and soothing the boy before turning to her husband. Her daughter, Kahlia, was right behind her, hanging onto her skirt tightly.

“Is he…?”

“He’s very weak,” explained Cressida, “Healer Pontil will stay here with you for another week or two and help him heal. His lungs will never fully recover, I’m afraid, but with time he will be recover much strength.”

Glaire bobbed her head in thanks, one hand around her son’s shoulders and the other stroking Finh’s cheek. Kahlia snuggled up next to her mother, and Glaire adjusted her arm to wrap around both of them.

“Healer Pontil, Master Finh will need constant monitoring to ensure that the seminaria morbi doesn’t cause a problem,” continued Cressida. “I will send another Healer to assist you, of course, along with the teas and incenses you’ll need. And I’ll have the check-ups continued in the area to be sure only these three were infected.”

“What is seminaria morbi?” asked Glaire.

“The seeds of disease, like grains of rice but so small you cannot see them,” explained Theros. “They caused your papa to get sick, and we have to be sure we destroy them all.”

“But if you can’t see them…” said Glaire, doubtful.

“The Goddess can see them, Mistress, and destroy them all,” stated Cressida firmly, ending that conversation sharply.

“Well, I think we’re done for now,” said Chuang as he slowly got up from the floor. “It’s time for my nap.”

“And I think I had better see to my friends in the jar here, too,” said Lujan.

“The fire?”

“The big one, certainly, and one of the others, but I think I’ll keep one of the small ones… We need to know more about these things.”

“By Panakeia, burn them all!” cried Cressida. “They’re hideous!”

“They aren’t from Wakeworld or any Dreamlands I’m familiar with,” said Lujan, “Whatever they are, they’re from outside the realm of Mycelia Spore-Mother; we think they’re from Yuggoth. In any case, the very idea of a mobile fungus is worth investigating. I’ll be careful.”

“This time,” added Chuang dryly.

“Um, yes, this time. I know what they can do now, and it won’t happen again,” agreed Lujan.

He picked up the pottery jar and carried it outside to his pushcart.

“Before I go, anyone want some Ambroli?”

END

Celephaïs: Secrets and Secretions

“I’m sorry and I fully realize that you have traveled for many weeks to reach Celephaïs, but the King is not receiving any visitors at this time.”

Most people would have wilted under the furious visage of King Babacar of Thalarion, but Chamberlain Mikhail of Celephaïs remained unmoved. In fact, in addition to responding to the increasingly energetic complaints in the same quiet, measured tone, he also remained physically unmoved from the center of the doorway, blocking the entrance to the Palace of the Seventy Delights.

The two muscular guards standing on either side of the door were relaxed, one casually resting her double-bladed axe on the ground as the other merely watched with one hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. They were watching King Babacar and his retinue while simultaneously keeping an eye on the road leading to the massive rose-crystal doors that stood half-open. Apparently carved from single slabs of the semiprecious gemstone, every inch was covered with carvings of heroes and monsters cavorting across their polished faces.

“You have the audacity to stand in the way of the King of Thalarion!?” sputtered the plump, sweating man standing in front of the Chamberlain. “Move out of the way at once!”

He reached out as if to push the Chamberlain to the side but suddenly jerked back, whipping his hand away. The double-bladed axe that had been resting quietly on the ground was suddenly in front of him, blocking his way. If he had been a bit slower he probably would have lost his hand at the wrist.

“I am sure King Babacar is tired from his long journey. Allow us to offer the King the services of the Wisteria Villa to rest. Of course, every service that Celephaïs can offer will be at your disposal.

“After you have rested and recovered from your arduous voyage I believe King Kuranes will be able to welcome you as your noble station deserves.”

The plump courtier sniffed.

“The Wisteria Villa? Hardly fit for King Babacar!”

The Chamberlain merely nodded, his face impassive although he chuckled to himself. He knew full well that the Wisteria Villa, insignificant as it was compared to the Palace of the Seventy Delights, was still far more elegant and beautiful than King Babacar’s own palace in far Thalarion.

“My most sincere apologies for the inconvenience. I will have one of the servants guide you,” he continued, and gestured to someone inside the Palace.

A young man of about twenty, but still a page, stepped into the sunlight and stood silently.

“Teros, guide them to the Wisteria Villa, and ensure they their needs are met.”

The Chamberlain bowed once more and returned into the shadows of the Palace, leaving the page to lead the way back down the paved road. The Wisteria Villa was also located on the Pinnacle, but of course below the Palace itself.

The rose-crystal doors swung shut once again behind Chamberlain Mikhail. He sighed, shaking his head as he approached Chuang.

“These kinglets and petty nobles… they drive me crazy!”

Chuang chuckled.

“The smaller they are the larger they puff up, don’t they?”

Mikhail nodded.

“I could ask you where the King is, I suppose…”

“Yes, you certainly could,” agreed Chuang, “but I suspect you probably will not. Chances are I would refuse to tell you, as I have for the last dozen or so times.”

“Yes, I think you’re probably right. But at least you’ve admitted that you know where he is, as opposed to merely avoiding any answer at all.

“Can you tell me if he’s still in the Palace?”

“I do not see why not,” mused Chuang. “Not.”

“But he certainly didn’t leave by this gate, and no airships have called all day… hmm. There are a number of other exits from the Palace, of course, but that would suggest he felt he had to sneak out, which seems unlikely.”

“King Kuranes rarely sneaks, and I think I can say with certitude that he did not sneak today. In fact, I watched him leave, and he was quite animated, conversing in a perfectly normal manner with Commander Britomartis.”

“Ah, so he is with Britomartis!”

“I never said that,” denied Chuang. “In fact, I doubt she is with him now. As Commander of the King’s Guard, though, I am confident she is watching over him.”

He was correct in both statements.

 

* * *

 

She was standing in the doorway, looking down the stone stairs leading to the floor of the red-lit cavern. Wisps of steam floated in the hot air, partially obscuring her view of the King, who was just then gingerly making his way across the floor of the cavern.

He walked very slowly and carefully, moving one foot at a time and testing each step before he shifted his weight forward. He hardly looked a king at all, she thought, dressed as he was in a simple farmer’s tunic but with heavy warboots. His head was bare of crown, and the tunic sodden with sweat in the heat and humidity.

A section of the cavern floor, perhaps a meter by two in size, suddenly tilted up with a hiss to emit a sudden spurt of steam, fortunately away from the King. He ducked down at the sound, and by the time he’d turned to look at it, the floor had dropped back again, looking as permanent and immobile as ever.

To his left a small pool of lava bubbled quietly, spitting gobbets of fire every so often.

Forbidden from joining him, Britomartis watched his every move, her hand gripping her sword tightly, lifting it up a few centimeters from its sheath and then slamming it back again, over and over and over.

The King Kuranes finally reached the flat, hexagonal stone in the center, and stepped up onto it with a sigh of relief. He was safe, for now.

He knelt facing the sphere of rock standing solitaire in the center of the hexagon, and drew his knife. He drew it across the palm of his left hand, then pressed his bloody hand against the sphere. He grunted with the pain, and Britomartis was sure she heard his flesh sizzle from the heat.

The sphere slowly reddened, as if absorbing the King’s blood, and as it grew redder the cavern slowly darkened until she could only see the black silhouette of the King against the darkly pulsing blood-red sphere.

“Now, Britomartis. You may join me.”

She leapt to the cavern’s floor and raced to the King’s side, dropping to her knees next to him.

“My King! Let me help you.”

“Later, Commander,” he said, climbing to his feet with her assistance. “The basket.”

She handed him one of the baskets and together they began to search the cavern floor, torches held high.

Britomartis saw a glint and bent over for a closer look. Yes, there was the slug, torpid now that the cavern was cooler, its smooth, cylindrical body blotchy in shades of red and gray. It had no eyes, of course; eyes were of no use to it as it bored through the bones of the earth itself. Behind it stretched its trail. As a garden slug left behind it a trail of slime, these chthonian slugs instead left trails of gold, brought up from the unknown depths below.

She used her knife to pry it loose, and dropped it in her basket.

Within minutes the two of them had collected several kilograms of gold.

She glanced at the central sphere. It was still pulsing, but much slower than before.

“Only another few minutes, my King.”

“I know,” he grunted. “Come help me… there’s nice clutch here.”

She found him kneeling in front of a small pile of what looked like a cluster of grapes at first glance. They were almost round, in various sizes up to about three centimeters in diameter.

It looked like there were a few dozen of them.

The King was using his knife, trying to pry the cluster off the floor. It didn’t budge.

She joined him, jamming her sword into a gap and using it as a powerful lever.

With a crack the cluster broke free, and split into two chunks.

They quickly lifted the chunks—surprisingly heavy—and put them in their baskets with the gold they’d collected.

“Time to go,” said the King. He glanced at the central sphere: it was almost black, just a few dull strands of red yet swirling on its surface.

They hurried back to the stairs and up out of the cavern.

A huge belch of escaping steam and sulfurous gas hurried their feet.

They walked down the tunnel a few meters to a wood bench, and the King collapsed onto it.

Britomartis pulled out a vial and scooped up a dollop of the paste with her fingers. Reaching out, she grasped the King’s cut and burned hand, using her balm-coated fingers to pry his open, and spread the healing salve all over.

His breathing steadied and as she watched his hand sloughed off the blackened flesh to be replaced by healthy pink skin. She didn’t know what was in Master Chuang’s secret salve, but it was literally a life saver.

She handed his the canteen and he took a long drink.

With a sigh of relief, he finally pulled the canteen from his lips and held it out to Britomartis.

“Thank you, Mistress. That was one of the most delicious wines I’ve ever had.”

She giggled.

“It’s the table wine, my Lord. I filled it in the kitchen just before we came down.”

He smiled and shook his head.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over. Let’s see what we got, shall we?”

He pulled his basket closer and picked up the cluster of balls.

“A good-sized egg mass, isn’t it? And yours is even a bit larger I think…”

She nodded, and twisted one of the balls off the mass. With her knife she scraped the covering shell off, revealing a brilliant ruby.

“That’s a beauty!” she smiled, holding it up to the light. “I wonder what the rest are.”

The King picked up one of his own.

“Usually rubies and emeralds go together, but every so often…”

“We haven’t gotten a firestone for some time,” she said. “I wonder if they all hatch into those slugs, or different gems birth different creatures.”

“I’ve never tried to find out,” he replied. “I’m more concerned with whether any of the larger chthonians might come looking for those who steal their eggs!”

“Must it always be you?”

“Well, when I dreamed Celephaïs I knew that I’d have inexhaustible wealth: gold and gemstones. But I never actually thought about just how I’d get all that wealth… I’ve tried to find a different way to do it, and so far it has proven impossible to dream a different method. I only caused some dreamquakes, fortunately not serious in their effect.”

“Not even with Master Chuang’s aid?”

He shook his head.

“We tried. It’s beyond our abilities. Or just immutable.”

“There are things beyond even your capabilities!”

He laughed.

“Oh, my dear Britomartis. There are dreams within dreams within dreams, and nobody knows what reality may be, if it exists at all. Perhaps I merely dream that I cannot do it, and I could if only I could look at it from the outside.”

“The outside?”

“Outside the dream, of course.”

“You mean Wakeworld?”

“No, no. Not Wakeworld, or the Dreamlands, or any of the countless bubbles of reality. Outside.”

They fell silent for a time, until the King rose to his feet.

“Come, it is time to climb back up to the Palace of the Seventy Delights, where I must once again play the part of a King, and you a Commander.”

They lifted their baskets and trudged toward the endless stairs the led back up into the Pinnacle, and daylight.

Chabra: The Amulet

I was born here, and yet I was not.

I know the streets of Shiroora Shan, the aromas and alleys of the Market, the sandalwood groves of Mount Krilara, the hidden passageways and chambers of the Great House of Chabra... I know them all, and yet they are not.

I know my name, Lajita, and the role I play, and yet not my own destiny, or reason.

 

The girl carefully closed the leather-bound book. It was over five centuries old, preserved as well as generations of Chabra women had been able to, but decaying slowly into illegibility and dust with the years. There were dozens of books on the shelf of various sizes, all rich in the history of House Chabra, but this was the very first, and the oldest of them all.

She stroked the leather cover carefully, as if to feel the spirit of the First Lajita seeping from it, then reverently replaced it back in its protective box.

They had copies of it all, of course, every word, but these were written by the First Lajita, the Founder, the seer who had created House Chabra, and birthed the sons who had established its great lineages.

She’d memorized every word, had sought every tiny bit of information about her, and could never learn enough. The First Lajita had chopped off the hand of a demon during the battle in the House of Grushak, going on to marry Karadi the Bear and give birth to the seven sons and four daughters who secured House Chabra’s position for centuries to come.

But who had she been?

And what did those opening words mean? She had written them centuries upon centuries earlier, before the city of Shiroora Shan was even a pipe dream of the tiny villages along the Night Ocean. She had named the glorious city that rose, the city she lived in even now, and had founded House Chabra. Prophecy after prophecy, detailed names, descriptions, explanations, of things destined to happen centuries after her own death. How?

Her prophecies had made House Chabra wealthy beyond belief, rulers of the city and the realm surrounding it, secure in their knowledge that she would guide them through dangers in the future as she had in the past.

But who was she?

Lajita sighed, and looked up at the bust of the First Lajita, standing in a place of honor, almost a little shrine to a little goddess. It was said to have been carved by her fourth son, Kostubh, in Olathoë marble, a soft, almost transparent cream with thin streaks of gold running through it like errant threads.

It was the face of a woman in her prime, perhaps her forties. A kind face, worn by responsibilities and duties, a stern face, yet beautiful. Many said she herself looked just like that First Lajita, and she had to admit there was a resemblance. After over five centuries, though, what matter?

A direct descendant of the First Lajita, she bore the same name, as did her mother. In every generation for centuries back to the founding of House Chabra, a woman somewhere in the Dreamlands would bear a daughter who would become the new Lajita. Identified by prophecy, House Chabra would seek her out and adopt her, preparing her to assume the responsibilities of her position. Sometimes the prophecy stated when she would assume her duties, sometimes it did not, but the prophecy was never wrong—none so selected refused the honor, or failed at the task, and every dishonest claim to the title was disproven by explicit prophecy.

When the title of Lajita passed to a new woman—usually a young woman—she received Lajita’s amulet to hold and protect.

She took it out of the velvet bag hanging around her neck and examined it once more.

The amulet looked like a coin, about three centimeters in diameter. The metal was a dull bronze in color, but no one had ever been able to identify what it was made of, or even scratch the surface with dagger points or diamonds. It remained as clean and shiny as the day it was forged.

One side had a raised image, ten arms outstretched from the central eye. Most people thought it was a stylized kraken, with eight arms and two tentacles, but she hadn’t made up her mind.

The other side was covered with tiny characters in no known language. Nobody could read it, of course, and there still wasn’t even a consensus on which side was up!

Like the First Lajita, its origin was a mystery.

And now it was her mystery, to protect until she bore her own daughter and passed it on to a new generation.

She looked at the table before her: on it lay only the blank diary she had made, new but perfectly identical to that very first book, yet untouched, awaiting her quill. As tradition dictated, when one book of prophecies was full, the new Lajita would have to make a new book, to receive prophecies for the coming year.

Now that she was no longer a girl, but a woman, it was her turn, in this most secret chamber of the Great House. Her “mother” and “grandmother,” the two previous generations of the Lajita, waited outside the door, protecting their successor and her sacred task.

Its pages were yet blank, but every year the Lajita would perform this ceremony, and new writing would appear on the seemingly blank pages. The handwriting was always the same—that of the First Lajita.

She had practiced for years to make her own handwriting identical, striving to mimic her in every way.

She held the amulet over the virgin book, feeling its cold weight in her hands, then with sudden determination, she clenched it tight and chanted the spell.

There was no noise, no burst of light, but suddenly there was a rolled-up piece of parchment on the table next to the diary, as if it had been there all along.

The book lay untouched.

A scroll? From the First Lajita?

Nothing like this had ever happened before!

The parchment was rolled up and tied with a simple cord. It still looked new, untouched by the years... the spell that kept it safe also kept it hidden from the passing of time.

Sometimes there was no prophecy for the coming year, leaving the Lajita in doubt. Did that mean it would be a good year, no enemies of calamities? Or that she was merely unworthy? There had been many times when House Chabra had faced difficulties without a prophecy, without a guiding hand, and had managed to make the right choices in spite of loss and personal sacrifice. And the next year, or the one after that, or a decade later, a new prophecy would come.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She was worthy: this year there was a prophecy, even if was a scroll rather than scribed directly into the book she had painstakingly made. She hung the amulet in its bag back around her neck, accepting the weight of her duty, then turned to the parchment.

Her fingers trembled as she untied the cord and let it drop to the tabletop. She slowly unrolled it, to find but a single line.

Be brave, Lajita, First and Last. I am so tired. It is done.

She stared at it in confusion.

There was no prophecy, no warning of imminent danger, or advice on expanding their realm. Only a... command? To her? What did “First and Last” mean? What is done?

She stared at it for some time before she slowly walked to the door to admit her “mother” and “grandmother”—neither related to her by blood, but sharing with her the honor and the duty of the Lajita.

>* * *

The three of them had not left that chamber for a full day, trying to ascertain what it might mean, wondering why this time, for the first time ever, the prophecy was so unclear, and so directly talking to the new Lajita. There were no warnings or guidance for the House at all.

The head of House Chabra knew of the prophecies, of course, and had himself studied the collected prophecies of the past, but he was not a Lajita. First, they needed to discuss it amongst themselves, the three living Lajitas.

Talk as they might, though, they couldn’t understand what it might mean.

Finally they sent a messenger to ask the head of the House to join them.

As head of the main line of the extended Chabra clan he resided in the centuries-old Great House, commanding not only his own extensive estate, but also controlling in large part the lives and doings of the six main Chabra families, and related branches.

In his late forties, his hair was already mostly white from the stress of his position, and while able of body he could not stop his fingers from drumming on the table, or rubbing one of his rings, or stroking his neatly trimmed, graying beard.

He had studied the prophecy, spoken with them about how to interpret it, and after much discussion agreed that they had no choice but to seek outside help. In this case, that meant Godsworn Tovari Beklamandalee of Nath-Horthath, in far Celephaïs. They decided to wait until they heard his counsel before transcribing the prophecy, if that’s what it was, into the blank book.

And so it was decided that Lajita would leave on a journey, first by ship to Eudoxia, then by carriage to Thace and on to Despina, where she and her escort would board a ship for Celephaïs.

She had never been so far beyond the boundaries of her own homeland, and couldn’t wait to see all the sights and sounds of new cities, new people, new cities, and oceans, and foods, and everything sounded so new and exciting!

Her escort, two dozen troopers, was less excited at the prospect, having been tasked with getting her safely to her destination in spite of her youthful exuberance and naivety.

Her only companions would be the few attendants that would accompany her, two women only a few years older than herself, under the stern eye of a fiftyish physician who had served House Chabra all her life, and gave not one millimeter in matters of propriety, tradition, or safety, to Lajita’s constant irritation.

They would leave in the morning, and in spite of the prohibition from her father—the head of House Chabra—she snuck from the Great House, through the gardens, and out the secret postern she had used so many times before.

She was a woman now, she thought as she climbed up the slope. The Great House of House Chabra was built atop a low mountain overlooking the whole city, and the bay and the Night Ocean stretching beyond. Behind the Great House rose the first peaks of the foreboding Ifdawn Marest, the mountain range that stretched north to distant Irem, and on to the dread Pool of Night.

The path wound up through the trees until she reached her destination, an outcrop of rock that offered the perfect view. From here she could look down upon the Great House, the streets and markets of Shiroora Shan, the ships plying the waves of the Night Ocean, and beyond. She thought she’d even sighted far Adelma once, unlikely as it was.

Tomorrow she would leave all this behind, she thought, a bit scared at the thought. But to see Celephaïs! The Palace of the Seventy Delights, the Pinnacle and the Minaret of the Stars, the Ten Noble Estates... she had heard tales of its beauty and glory since she was a babe, and now she would see them with her own eyes!

She sat on the cold stone, arms crossed over her knees and chin on arms, daydreaming until suddenly came a voice.

“I thought I was the only one who knew of this outlook,” someone said with a chuckle.

She leapt to her feet and spun around to see a young man, only several years older than she, dressed in fine silks and with a bejeweled rapier at his side.

“Who are you?”

“I am Shikhandi,” he replied in a soft voice. “Like you, I often climb here for the beauty of the view, and to think.”

“What House are you from? I don’t recall seeing you in Shiroora Shan...”

She knew she’d heard that name before but couldn’t place it. She thought it strange that she couldn’t recall, until he spoke again and his soothing voice wiped away her doubts.

“Oh, I am not from Shiroora Shan,” he smiled. “We live farther up in the mountains, and but rarely visit the city.”

“Strange that I have not heard of such.”

“We do not seek out strangers, or willingly visit Shiroora Shan,” he said. “May I join you, and enjoy together tea and cakes?”

He held up a small wicker basket.

She hadn’t noticed it before, but he must have been carrying it all along.

He was such a handsome man...

“Of course, Master Shikhandi, thank you. I would be delighted!” she said, nodding her head in an almost regal motion and taking a step back so he could join her on the widest, flattest portion of the rock.

He set the basket down, and reached in to withdraw a ground cloth of silk and gold thread, embroidered with the birds and flowers of paradise in every color of the rainbow. He snapped it wide, and gently fluttered it to the ground.

“Mistress? Please, join me.”

She daintily stepped onto the cloth and sat, legs to the side and completely hidden by her carefully adjusted saree.

He took out a silver- and gold-chased teapot, two delicate porcelain cups, and a small cedar box that turned out to hold tempting honey cakes, seemingly fresh-baked.

He poured her a cup and held it out properly to her, between his two hands like an offering.

She couldn’t help but notice how clean his hands were, how strong and masculine.

As she accepted the cup she caught the barest whiff of his scent, a heady combination of spice and musk.

He picked up the plate of honey cakes and held it toward her.

A plate...? Hadn’t that been a box, a cedar box...?

She felt dizzy.

How had he fit all that into such a tiny basket?

Why did he have two cups...?

She grasped the plate, and their fingers brushed together for the briefest moment. She swayed in the impact of his presence, her eyes closing for an instant in the sudden orgasm his touch had brought.

The plate dropped from her hand, smashing to shards, unnoticed as she screamed.

“No! I cannot! I am the Lajita!”

He pulled her hand closer, kissing the fingertips, the palm, the wrist, as she writhed in agony, torn between the waves of pleasure his kisses brought and the iron commandments she had sworn to obey as Lajita.

She moaned as his kisses reached her neck, her head turning upward toward the heavens, her mind a frenzied confusion of lust and horror. She couldn’t move a single finger, her body frozen by wave after wave of orgasm that swept through her, unstoppable, irresistible.

His fingertips danced down her neck, her collarbone, and slipped inside her saree, stroking her skin in patterns of delight until they reached the cord holding the amulet, and paused for a moment.

“What have we here?” he breathed. “No matter; nothing shall come between us.”

He pulled the cord, lifting the amulet in its bag from between her breasts. The bag caught on the edge of her saree, and slipped off, leaving the amulet exposed.

It caught the rays of the sun, collecting and reflecting them in a blinding explosion of light, incandescent brilliance that pierced Shikhandi, his flesh bubbling and steaming into smoke as he screamed and shielded his eyes from the assault.

“You...! Why...?”

Eyes wide, unable to tear her eyes away in spite of the radiance that brought tears to her cheeks, she watched him weaken and fade until there was nothing left but his eyes, staring into her own with sadness.

“I would have given you a lifetime of pleasure, a universe of sensation to explore, but now I give you only my curse!”

The fading outlines of his eyes vanished, the amulet fell dark, and Lajita collapsed senseless to the bare rock.

* * *

Her cheek hurt; this pillow was hard!

She reached up toward her face, and suddenly stopped.

Her eyes opened.

It was not a pillow.

She was not in her bed.

It all came rushing back... the forest, the outlook, Shikhandi...

She gasped in sudden fear, and sat up.

She was all alone on the rock, warm in the afternoon sun.

There was no sign of Shikhandi, no sign of his basket.

Her hand flew to her neck, and she sighed in relief.

The amulet was still there.

She brushed the grit off her face as she stood.

The sun was already dropping toward the horizon, she had to hurry back to the Great House!

She looked down from the outlook toward where the Great House should stand.

There was only forest.

And beyond it, where Shiroora Shan should stretch, its streets and marketplaces and wharfs along the seafront of the Night Ocean... only trees, rocks, and sand met her searching gaze.

“Why...? Where...?” she whispered.

What had Shikhandi done to her? What was this curse?

She had to get back to the Great House!

It must be there, hidden in the trees somewhere!

This was just some illusion, some glamour to frighten her!

She squared her shoulders, tightened her lips, raised her chin to face down her fear, and turned to take the path down the mountain.

There was no path.

There was the forest, underbrush, creeping grass and flowers encircling this bare rock.

No matter! She knew the way, and even without a path all she had to do was walk downhill to reach the sea.

She gathered up her saree, holding it higher so it didn’t catch on the underbrush. She had been able to climb the mountain easily using the path, but without the path... her saree was not designed for hiking the mountains.

The underbrush thinned out considerably in the forest, but she still had to contend with fallen trees and branches, shrubs, rocks, hidden gullies and streams of all sizes.

It was also much darker here, and the afternoon sun seemed to be sinking fast.

She hurried, making more noise than she liked in the suddenly threatening forest.

A flock of birds exploded into flight above her, startling her as she had startled them, and she tripped over a log, landing heavily on her left arm, hands up protecting her face.

She cursed, pulled herself up into a sitting position, rubbed her arm. No blood, but it would be black and blue.

Her saree, woven of the finest silk of Oriab, was torn and stained.

They would be furious with her, she knew, but now she was The Lajita. And it was only a saree; they could just buy another!

She clenched her teeth and clambered back up, determined to remain poised and proud even if they did talk about her behind her back.

There was a loud snuffling, almost a grunt, behind her, and the sound of leaves being brushed aside.

“Who’s there?” she snapped as she spun around and froze in terror.

It was an enormous bear, black and silver, as tall on four legs as she was on two.

It snuffled the air again, staring at her in her disarray, then bared its teeth and twisted its head in a snarl that rose to a roar.

Her terror shattered her stillness, and she turned to flee, flying over branches and bushes, saree lifted high to reveal her legs.

Behind her, the bear came snarling, the sound of its massive paws thudding into the ground pushing her to run even faster.

She heard a bowstring twang, and again and thrice faster than she could count, and the bear crashed to the ground with a howl of agony.

She risked a glance over her shoulder to see it on the ground, and even as she watched it rose to its feet again, roaring in pain and fury, and turned to face its attacker.

Another shaft flew toward the bear, narrowly missing an eye and slicing deep into the bear’s neck.

It broke into a run, heading straight toward a green-clad archer standing a few dozen of paces distant.

He ignored the bear and its fury, shooting another shaft, and another, each one sinking deep into the animal’s flesh until finally, only a few meters from its prey, it collapsed for the last time, and its furious breath gradually quieted, and stilled.

The archer stared at it, arrow set to taut bowstring, until all was quiet.

He let out a deep breath and lowered the bow.

“Glad that’s over... I’m down to my last arrow...”

He looked over toward Lajita.

“Are you hurt?”

Listening to her ragged breath and the pulse pounding through her ears, she slowly nodded.

“I’m... I’m fine, I think... thank you.”

The man laughed.

“Hey, it’s not every day I see a young girl chased by a bear! What are you doing in these woods anyway, and in that fancy get-up?”

“I am not a girl! I am The Lajita!” she snapped, standing stall and trying her best to look regal in spite of her torn clothes and the fact he was quite a bit taller and older than she.

He walked over to the bear and used his dagger to start digging out the arrows.

“Dunno know what a Lajita is, but if you keep running around in the forest and making all that noise you’re gonna attract more hungry animals.”

“You don’t know...!?” she sputtered. “I am The Lajita of House Chabra, and the soldiers of Shiroora Shan are searching for me even now! Name yourself, churl!”

“Churl?”

He turned around, a bloody dagger in one hand and a bloody arrow in the other. “Not very friendly, are you, considering I just saved your life.

“What’s Shiroora Shan?”

“You’ve never heard of Shiroora Shan? What hole did you crawl out of?”

“Hmm. Well, I’ve been in some places that would certainly count as holes, but I don’t think the First Lord would take kindly to anyone calling Eudoxia a hole.”

“Eudoxia? How can you say you’re from Eudoxia but yet claim to not know of Shiroora Shan? We are famous throughout the Night Ocean, and Ganzorig himself has visited House Chabra several times. He gave me this hairpin, in fact!”

She pulled the bejeweled pin from her hair and held it out in evidence.

The man walked over and looked at it.

“Yup, that’s a pretty one, all right. Who’s Ganzorig?”

“Ganzorig, First Lord of Eudoxia? You don’t know your own lord?”

“Hey, the First Lord of Eudoxia is Pleticent, and he’s been First Lord since before I was born. Never heard of anyone named Ganzorig before...”

“Obviously you are lying, or some malignant spirit sent to torment me.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s why I just saved your life, right?”

She hmphed, and brushed more dirt from her saree.

“Do you have a name, archer?”

“Uh...” He hesitated for a moment.

“Surely you have heard of your own name!”

“Uh, yeah. Um, Jo. Jo of Eudoxia.”

“Jo,” she sniffed. “You couldn’t come up with a more original name?”

He pursed his lips, looked up at the sky.

“You were heading down the mountain, before. If you want to reach the shore before it gets dark we had better get moving.”

“Why should I trust you? You are even ashamed to name yourself!”

“Yeah, well, maybe because I just saved your life, which sorta suggests I don’t want to kill you. And if we don’t get a move on, there are lots of things in these woods that do want to kill you, so can we go now?”

Unsure of how to respond to that, she merely nodded.

“This way, then,” he said, stepping past her. “You’re not wearing boots, either, I see... I can carry you, if you need.”

“I am quite capable of carrying myself, thank you very much.”

Her feet did hurt, though. She’d stepped on sharp, pointed twigs and stones fleeing from the bear, and thought they might be bleeding.

She brushed her cheek when some buzzing insect flew too close, and noticed her hand was stained with blood after... she must have run into some branch.

Now that she realized it, she noticed the pain. Must be a scratch, to sting like that.

Mother will be furious, she thought.

She refused to show her pain and kept up the pace, until her sandal caught on a tree root and the strap tore.

She hopped on one leg for a minute, trying to keep her balance, and managed to half-sit, half-fall onto a nearby rock.

“I thought that’d happen,” said Karadi. “Sorta surprised it took this long, actually. Those sandals are pretty useless out here.”

“These sandals cost more than your bow!”

“Yup, probably did, I imagine. My bow isn’t broken, though, and your sandals are.”

“Well? What are you going to do?”

“Me? What am I going to do?” he chuckled. “No, girl, I think the question is What are you going to do.

“It’s not that far to the shore from here. I’ll be happy to carry you, if you’ll let me, or we can just keep walking slowly and hope we don’t run into any thorns. I suppose we could even camp here for the night, but I’d really rather not spend the night here if I can help it.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking, thank you.”

She pulled off the other sandal, and carried both of them in her hand. She held her saree up with her other hand, picking out places to step that looked like they wouldn’t hurt too much.

Karadi just stood there, watching.

Something pricked her foot and she yanked it back, losing her balance and falling on her ass.

Karadi, laughing, scooped her up in his arms and started walking.

She hammered her fists into his chest, but he kept walking. She sputtered and complained for a while, but after being roundly ignored eventually fell into a sulking silence.

They reached the sandy shore a few minutes later.

He set her down on the sand gently, and she stood transfixed, staring at the seascape.

She couldn’t place where she was... that island out in the water was surely the Great Seawall, but it was covered in trees! No fortifications, no keep at the point, no guards... And over there, where the bustling wharfs of the port should be, was... nothing!

No port, no ships, no people, no Shiroora Shan!

That demon said he cursed her... had he destroyed the city and everyone in it?

She collapsed to her knees, heedless of the sand caking on her saree, eyes searching.

She glanced up the hills, to where the walls and towers of House Chabra should stand, but search as she might she could only find rocks and trees.

“You alright?”

“...It’s gone...” she whispered, almost unaware of his presence.

“Your Shiroora Shan?”

“Shiroora Shan, the Great Seawall, the port, House Chabra... it’s all gone!”

“You sure you’re in the right place?”

“Yes, positive,” she snapped, regaining her composure. “I see a village over there. I will ask them.”

“Uh, you mind if I tag along? You’re not exactly dressed to go walking into an unknown village.”

“I am The Lajita! It matters not how I am dressed!”

He held up both hands and took a step back.

“Yeah, sure, you’re The Lajita, I heard you. Maybe you could just humor me for a minute, though, and wrap your hair up nice in something... be a pity if that fancy jewelry fell off or something and got lost in the sand. Or just put them in your bag for now?

Anyway, maybe I’ll just tag along, though. Be nice to spend the night in an inn with real food for a change.”

She stalked down the beach toward the village, tying a scarf around her head as he had suggested.

It had only a few dozen buildings, and she couldn’t see very many people about. In the dusk no doubt they were already inside for the night.

If this were Shiroora Shan, that would be, um, the wharfs should be there, which meant that should be... Fishmongers’ Street, maybe? Or Ta-Rashahan-Bar, the Street of the Weavers, maybe?

She stalked into the village and walked directly up to what must be the inn, although it looked more like one room of a small dwelling. Still, it had a lantern out front, and a sign in common reading The Leaping Whale.

It was very dark inside, darker than the advancing night outside, but her eyes quickly adjusted to reveal two tables and a counter with a few stools.

Jo slid the door shut behind them, and a man appeared behind the counter, holding an oil lamp.

“Welcome, welcome! I was just getting ready! Let me get the lanterns lit for you!”

He bowed several times as he circled the room, lighting up several small lamps around the room.

Lajita stood close to the door, waiting for him to come serve her, but once he finished his preparations he returned to the counter and began wiping it down.

“What can I get you, Master?” he asked, looking at Jo.

Lajita looked shocked.

“I am The Lajita,” she stated proudly. “What happened to the city?”

The innkeeper blinked.

“What city?”

“Shiroora Shan, you dolt!”

He blinked again.

“Uh, girl? I’ve lived here all my life and never heard of no Shiroora Shan. Certainly no cities around here, ’cept maybe Adelma or Eudoxia, and they’re not ’round here at all.”

She stamped her foot in frustration.

“Why are you lying to me!? What have you done with House Chabra?”

The innkeeper took a step back from the counter and pulled a dagger out from underneath the counter.

“Never heard of it,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Master, maybe you oughta control your kid before she does something stupid? Or just leave.”

Jo stepped up to stand between the two.

“Sorry, she was almost killed by a bear. She’s a little confused and distraught,” he said, and led her to the closest table, pushing her down onto the bench.

“Let me speak! I am The La...”

“Yes, I know, and I am The Jo. Now be quiet for a moment. Please!” He gripped her arm, holding her down on the bench in spite of her protestations, and turned back to the innkeeper. “If we could have some dinner and two cups of ale, that would be great.”

“You have coin?”

Jo pulled out his wallet and flipped the innkeeper a silver coin. “That cover it?”

The innkeeper caught the coin in one hand, put his dagger down, and nodded.

“Fish or mutton?”

Jo turned to Lajita, eyebrow raised.

“Mutton?”

“I’m not hungry,” she snapped.

“Mutton, then, innkeeper, thank you. For both of us”

He brought out two cups of warm ale almost immediately, and set them down while keeping to the far side of the table from Lajita.

“What village is this?” asked Jo, taking a sip.

“Rashahan,” he said as he walked away. “Don’t even know where you are?”

“Sorry, our caravan started in Nurl, but we got hit by bandits. Just managed to walk here and got lost in the forest,” explained Jo. “Never been here before.”

“Not many people have,” said the innkeeper, then vanished into the kitchen.

“Why do you lie like that? I have never been to Nurl!”

“Would you relax a little bit? You’ll get us thrown out of here, and I, for one, would dearly like to eat something and sleep on a proper mat without mosquitoes sucking the blood out of me.”

Lajita dropped her voice.

“You’ve really never heard of Shiroora Shan?”

“Never.”

“But you mentioned Nurl, and Eudoxia... and that’s the Night Ocean out there, right?”

“Right.”

“My city—Shiroora Shan—it’s gone. It was right here, where this thrice-bedamned village stands!”

“Hard to move a whole city,” he commented. “Would you prefer tea to ale?”

“I can drink ale!” she snapped once again, and tried to prove it by slugging down half the cup, then coughing as she tried to catch her breath.

“Yes, I can see,” he chuckled. “Innkeeper! When you bring the food, a pot of tea, too, if you please!”

“Pot a’ tea, yessir,” same the muffled shout from the back.

“Just how old are you, girl?”

“I am not to be called girl! I am The Lajita!”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that several times. So how old are you?”

“Sixteen...”

“And you go wandering in the woods dressed in a silk saree, with gold and gems in your hair. And drink ale. Quite the sixteen-year old!

“Now, describe this Shiroora Shan to me.”

She told him of its beauty, the temples, the Dancing Elephant, and the Great Seawall, the merchant ships that called from Eudoxia, bringing the riches of the West, and the strange caravans from the farthest East, lands unknown.

The marketplace, the school of alchemists, the many districts boasting artisans in many disciplines, with their unique traditions and skills, the Pottery Guild, Fishmongers’ Street, the intermittent spouting of the Leaping Fountain, the Street of the Weavers Ta-Rashahan-Bar, so much more...

She clutched his arm in sudden panic.

“Here’s your roast mutton and rice,” said the innkeeper, suddenly approaching with a huge platter of meat and two bowls of rice. “I’ll go get your tea.”

“Well, whether it’s gone somewhere or not,” suggested Jo, “you need to eat something.”

He pried her off his arm and handed her a set of chopsticks.

“You have a dagger?”

“Of course!”

She pulled a small dagger from somewhere inside her saree.

It was of ivory, chased in gold and silver, and had several glittering gems that caught the lamplight.

Jo quickly grabbed her hand, hiding the small dagger, and pushed it back out of sight. He glanced around the room but they were still alone, except maybe for the innkeeper in the back.

“Keep that hidden!” he whispered. “You want to get us both killed? Your saree is bad enough, but if you flash something like that around it’ll attract all the wrong people right quickly.”

She was speechless, and let him guide her hand down until the dagger was back in its sheath behind her waist sash.

He handed her a small, simple dagger he took from his boot, and she took it, still frowning.

The meat was greasy, fatty, and overcooked, but she discovered she was hungry after all, and in a short while the platter was empty, along with the second helping of rice and several cups of ale.

She ended up not drinking the tea after all, and with a full stomach and a roof over her head, she nodded off.

Jo narrowly managed to pull the platter out of the way and catch her head with the other hand so she didn’t crack it on the table.

The innkeeper showed them to the tiny room with its tiny mat, and he gently laid her there, snoring away.

He stretched out in front of the door, his ruck for a pillow.

They slept.

* * *

When she opened her eyes she was alone, still wearing her bedraggled saree, with Master Jo’s blanket on top to keep her warm.

She sat up with a bolt, suddenly recalling everything that had happened.

It hadn’t been a dream... Shiroora Shan really was gone.

Everything she knew, everyone she loved, gone.

All she had was the amulet, the blank diary she had made so carefully, back in Shiroora Shan, back in that different world. And Jo. Jo who had saved her from the bear.

She heard his voice in the other room, talking to the innkeeper, then footsteps.

The door opened.

“You awake?”

She hurriedly pulled her saree tighter.

“Of course. You should knock before entering.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my room, too. I spent the night sleeping right here, on the floor, so maybe lighten up a bit, huh?”

She glanced at the floor where he’d pointed, and then hurriedly folded up the blanket and held it out to him.

“Thank you.”

“You looked cold; not a big deal.”

“Weren’t you cold, too?”

“I’m used to it,” he shrugged. “More to the point, though, you can’t keep running around in that saree. It’s too long, too pretty, and too torn.

“The innkeeper sold me one of his wife’s sarees. It’s clean, and doesn’t make you look like a runaway noble’s daughter. You are a runaway noble’s daughter, right?”

“I didn’t run away,” she said, staring at the brown, slightly frayed saree he held out. “I’m from Shiroora Shan... Shikhandi... Shikhandi sent me here!”

“Shikhandi?”

“A demon of the mountain!” She suddenly burst into tears. “I was to travel to Eudoxia, then on to Celephaïs, and climbed the mountain to see the Great House and the city one last time... and that demon lured me, did things to me, and only my amulet saved me! But he cursed me with his dying breath, and sent me here.”

The whole story spilled out in a torrent of tears and anger and fear, and she never even noticed when he knelt down next to her and put his arm around her, patting her back.

He smoothed her hair, listening but saying little.

“You feel OK now?” he asked after she’d relaxed and her tears stopped. “Get dressed, and then let’s get some breakfast. Better put all your jewelry away, too.”

He rose, and left the room, sliding the door shut softly behind him.

She hesitated, picked up the brown saree, sniffed it, sighed, and began changing her clothes.

Suddenly she heard the innkeeper shouting something, and the sound of men struggling, and then a body falling to the floor.

She froze as men ran past her door into the inn.

“Jahleel of Pungar Vees! At last we’ve got you!”

She crept to the door and slid it open a crack.

She could see the innkeeper lying behind the counter, head covered in blood, unconscious or dead. And to the left of the counter she could see Jo, sword drawn, facing two swordsmen. They were closing in on him from both sides, sword at the ready.

She slid the door open until she could slip out, and silently crept up to hide behind the counter.

“You came all this way just to kill me? For that fat fool?”

One of the men laughed.

“He may be fat and a fool, but he also promised a hundred gold pieces for your head, attached to your body or not, and we aim to collect.”

“I still need it, sorry. And I’ll charge a steep price for it if you insist.”

“Oh, looking forward to it,” the other said, and leapt forward, sword striking against Jo’s sword with a deafening clang.

The other man danced forward, attacking Jo from the side.

Lajita gasped, eyes wide.

Jo jumped to one side, suddenly shifting his attack to the second man as he hooked one foot into a stool and kicked it at the first attacker, throwing him off balance.

His sword cut into the second man’s arm, as he cried in pain and stepped back giving Jo the chance to swivel toward the first attacker again.

Knocked backward by the stool, the first attacker had fallen against the counter.

Lajita could hear him curse on the other side of the thin panel.

She reached out and lifted the cook’s cleaver from where it was lying, next to a half-chopped chicken.

She stood slowly, until she could just see over the top, and as she did the man reached up to pull himself up off the floor, his meaty hand slapping down on the countertop for support.

Without thinking she slammed the cleaver down with full force, cutting into the man’s hand and chopping most of it off.

He screamed in agony and collapsed again, his hand spurting blood in an arc through the air as he fell.

At his scream the second man turned his head to look, and Jo’s dagger struck neatly into his side, and up and into his vitals.

He collapsed, gurgling and trying to hold his side as Jo jumped to the counter and thrust down with his sword, once.

It slammed into the floor with a wet thump, and the inn fell silent.

She gradually became aware of the sound around her: her heartbeat hammering in her ears, Jo panting, leaves blowing in the wind somewhere, a bird singing on the roof.

“Well, that was fun,” said Jo, collapsing down onto a bench, bloody dagger still in his hand. “You OK?”

She couldn’t speak, and just nodded.

She stared at the cleaver in her hand, and slowly unclenched her fingers, one at a time, until it fell to the countertop next to the bloody fingers.

She heard a groan behind her and shrieked, running from the counter to grab Jo’s arm in fright.

It was the innkeeper.

He pulled himself up, head bloody, and looked slowly around.

“What...? Oh... They slipped in from the back and hit me. Just the two of them?”

“Just the two of them,” said Jo. “Can I trouble you for some water?”

The innkeeper nodded, and pulled a stone bottle out from the counter.

He lined up three cups, and splashed in a healthy helping of something.

“Cydathrian brandy. On the house.”

Jo didn’t even look at it, just slugged it down in a single gulp.

Lajita looked at the deep reddish liquid and took a sip.

It burned, and she spat it out in a sudden surge of nausea, running to the door to heave into the bushes until she was empty and her mouth was tight with acid.

Jo laid his hand on her shoulder, holding out a cup of tea.

She gulped it down, and collapsed into a ball, staring at the mountain, at the sky, at nothing.

“It OK, Lajita. They’re gone.”

“They... I...”

He just patted her shoulder in silence until she relaxed again.

As she recovered, she thought back to what they’d said.

Jahleel of Pungar Vees... of course!

“You are Jahleel!”

He hurriedly shushed her.

“Best not to say that name, Lajita. I’m Jo, remember?”

“And the innkeeper, he is Grushak! And I just chopped that man’s hand off!”

She was babbling.

“But he was no demon, just a hired killer. And this is just an inn, not the House of Grushak. And Rashahan will one day be Ta-Rashahan-Bar, the Street of the Weavers!”

He was just staring at her in shock.

“And you are Jahleel of Pungar Vees, son of Habib of Pungar Vees!”

“How did you...?”

“Because I am The Lajita,” she said, tears forgotten as she stood, tall and proud.

“We will marry at the time of the Spring Festival three years hence, and I will give you seven sons and four daughters. Together, we will found House Chabra right there on that hill overlooking the port and the city of Shiroora Shan.

“You will be known forever more as Karadi Chabra the Bear, the Founder of House Chabra, and our sons and their sons shall command the Night Ocean!”

“You... are you a seeress? Marry you...?”

She laughed.

“Hardly a seeress, dear Karadi. I know what happened, over five hundred and thirty-six years of House Chabra, because I am the First Lajita, and I am the Last Lajita, and this book,” she said, holding up her blank diary, “this book will reveal the history of the future to all of the Lajita’s who follow me, guiding us through danger.”

And it all came to pass as she had foretold.

And on the first day of the New Year, in their small, newly built house overlooking the village and bay below, the First Lajita, on a sudden whim, pressed her amulet against the cover of the diary she had crafted so carefully, now full of warnings for the future, and suddenly there was a single rolled-up parchment on the table.

She hesitated, then picked it up and unrolled it.

Dear Lajita,

Should I address you as You, or I? Or perhaps We?

You know now who we are, and why we are here. Where did the amulet come from, originally? Is there any such thing as free will? Can we escape the roles we are fated for? I still do not know...

I know that you will be surprised to receive this; I certainly was. But since I also know that I did receive it, I know that it will reach you safely even though neither of us has been born yet.

I am positive that I memorized every word of the First Lajita. Who is me, of course. Us. But when I wrote them down, I added additional explanations to certain vague prophecies, to help future Lajitas better guide House Chabra.

Is my memory mistaken? Were those additions really there in the first place, and then I forgot them, and thinking I had written anew actually only wrote what they said in the first place? Or have I changed the future? Perhaps every one of us, every Lajita, changes the future for the next.

Are we the only immutable fact of this world, cycling eternally from future to past, branching to a different reality as we write?

Are you me? Or a different Lajita, from a different future past?

Our history says that you will birth seven sons and four daughters, and that is true. You must know that this, too, is part of our fate that we cannot alter, cannot avoid. A mother loves her son, no matter what may come.

We already know the date of our death, of course, but take strength from the knowledge that we have built House Chabra, and saved it countless times over the centuries, through our so-called “prophecies.”

I wonder what will happen to House Chabra now that there is no new Lajita to succeed us...

END

 


 

The Chabra family tree

Chabra family tree

 


 

Floorplan of the first Chabra home

Chabra floorplan

Chabra: The Picnic

Lajita listened to the birdsong for a moment before she opened her eyes, luxuriating in the gentle melody, the sighing of the pre-dawn breeze in the trees, the coolth of the linen.

And the quiet breathing of her Karadi next to her on the bed.

She rolled over to look at Karadi’s bearded face, handsome even asleep with a little dribble from one corner of his mouth.

And this was the Lord of House Chabra!

She giggled, and giggled again when his eyes opened at the sound.

He lay still, one eye looking at her as he gathered his wits. He shut his mouth, grimaced as his cheek touched the wet spot, and rolled to face her while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re up early.”

“You’re drooling, Lord Karadi of Chabra.”

“Women should be seen and not heard, you know.”

“I’ve heard that before, now that you mention it,” she countered. “But I’ve also heard that many men, when discovering a beautiful woman in their bed, think of other things.”

“Perhaps I might as well, if one were in my bed...”

She snuggled closer, slipping under his arm.

“If...?”

Her hand slipped down across his chest, his belly, and lower.

“Oh, my... it seems you recognize the validity of my argument after all...”

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he surrendered to her superior logic.


Detail map of the Night Ocean region

* * *

Later, after breakfast, when Karadi had gone to attend to the fields, she walked out onto the balcony and sat on the divan, looking out over the thriving village and the waters of the Night Ocean, the leather-bound diary in her hand.

The book was still new, hardly worn or stained... it was, after all, only a few years old. In fact, she thought to herself, she wouldn’t even make it for more than five hundred years! She yet had to write all of the “prophecies” for the next centuries, but since she had personally confirmed that they arrived safely in the future, she had no doubt that she would get it done.

How she would get it done, how these missives from other Lajitas arrived in the future, what magic was involved, she had no idea, but obviously she would discover the secret one day.

Would there be one for her, here, this day of the Year’s Turning?

Gingerly, she removed the amulet from the small cloth bag hanging around her neck, and touched it to the cover of the diary.

There was no sound, no burst of light, but suddenly, as if it had been there all along, a sheet of paper appeared atop the leather-bound book.

Another missive! From that other Lajita!

She picked it up and began to read.

My dearest self,

We didn’t expect this conversation to continue, one-sided as it is, but yet another year has passed, and when I—and you—pressed the amulet to the diary, this missive appeared. The house is coming along nicely. I know because I distinctly remember you checked it yourself yesterday. Or I did.

I wonder if we checked it at the same time.

Or was it only checked once, and we remember it separately?

My head hurts sometimes.

This talk of me, and you, and us... let me be me, and you, you; it will be so much easier to pretend you are a different person.

There are some things you need to know, I think.

You suspect you might be with child—you are. I wish you’d (I’d?) waited a little longer.

It will be a painful birth, I’m afraid—Zlatka, the Eudoxian midwife, is a treasure. First will be fierce Dhruv and poor Atisha, his beautiful twin sister. A hard birth but all will end well, and they will thrive.

Fear not childbirth. Your other births will all be far easier, so rest easy.

I did write down when each child is born and what you name them, but destroyed that sheet. I had no memory of ever receiving it, but we both know them all by heart anyway. And, I fondly recall the talks beloved Jahleel and I had over names. Even the arguments remain with me now as dear memories. But I must turn to what I so urgently need to tell you.

We know so much, and indeed it is that knowledge that leads across the centuries to the beautiful city of Shiroora Shan and the Great House of Chabra we were born to. We know of where to find the secret lode of silver ore that has provided our wealth, and the pearl beds, or when a landslide will strike or dragon nest, and we can advise the people accordingly. They already are in awe of the Seeress Chabra.

We know knowledge sad, though, as well. Can we shape the future with our knowledge of what is to come?

If I could spare you the heartbreak of our fate...

I wish we could... with your help I would try.

We have excellent memories—good enough to memorize every word that The Lajita wrote. But something happened to me five days from now, five days after I received this missive I write to you, on the first day of the Week of the Blooming Cherry in the Month of the Year’s Turning. The first Lajita warned me that on that day of an accident in the waters off the island that will one day anchor the Great Seawall. She warned that four children would drown: Tasha and Radha, daughters of the fisherman named Ogan who lives close to where the largest mountain stream enters the Night Ocean—his home has a row of whitish stones around the base of the wood plank walls. Cadman, son of Hafez, a farmer living just outside the new Eastern Gate. And Haarith, almost a man, the only son of widowed Afreen, a weaver who lives in a back room at the “House of Grushak,” which is of course merely The Leaping Whale.

I knew them all: it is yet a small village, and I know everyone. Obviously, so do you.

That morning, after suitable preparations, I prepared sweetcakes and berries, and beautiful peach blossoms that Batauta had brought me, and invited the four children to join me at the House. We enjoyed a splendid morning together. Tasha and Radha were especially delighted, and later, while I was engaged with them, I realized the two boys had snuck away.

Cadman and Haarith set out together in a small boat, leaving us womenfolk with their sweets and laughing at their secret adventure, only to capsize as an unexpected wave took the boat broadside and flipped it over. In the cold waters of the New Year they quickly drowned.

The boys drowned, but not the girls.

I saved the girls, and that means (unless memory betrays me or I have gone entirely mad) we can sway the flow of history, we can change the future.

I saved the girls, and while I have no way of knowing if you succeed or fail, I am confident you, in turn, can save the boys.

Lajita pursed her lips and looked down into the streets of Rashahan—Shiroora Shan to be—below, the missive forgotten in her hand.

She thought back to her own memories, recalling mention of the two boys drowning. Try as she might, she could not recall ever reading of the two girls being drowned, or even of enjoying a picnic.

Was the first Lajita misremembering, or confused?

It seemed unlikely... her memory was fine, and she was confident she remembered the “prophecies” of the Lajita correctly... they had, after all, guided her thus far, revealing the location of the secret spring that would water the Great House of Chabra for centuries to come. The giant teak trees had been where she had read they would be, even though the villagers had doubted that teak could grow in the area, especially to that size.

She knew family details, names, origins, so much more information about the villagers before she ever met them.

Time and time again she had demonstrated, to her own satisfaction and the astonishment of the villagers, that she had secret knowledge.

Could that other Lajita have been mistaken? Even though she herself was, in a sense, that other Lajita?

She couldn’t believe it... but...

The alternative was that she had changed the course of fate itself, altered the future. And if the future could be altered, didn’t that mean the Lajita herself could vanish? Obviously, since she was here, now, she hadn’t vanished, but what if something she herself did affected the future of the Lajita, or House Chabra itself?

But wait... Why only think of the worst?

If she could affect the course of history, she could also guide House Chabra through the disasters and misfortunes that awaited it in years to come!

Her eyes widened, one hand flying to cover her mouth.

Every Lajita might have done this! Every one of us might have changed the future past, guiding House Chabra to safety and glory for centuries!

She frowned.

But there was no mention of it in any of the missives from The Lajita.

She scratched her head and laid the missive back down. Sighed.

She heard voices from the courtyard and rose from her cushion on the balcony.

“Karadi? Is that you?”

“Sun’s hot today!” came a grumble from downstairs.

She looked over the railing into the central courtyard to see Karadi fanning himself with his hat, looking up at her.

“You look ravishing today, Lajita.”

“Thank you. Is that a compliment or an invitation?”

“Again!? You’ll wear me out, woman! I’m too hot and tired to do more than admire the view, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll get you some tea,” she said, and quickly took the stairs down to the ground floor. Karadi had moved to the lower deck, just under the balcony where she had been reading only minutes earlier. Shaded and often with a cooler breeze, it was the ideal place to rest and cool off.

The big pot of tea in the kitchen was cool to the touch as she poured him a cup. It wasn’t fresh tea, of course, although it had been brewed just a few hours earlier, but it was still delicious, and the evaporation from its cloth covers had cooled it in spite of the heat of the day.

She sat on a cushion next to his divan and handed it to him.

“Aahh...”

Karadi savored a long drink.

“Thank you. That was delicious,” he said, then patted the divan. “I feel much revived... come, join me.”

She hesitated for a moment, then sat next to him, gathering her saree under her.

He pulled her closer to steal a kiss, one hand moving upward across her belly and upwards, seeking an opening.

She kissed him perfunctorily, turned her head away.

He pulled his head back in surprise.

“It’s not you, dear Karadi,” she said, turning back to face him. “It’s me. Actually, it’s the three of us,” she said with a mischievous grin.

He frowned, shook his head.

“I don’t... the three... You’re pregnant! From this morning! Already!”

He leapt to his feet, fatigue forgotten, and pulled her up off the divan to hug her tight.

“Put me down, you idiot!” she shouted, laughing. “I’m not a bear to wrestle!”

“With a son!”

“Yes, Karadi, with a son. And a daughter, too. I said the three of us, remember? One child for each of us,” she explained as he gently returned her to the divan.

He sat on her cushion and grasped her hand, looking up into her face, eyes glowing with excitement.

“A son! And a daughter!? You know?”

“Of course, you silly. I always know. I am The Lajita, remember?”

He grimaced.

“It is unseeming to boast in front of your husband, woman.”

“Perhaps it would be if you were my husband...”

He shot to his feet, adjusting his own clothing.

“We shall be married on the morrow!”

“Oh, sit down, Karadi. We shall be married on the summer solstice, three months from now, and the twins—Dhruv and Atisha—shall be born on the autumnal equinox.”

“It is a man’s job to name his son!”

“It is already decided, dear Karadi. One cannot deny fate.”

Even as she said it, though, she wondered... hadn’t the other Lajita done just that? And asked her to do the same?

“Ever the seeress!” he laughed, and hugged her tight once more. “Dhruv is a good name indeed.”

As is Atisha, thought Lajita to herself. Pitiful Atisha—I must save her!

“We must find you a physician,” said Karadi. “I will ride to Eudoxia and bring back the finest to serve you.”

“No need for that,” smiled Lajita. “I think you’ll find that Zlatka, who tends the kelp beds to the east, is a midwife of rare skill, and adequate for my needs.”

“Zlatka? That sounds Eudoxian...”

“It is, my dear, but no matter. When the time comes, fetch her, and she shall put your heart at ease.”

“Perhaps you should rest,” he said, “while I fetch her now.”

She placed her palms on his broad chest, looking up into his face.

“I’ll have no need of a midwife for months yet. Trust me.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“I do, but...”

“Back to your work, and leave me to mine! Now off with you!”

His laughter echoed in the corridor as he left.

* * *

The house had been largely completed the previous year.

Lajita had suggested certain features based on her knowledge of what was to come, but there had been no trace of this first house left by the time she was born, over five centuries in the future. She knew where it had been built, because the main house of House Chabra had stood in the same spot all those years, but few details of its original construction or design. She did, however, know how many children would be born, and when, and knew that their family would become steadily richer over the years, in children, in power, and of course in gold. Only reasonable when one considered how it had brought prosperity to the northern Night Ocean and beyond for over five hundred years, she thought.

The house was a two-story structure of mostly brick and wood, and this year Karadi had installed several decorative terra cotta pieces. It was quite large compared to most dwellings in the area, which was only now beginning to grow from a village into a town, but it was still vastly smaller and coarser than the enormous mansion she had grown up in: the main house of House Chabra.

She had insisted that it be built larger than anyone thought necessary or appropriate, and made sure that it could be expanded in the future. It included a number of features rarely found in rural communities, such as a master and three other bedrooms upstairs, in the private section of the house, and a drawing room on the ground floor, along with an unusually large kitchen and storage facilities.

She thought for a moment about what she needed to do. It was almost time for Karadi to travel to Karida, ostensibly to fetch some fine porcelain but actually to make the connections they needed to jump-start the glassware and crystal industry here. She decided it could wait until after she figured out what to do about the two drowned children. Or was it four?

The other Lajita said she had changed history, saving the two girls but still losing the boys to the sea. So history—the future—could be changed. Did she have to invite them to a picnic as the other Lajita had? Or should she try something else?

If the other Lajita could change history and invite the children to the house for sweets, she should be able to invite them elsewhere.

Or do something else entirely...

She realized that she didn’t have to invite them anywhere at all, she merely had to make sure they didn’t drown, and that might be even simpler.

She wrapped her shawl around her head and walked down the gentle, curving road to the village and The Leaping Whale.

The inn was open, as it always was, but the tables on the tavern side were empty. The master had washed the floor and was spreading fresh sawdust.

“Master Grushak, good day to you.”

“And to you, Mistress Lajita,” he replied, setting the straw basket of sawdust down and brushing his hands together, sawdust flying. “I see Master Karadi here on occasion, but you are a rare visitor.”

“As it should be, Master Grushak, for a woman who prefers a quiet tea.”

“What can I do for you today?”

“I would speak with Mistress Afreen. Is she here?”

“The weaver? Yeah, I think she’s in the back,” he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Go on through and see.”

“Thank you. I can hear the clatter of the shuttle.”

She nodded and cut across the room to the small door that led to the rear of the structure. The weaver rented a room here, and had a loom set up in a cleared section of Grushak’s storage area.

The corridor was quite dark, but the room was bright with indirect sunlight through the openings high on the wall. Even though the sun’s rays did not penetrate into the room directly, it was more than bright enough outside.

Afreen was seated at her loom, fingers adeptly adjusting threads as the shuttle flew back and forth and the frames clacked up and down. Originally from Zeenar, she had come here years ago and made a living weaving and sewing cotton and silk. Lajita suspected she supplemented her income by serving customers in Grushak’s establishment.

“Blessings of Nath-Horthath, Mistress.”

“Ah, Seeress Lajita. And blessings upon you,” replied Afreen without slowing her fingers. “I have not yet finished it, I’m afraid, but there is yet plenty of time.”

Lajita smiled and shook her head.

“No, I’m not here for the wedding saree. I wanted to ask where I could find your son.”

“Haarith?” Her fingers slowed. “What has he done now?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. I heard that he was looking for a job, and thought he might be interested in something I need done.”

The shuttle finally stopped, and Afreen stood, massaging her left hand.

“He’s probably down at the pier, I think. What sort of job?”

“The stairs through the woods to the house need repairs. It’s not difficult work—just repairing the holes from the rains with stones and wood. My Karadi will be happy to help him with the heavy ones.”

“He’s certainly strong enough, and goodness knows he’s searching for some way to make some money. He’s not one for farming and waiting months to see a few beans, that one.”

Lajita laughed politely.

“The farmers and fishermen don’t need any helpers?”

“Not for pay, I’m afraid... later, when the fish run or the harvest’s ready, they’ll come running, though.”

“Shiroora Shan is growing,” said Lajita. “He’ll have no trouble finding a job soon.”

“Shiroora Shan? Oh, you mean Rashahan. Why do you call it that?”

“Rashahan is merely a babe in arms, but it will grow into a mighty city, and that city is named Shiroora Shan. The name Rashahan will live on as Ta-Rashahan-Bar, the Street of the Weavers...”

Sha paused for a moment as she saw the city she had been born in once again, in her mind’s eye. Afreen gaped at her, committing the Seeress’ prophecy to memory.

“If you’ve no objection, then,” continued Lajita as if nothing had happened, “I’ll walk down the pier and ask him.”

“Thank you, Seeress! Thank you!” Afreen bobbed her head in thanks tinged with awe and a little fear. “He seems to like the sea, but it’ll be good for him to make a little coin.”

Lajita nodded, still a little distant, and took her leave.

It was a short stroll down the waterfront—Rashahan was, after all, but a small village. The ramshackle pier, weather-worn rough-cut planks supported by massive tree trunks sunken into the sea, was bustling with fishing boats unloading the morning’s catch, fish flopping, cats snatching up prizes to eat in their private places, gulls whirling overhead, nets and baskets and fishermen and merchants bargaining and arguing with shouts and laughter.

She spotted Haarith helping one of the fishermen transfer fish from his cast net to a straw basket.

“Not that one,” scolded the fisherman, pointing to a long, thin, yellowish fish. “Tastes terrible.”

Haarith grabbed it from the basket and threw it back into the sea.

“Thank you, lad,” said the fisherman. “Here’s a copper for your trouble.”

He flipped a coin to Haarith, who caught it neatly in his fist and dropped it into his wallet.

“Master Haarith!”

He turned to see who had called.

“Lajita of House Chabra, Master Haarith. Might we speak?”

He jumped down from the fishing boat and walked up to her, wiping his hands on his filthy dhoti.

He nodded his head in greeting.

“I asked your mother if you might be interested in doing a little labor for me, Master Haarith. For pay.”

“Sure! What do you need?”

“Just a few repairs to the stairs up to our house... the rain’s washed a few holes here and there and it’s difficult to use anymore. The holes all need to be filled in with stone, and the steps made solid. Karadi will help you with the heavy ones, of course.”

He straightened.

“I won’t need help moving stones, Mistress. Even the heavy ones.”

“You look very strong, Master Haarith!”

He preened.

“I expect it will take a week or so,” she continued. “You’ll have to find stones of the right shape and prepare the steps to mount them securely. It needs to be built so the next rain doesn’t cut new holes.”

“That’s easy... Me and Cadman know our way around the rock face.”

“Who is Cadman?”

“He’s my buddy; his pa’s a farmer over on the east side. Can he help?”

“And how old is this Master Cadman?”

“Uh, maybe eight or nine, I guess...”

“I don’t think he’d be much help, but if you want to work with him that’s fine, too,” said Lajita. “Now, about payment... I was thinking ten laurels a day, if that’s acceptable? You can pay Master Cadman out of that if you like.”

“Uh... how about an even twelve?”

“It had better be done properly, Master Haarith!” warned Lajita.

“I will be, I promise!”

“Very well then, twelve copper laurels. You may start tomorrow. Here is your first day’s wages in advance, in evidence of my good faith.”

She held out the twelve copper coins she had waiting in her hand, each stamped with the laurel emblem of Celephaïs.

Haarith, a huge grin on his face, picked them up eagerly.

“I’ll go get Cadman, and we’ll start right away!”

“Excellent! Thank you, Master Haarith,” said Lajita. “I knew you could handle it for me.”

“Thank you, Seeress!”

“No, no, thank you, Master Haarith,” she smiled. “Go on.”

He bobbed his head once more and jumped off the pier onto the sand, trotting along the shore eastward.

“Well, let’s see how that works out, shall we?” said Lajita to herself, watching the receding boy. “And now to invite some girls to a party.”

* * *

The first day of the Week of the Blooming Cherry came, and the house was noisy with the laughter and running feet of several young girls. Lajita had invited not only Tasha and Radha, but several dozen of the young girls of the village “to get to know everyone better.”

Many of them first said they had too many chores to do, but she shamelessly used the growing strength of her reputation to convince their parents—or whoever they were working for—to give them the afternoon off. In the end most of them were able to come at least for the sweet cake.

She asked Karadi to keep an eye on the boys, too, to make sure they were repairing the stairs properly. He knew something was up, used to her secret knowledge and sudden orders, but did as she asked, lending his strong arms to their labor.

And, in the process, making sure the boys didn’t slip off to sea, although she hadn’t mentioned that to him yet. She wanted to see what happened first, and if by some chance the boys did die, she wanted to avoid burdening him with the grief.

Later, if all went well, she planned to tell him the whole story and see what he thought. She was having trouble understanding how she (or some other Lajita) could change history now even through it had already happened by then. If the past were malleable then what good would her memorized history be?

With the sunset, after the last of the girls had left, Karadi brought the two boys up to the house.

She thanked them for a hard day’s work, paid Haarith his wage (from which he promptly paid Cadman) and gave them all chilled tea and the last of the sweets.

That evening, she showed Karadi the missive she’d received on New Year’s Day.

“All four of them live, Karadi. The missive says the other Lajita saved only the girls ‘last time,’ and the time before that all four died. But they live!”

Karadi shook his head.

“You sure this other woman isn’t just lying?”

She slammed her palm down on the table with a scowl.

“That ‘other woman’ is me, you idiot!”

“I guess,” he mused, sipping his ale. “I mean, I understand that you’re from the future Shiroora Shan, and all these prophecies you know are actually just notes that you write to yourself, but it’s tough to understand what’s really going on... If all four died, and then only two, and now none, then your history isn’t real anymore...”

He took another sip.

“And if your history isn’t real anymore, where did you come from?”

“Damn that Shikhandi!”

She crossed her arms and stared fiercely into the air, as if willing him to appear in front of her.

“He said he was from up in the mountains, right?”

“Yes... but there is nothing in those mountains except hideous beasts and death. Much farther north lies fearsome Irem, which has been dead for countless centuries even here.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone living in those mountains.”

“Nor have I,” she agreed. “Certainly no people.”

“I’ve mentioned that name a number of times, and nobody seems to have ever heard it before.”

“Well, that was over five hundred years from now, so that’s not too surprising.”

A distant clanging interrupted them: the village bell!

Karadi sprang to his feet and raced to the balcony, looking down over the village. The moon was about half-full, making it difficult to even discern the individual buildings, but he saw torches gathering in the village center.

To the east was a much brighter light.

“Looks like a big fire outside the Eastern Gate... I’ve got to go help.”

“Fire...? To the east...?”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Cadman’s farm is just outside the Eastern Gate... I’m coming with you!”

Karadi lit two torches, and they ran down the path to the village, jumping over the few places that hadn’t been repaired yet.

A bucket brigade had already been set up, and Karadi took a place near the front of the line, using his taller height to throw each bucket a little deeper into the growing fire. Most of the village was there by now, with several bucket lines passing buckets of water from the irrigation channel, and passing the empties back.

Flaming embers shot up into the night sky as the terrified livestock—cows and goats—raced away into the darkness, freed from their wood barn. A sudden explosive crack, and another, as bamboo burst in the heat.

A fresh bloom of sparks flared, and faded in the wind.

“Cadman! Cadman, where are you?” shouted Hafez, the farmer, shielding his face from the inferno with his arm. “Cadman!”

He made as if to enter the house, but one of the crowd grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Hafez didn’t even seem to notice, just kept trying to pull forward into the flames.

The roof fell with an explosion of flame and sparks, and he stumbled back, tripping and falling.

A few hours later the fire had been reduced to a steaming, smoking pile of blackened lumber and debris. The animals were safe but the house was burned to the ground.

Nobody had seen the boy. Hafez braved the searing ruins, poking the ash and wood with a sturdy pole.

By the time the eastern sky began to pale and the torches had guttered out, Hafez was sitting on the ground staring blankly at what had been his home, still mumbling the boy’s name in a cracked voice, rocking back and forth in sorrow.

They found his half-burned body a little later, trapped under a massive tree trunk: the fallen ridge beam.

Karadi, body blackened by soot, sat next to Lajita, a bucket of water between them. He cupped another handful and sipped a little, then wiped the rest across his forehead.

He started to wipe it off with his saree, and hesitated for a second.

“Oh, go ahead,” laughed Lajita. “It’s already got holes burned in it, a little soot won’t hurt any.”

He looked down at his saree and saw it was covered in mud and ash, and had more than few charred holes and rips.

He shrugged, dipped the hem into the bucket, and proceeded to wipe his whole face.

“I’m off to the Night Ocean for a quick dip,” he said. “Join me?”

“No,” said Lajita quietly. “I’ve something I need to check first...”

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“I need to see if Haarith is alright... have you seen him?”

“Haarith? Umm, yeah, I have. He was scooping buckets of water, over there.”

He pointed to the closest irrigation channel.

Lajita stood up, working her fingers to get the cramps out. She’d passed a lot of buckets that night, empty and full, her arms and back ached fiercely.

“I’ll go have a look, thanks. Let me know if you see him, OK?”

“OK. I’ll head back up after a quick swim to cool off, and wash off.”

She nodded, eyes searching the dwindling villagers.

She walked back through the Eastern Gate, the white stone still blindingly new, toward The Leaping Whale. She asked several people along the way if they’d seen the boy, but nobody had.

Was he dead now, too? Death delayed but never cheated?

Grushak was doing a booming business, serving cool ale and even a few meals to villagers returning from the fire. When there was a disaster the whole village turned out, and Grushak had been on the bucket brigade with everyone else. Once things were under control, though, well, a man’s gotta make a living.

Still, he had cut the prices on everything by a third.

He was much too busy to talk so she slipped past and into the back.

“Mistress Afreen? Master Haarith?”

Afreen’s head popped out of a doorway.

“Seeress Lajita!”

“Good morning to you, Mistress. I trust you’re uninjured in the fire?”

“Uninjured, but until I wash this smoke off I cannot approach my loom.”

“Karadi is swimming in the Night Ocean—I may join him, actually.”

“No jellies this time of year... a good idea!” laughed the weaver. “Is there something...?”

“I wanted to check that your son is OK?”

“Haarith? Of course, he’s fine. He’s already back in bed... a slab of meat, a little ale, and he’ll sleep until noon today.”

“Ah, good, good... by all means, please let him sleep. In fact, take the whole day off. The stairs can wait.”

Afreen nodded happily.

“I will, thank you. How’s he doing?”

“Oh, the stairs are coming along nicely. He and Cadma—”

She stopped.

“Cadman? Oh, no... they found him?”

Lajita nodded silently, eyes glistening.

“He was trapped under the ridge beam when it fell. Hafez is heartbroken.”

“Oh, poor child. And Haarith will be heartbroken, too... they were best friends, always together when they didn’t have work to do.”

“Tell Master Haarith how sorry I am, please.”

“I will, I will... poor Cadman.”

She took her leave and walked down to the sea, deep in thought.

Dozens of villagers were there, washing themselves off after the fire, or just getting ready for the day’s work. She nodded to several as she passed, finally spotting Karadi sitting on a rock.

She sat down next to him.

“Haarith, at least, is alive,” she said slowly. “And the girls.”

“Cadman’s death is not your fault, Lajita,” he said. “You cannot shoulder the blame for every death or disaster fate throws our way.”

“But I can! And I should!” she protested. “I knew Cadman would die this day, and I could have saved him had I but tried harder!”

“Most people cannot wrest even one victory from death,” he countered. “You have won three battles this day; no easy feat.

“You have some knowledge of what the future will bring, but you cannot know everything.”

“But I knew this!”

“Did you? You heard that some children drowned in the Night Ocean, but nobody drowned. The fates you foresaw for those four children did not come to pass. Three yet live, and the fourth died much later, on the morning of a different day, of a different cause.

“What you know did not happen, Lajita.”

“It didn’t happen because I stopped it from happening, as did the other Lajita before me,” she hissed, angry and sad at the same time but trying to keep her voice down.

He reached out and pulled her closer, his arm around her shoulders.

“It’s not your fault, love, and nobody thinks it is.”

He held her for a moment, then stood, shaking his sea-wet hair.

“I have to wash the salt off... Do you want to get in, too, or shall we just go home?”

She let out a deep sigh and pushed herself up, hands on her thighs.

“Let’s just go home, Karadi.”

END

Chabra: Journey to Karida

The village of Rashahan returned to normal, except for a few people: Hafez, heartbroken by the death of his only son so soon after the death of his wife, abandoned his farm. He sold his livestock and his farm, and was last seen walking east, toward Karida. Rumor had it he was journeying to far Gondara of silk and paper, and The Edge.

Godsworn Monterosi of Nath-Horthath had performed the funeral rite, reducing what was left of poor Cadman into fine, white ash that drifted up into the heavens and vanished on the wind. He handed the soulstone to Hafez, who had held it in his clenched fist, kneeling silently as tears slipped down his cheeks.

Finally he had wiped away his tears and accepted the orichalc hammer from the Godsworn. He looked at the soulstone once more, his expression softening as he perhaps saw a reflection of his son’s face in its milky white surface, then had brought the hammer down with a firm crack, shattering the soulstone into fragments illuminated by a flash of golden light.

The pieces of the shattered soulstone had gradually sublimed into nothingness, melting away before their eyes, and leaving no sign of the boy at all. His soul was free, freed of mundane bonds.

Lajita had attended the funeral, of course, along with much of the village.

Hafez had not been a popular man, or a famous man, or even well-known outside the circle of his neighboring farmers, but he had been a member of the community. As the people of the village turned out to help extinguish the fire, so they had turned out to pay their final respects to Cadman, and offer Hafez their condolences.

Haarith had changed, somehow now a young man instead of an older boy, quieter, his gaze more intense. He channeled his grief and loss into his work, finishing the entire set of stairs all by himself—huge boulders and tree trunks included—in only two days.

He accepted his payment for completing the work, and the bonus Lajita offered him as well, then joined a fishing boat crew, leaving his mother, the weaver Afreen, by herself. When he was paid, he gave her the majority of his wage, spending only the minimum to outfit himself for his work as a fisherman.

Lajita, once she got over the shock and the sadness, spent hours every day thinking about the history she had learned, and what she might be able to change. She wondered, too, why Cadman had had to die...

Karadi was less bothered by the implications, accepting that whether they could change the future or not, what mattered was the present. He fully believed Lajita and understood her convictions and her turmoil, but was himself a firm believer in a combination of fate and individual effort.

“I’m not especially religious,” he explained to Lajita once, “but I do believe that the Gods have their own plans for how they want things to turn out. And sometimes different Gods may have different plans, or may change their minds for whatever reason.”

“If you believe in fate, though, why try to accomplish anything?”

“The Gods may reward honest effort, but no God praises a man who does nothing.”

Karadi had respect for the sacred, she knew—she’d seen him stand in awe at unexpected glimpses of natural beauty in their lives, or pour a libation to thank a buck for giving up its life in the hunt. He appreciated the abilities of the Healers of Panakeia, and feared the fiery lightning of Nath-Horthath’s funeral rites, but he had little respect for the trappings of organized religion.

“You know,” he’d said, “it’s possible that Cadman died because some God fated him to die, whether by drowning or fire.”

“But then why could I save the other three?”

“Maybe they were irrelevant. They lived because the Gods didn’t care if they lived or died.”

She puffed up her cheeks, brow furrowed, thinking.

“So some of us are Fated, and other are, um, Unfated, would you say?”

“Your fate, destiny if you will, is obviously to build the House of Chabra.”

“I was sent here by Shikhandi, no god.”

Karadi laughed.

“Is there some distinct border between humanity and Godhood? You have come back in time centuries to create the House of Chabra from nothingness and manipulate fate; aren’t you a Goddess?”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, and changed the subject as she often did. “We will wed on the Summer Solstice, on the first day of the Week of the Withering Selfheal, and your gift to me will be a bear of orichalc, with ruby eye.”

“A bear? Orichalc and ruby?” he sputtered. “There’s no such thing in all of Rashahan, woman!”

“Of course not, dear Karadi, but there is in Karida.”

“Karida? That’s days upstream the River Marn.”

“Yes. You leave in three days, and you will need a second sword. And your bow, of course.”

“Two swords? Am I to steal this bear from someone?”

“Of course not! Trust me, my bear,” she soothed. “You will travel to Karida by horse, and spend the first night in an inn called The Pear Tree—a silly name for an inn, but there you are. The following morning, somehow, you will meet Kimjeon, and give him a sword.”

“Trade him a sword for the bear? Seems rather unfair to Kimjeon, doesn’t it?”

“That’s all I know, I’m sorry. Kimjeon is essential to the future of Shiroora Shan.”

Karadi raised his eyebrows.

“Essential, how? Because he has a orichalc bear?”

She giggled.

“No, silly, the bear’s for me. He is a master glass-blower, and knows all the secrets of making beautiful glass and crystal. Over centuries, Shiroora Shan will become a center of the industry, and our wares will be prized throughout the Dreamlands.”

“Detailed prophecies like that are pretty rare in the fortune-telling business, Lajita.”

“It isn’t a prophecy, but history... unless you rewrite it.”

“Other than meeting this Kimjeon and somehow convincing him to come and teach us all his secrets—and, of course, swapping his priceless orichalc bear for a sword—I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do, or how.”

“You’ll manage, Karadi, you always do.”

Three days later, as foretold, Karadi set out for Karida by horse, joining a small trading caravan heading upriver with goods from the west, primarily wool and woolen textiles from Ulthar destined for the secret valleys of the Athraminaurian Mountains between the known Dreamlands and unknown Gondara on The Edge.

It was a small caravan of only three deino-drawn wagons escorted by a dozen people, half of whom were the trader’s family. Porwaka, the trader, was well-known throughout Tlun, from Karida in the north to Ebnon in the south, and the countless villages and towns along the ways. He visited Rashahan usually twice a year to sell his goods, and the timing was perfect for Karadi’s plans.

He’d only met Porwaka a few times, being relatively new to the region himself, but his warmth and friendliness seemed to match his widespread reputation as an honest trader. Porwaka even offered him a wage as an additional guard, although Karadi instead suggested they just stay together for mutual safety as far as Karida.

Porwaka, who already had a number of guards for the caravan, seemed happy enough with that suggestion, although Karadi discovered later that people had been asking about his own reputation, checking to be sure he himself wasn’t a brigand.

Rashahan was built on the banks of the River Marn, where its waters flowed into the Night Ocean, and while the area behind the village was mountainous, the steppes became wider and wider as they rode upstream until the mountains were mere shadows on the horizon.

They travelled through a sea of grass, following the trail cut by travelers for centuries. There was even a tiny little inn along the way, a ramshackle building run by several generations of a family that seemed to have far more children than reasonable. Karadi preferred sleeping under the stars—or under a tent if it were raining—to sleeping at an inn, but he had to admit their roast mutton was deliciously spicy. Their ale, while expensive, was sour.

Half a day’s ride from the nameless inn, the guard on point, Ailani of Shang, suddenly held up her hand, motioning everyone to stop. She waved her hand again to signal that there was no danger, so Karadi rode up to see what the problem was.

Ailani and the other point guard, Salonitah of Karida, were sitting on their horses and looking down into a shallow valley cut by a tributary of the River Marn. Half the valley was black with animals, and the roar of thousands of hoofbeats was like distant thunder.

Bison.

An endless flood of the massive beasts passed in front of them, heading up the valley.

“Good eating,” said Salonitah. “Haven’t had a good bison steak for some time.”

“Let’s wait for the main herd to pass first,” suggested Ailani. “Get them angry at us and they’ll crush the wagons. We could probably outrun them, but not the deinos.”

“There are always some stragglers,” agreed Karadi. “A nice young calf would be perfect.”

“As long as its mother isn’t watching!”

“A ton of angry bison is awesome, but even better when you’re watching and not running for your life.”

They chuckled, eyes watching the seemingly endless bison churning past.

After a while, Karadi began taking the tackle off his horse.

“Your horse can’t be that tired, is it?” asked Salonitah.

“Nope. I’m gonna ride him in bareback and get a calf for dinner.”

“Bareback?” asked the guard, raising an eyebrow. “You suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“You said you’re from Karida, but your name says you’re from one of the plains tribes east of there... am I wrong?”

Salonitah laughed. “No, you’re not wrong, and yes, I am coming with you!”

He began stripping the tackle off his own horse.

“Are you both crazy?” asked Ailani, watching in disbelief. “They’ll trample you to paste!”

“Not at all,” said Karadi. “At least, not most of the time. Never trampled me yet!

“The bison have nothing to fear from horses; they often graze together. It’s an old hunting trick: we stay as low on the horse as possible, and when we get close enough shoot an arrow. The bison usually can’t tell where the arrow came from, and if the arrows are true, the bison falls behind the herd.”

“Usually it works. Some bison are smarter than usual, though, or just luckier, and spot you,” added Salonitah. “In which case you better have a fast horse and a good grip.”

Karadi laughed as he unbuckled his swordbelt and checked his bow. He looked over to see Salonitah checking his.

“Oh, nice bow! Recurved composite... wood core?”

“Bamboo. Made it myself,” replied Salonitah proudly. “Yours isn’t too shabby, either.”

“I didn’t make it, but we’ve been together for a long, long time,” grinned Karadi patting his own bow. “Not as small as yours but I’d probably range you.”

“Could be, could be... Maybe we’ll find out today!

“Where’d you learn to do this, anyway?”

“Oh, I spent some time out there a long time ago,” replied Karadi, lithely twisting up and onto his horse’s back. “Let’s go.”

Salonitah followed suit, guiding his horse close to Karadi’s.

“I notice you didn’t really answer me,” he commented.

“Observant fellow, aren’t you?”

They dropped flat on their horse’s backs, making themselves as small as possible as the horses ambled slowly toward the torrent of bison. They approached at an angle, the horses in plain view all the time.

Karadi watched through the horse’s mane, making sure none of the scattered bison on “guard duty” seemed unduly interested in them. At the same time, he ran his eyes over the herd, searching for a suitable calf.

It had to be close to them, so they could hit it reliably and so it wouldn’t just be trampled down. They wanted one that seemed to be alone, even though its mother was probably nearby. If they were separated even a few meters, the mother would likely not notice for a while, giving them time before things got dangerous. And they needed to make sure the bison didn’t guess why the calf suddenly fell... if they connected the calf’s death with the horses—whether they saw the riders or not—they’d have to outrace at least a handful of very angry bison, and even on horses that was a risky business.

He heard a whistled warble from Salonitah, and looked where he was pointing.

Yes, that one would do nicely.

It already looked lost, its head twisting from side to side, probably looking for its mother. It was still moving with the others, of course, pushed from behind, but because of its unease it was trying to slow down, and moving toward the outside.

Which meant closer to them.

He nodded and lifted his bow up a fraction, clamping his legs tighter around the horse’s back. Nocked. Aimed.

He shot at almost the same time as Salonitah, the two muffled twangs running together into one, and both shafts flew true, both sinking deep into the calf’s chest just behind the shoulder. It stumbled, bleated, almost fell, but kept moving forward.

Blood spurted down its leg and its gait became irregular as it tried to hold its left front leg off the ground. A few dozen meters on it toppled, finally, kicking and trying to rise again, bleating in pain and terror.

Karadi and Salonitah kept their horses moving forward, in parallel with the herd but against the flow, leaving the mortally wounded calf behind them.

Karadi glanced back to see a few adults gathering around the calf, probably the mother and a few of the guards, but none showed any interest in them or their horses, and they ambled on. They’d circle back in an hour or two, when the herd had moved on and they could safely pick up the calf.

They guided their horses away from the bison to a low hill half a kilometer away, and dismounted.

“Two perfect shots,” said Salonitah. “Mine was the better, of course, right through the heart.”

“Quicker to cut open the main artery, no?” countered Karadi. “We shall see, won’t we, in a bit.”

“That we will. Care to place a wager on it?”

“A crown good enough?”

“Done,” nodded Salonitah and extended his arm for a wristshake to seal it.

“All my gear is back with the caravan,” said Karadi, “but I did happen to hang a small skin of wine around my horse’s neck to keep us company... I’d hate to have to carry it all the way back again.”

“Yes, wineskins can be quite heavy, can’t they? Let me help you lighten the load, then.”

They sat and sipped the warm wine, watching the thinning flood of bison.

“Damn. All gone,” said Karadi, squeezing the last drops from the wineskin into his upturned mouth. “Go back and pick up our gear, shall we?”

“Mmm,” agreed Salonitah. “By the time we get back here with the caravan the last bison should be gone, too.”

They trotted back to the caravan and resaddled their horses, then led the caravan back to the hunting ground. The last of the bison had vanished into the dust cloud upstream, leaving the carcass of the calf. Already an eagle was perched atop it, tearing at its belly.

Karadi nocked an arrow to shoot the bird, but Salonitah motioned him to stop. He jumped off and picked up a few stones, and threw them at the bird as he walked toward it, shouting.

The eagle screamed in anger, wings batting the air, and finally fled, leaving the calf to them.

They’d already had lunch and it was far too early to make camp for the night, but it would take hours to dress and cook the bison. Trader Porwaka suggested they set up camp here for the night, and the party wholeheartedly agreed: fresh meat, fresh water, good grazing, great visibility all around.

It should be a safe place to camp, and everyone looked forward to roast bison.

They skinned the bison and cooked most of the meat. Porwaka took the skin, scraped it clean, and rubbed it down with salt himself, saying he’d finish curing it after they reached Karida.

Salonitah made it a point to cut out a few choice pieces of offal and set them on a rock half a kilometer up the valley. He knew the eagle had been watching, and as he’d expected, as soon as he was far enough away the raptor came drifting down to see what presents he’d left.

He must have chosen right, because the eagle tore into it with delight.

“He can have the rest of the carcass, too, after we leave,” said Karadi. “If the other animals don’t get to it first.”

Salonitah glanced around.

“Wolves?”

“Could be. Something’s been watching us from across the river, over there,” he explained, pointing. “I don’t think it’s a big as a wolf, but it could be. Certainly not a bear.

“Have to keep an eye on the horses tonight.”

“Any wolf that tries sneaking up on my horse with be in for a surprise,” laughed Salonitah. “And probably a broken skull.”

They all slept peacefully that night, and at dawn the guard said it had been a quiet night.

Even so, the remnants of the bison carcass had vanished completely, with not even a pawprint to suggest who had taken it.

They broke camp and got under way shortly after daybreak.

* * *

As they approached Karida the trade road gradually became wider, and the surrounding grass and brush had been cut back farther. By the time they could see the brilliant white walls of Karida, it was covered with paving stones.

The Citadel was built on a highland between two rivers, the Piratta to the south and the Jasharra-Nevi to the north, which merged just downstream of the city before continuing down to Shiroora Shan and into the Night Ocean. The lower city, of course, had spilled out into the floodplain surrounding the highland.

When the mountain snows melted in the spring the waters rose, often turning the deep-cut streets and alleys into canals. Most buildings and a few key roadways were elevated and most homes were surrounded by walls as well, but every decade or so a disastrous flood would come and wash away most of the wood structures. The Citadel and the surrounding city’s stone foundations had survived for centuries through it all.

The walls of the Citadel and most of the buildings inside it and throughout the city were white-washed, a byproduct of the city’s famous kaolin mines. Located in the nearby mountains, the mines yielded the high-quality kaolin that made the city’s porcelain so valuable, and as a byproduct also provided the white paint for all the buildings.

The guard post on this route was quite small, and Porwaka’s caravan well-known. They passed through with a simple hand-wave, although of course the trader did pay the toll. He even paid Karadi’s toll, commenting it was only fair to repay him for the calf.

Most of the city’s guards were on the east side, in part preventing anyone from stealing the partially processed kaolin, but mostly to protect the city from raiders from the vast plains stretching east from there to the far-distant Athraminaurian Mountains, beyond which lay Gondara and The Edge.

The stone bridge across the Piratta River had stood for hundreds of years, repaired countless times after floods and other damage. They crossed it and into the city, looking up at the massive gates of the Citadel.

The Citadel had originally been built as the defensive refuge for the Lord of Karida and the people of his domain, but there had been no wars and few major attacks for centuries, and as a result the Citadel was now largely indistinguishable from the surrounding, lower city. There were shops, homes, markets, taverns and everything else jumbled together within the cramped walls, separated by narrow, twisty alleyways where the urchins ruled.

The guard kept the walls secure, but most of their effort was spent trying to keep the peace and making sure everything didn’t burn down one day.

The walled garden and palace in the center where the Lord and his family lived was separate, of course.

Karadi watched Porwaka lead his caravan off to the central market and looked up at the steel-and-ironwood gates. They were open as the guards lazily watched people coming and going, but they’d be shut at sunset.

At the gate one of the guards held up his palm.

“Where do you hail from, traveler?”

“Karadi Chabra of Shiroora Shan. I came with Trader Porwaka’s caravan.”

“You don’t look a trader,” said another guard, stepping closer on the other side.

“I have nothing to trade this time,” answered Karadi. “I’ve come to see what wares Karida can offer, rather than relying on what the traders show.”

“Stay out of trouble, Master Karadi,” warned the first guard, “and watch your wallet.”

“Always,” smiled Karadi. “I was told to look for an inn called The Pear Tree...”

“The Pear Tree? That’s down in the city, not up here,” said the guard, pointing at the city below with his chin.

“He’ll never find it down there,” said the other. “Master Karadi, one of those boys over there will guide you, but it’ll cost you a few coppers.”

He glanced over where the other was pointing to see a dozen half-naked boys—and a few girls—lounging in the shadow of the wall, obviously sizing up visitors. Several were clearly interested in him.

“You there!” he said to one of the larger lads, apparently a bit older. “You know where The Pear Tree is?”

“Of course. I’ll take you for only five coppers.”

“I’ll take you for three!” shouted another boy.

Karadi ignored the second boy and continued his conversation.

“How about four?”

The boy smiled and leapt to his feet, hand extended.

“Two now, two at the door,” said Karadi. “The guards are my witness.”

The boy’s fingers slammed shut on the two coppers, and they quickly vanished into his tunic.

“This way, Master. It’s a short walk.”

Karadi settled his ruck on his back and set out after the boy.

It was indeed a short walk, but the guards were right, too: he never would have found it by himself.

Close to the walls of the Citadel the buildings were packed together tightly, and the cobblestoned streets were often shadowed by overhangs. It didn’t help that most of the buildings were built up on stone foundations, a meter or two higher than the street itself.

The boy stopped in front of a flight of stairs and pointed at the sign at the top: The Pear Tree.

He held out his hand and Karadi dropped two more coppers into it.

“Why’d you give me four, Master? Timochon said he’d do it for three...”

“Yes, he did, but you spoke up first, and you’re going to help me with a few more things today, too, right? Call it a down payment.”

“Yessir!”

“Have a seat and wait for me,” said Karadi, and walked up the steep stairs to step inside the inn.

It was the usual inn, essentially the same as dozens of others he’d been to over the years. An enormous, bald-headed man with pug nose and no neck was sweeping sawdust and less attractive things toward the doorway, but stopped long enough for Karadi to step out of the way.

“One silver in advance’ll get you a room and dinner,” he said, then gave the pile another push with his broom to send it outside. “Ale’s extra.”

Karadi handed over a silver tiara.

“A Celephaïs tiara! Don’t see many of those out here...”

“Which room?”

“Upstairs, first on the right,” said the innkeeper as he leaned the broom back against the wall. “Dinner’s at sunset.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Roast charr. Fresh.”

“Save me two, I’ll be back by sunset.”

The innkeeper grunted, and Karadi stepped back outside.

“Where to, Master?”

“Name’s Karadi. What do I call you?”

“Ruk, Master Karadi.”

“Not Master Karadi, just Karadi, Ruk. No need to be so formal.”

“Yessir. Where to?”

“Where’s the best porcelain? Plates, cups, all that sort of stuff.”

“That’d be Bembe’s place. He’s always got the best. Expensive, though!”

“Show me the way, Ruk.”

“OK,” said Ruk, and smiled as he held out his hand.

“How much until sunset?” asked Karadi, taking out his coin purse. “I don’t want to pay you every five minutes.”

“Uh, how about two silvers!”

“Hah! Cheaper to hire Timo-what’s-his-name.”

“OK, one silver.”

“Deal. Fifteen coppers now good?

Ruk didn’t hesitate: “Yes, please. And the other fifteen at sunset, right?”

“Right,” agreed Karadi as he handed it over. “Smart kid. Minimize your risk.”

Once again Ruk led the way along a winding path that paralleled the Citadel wall, slowly working toward the north side and the bounding Jasharra-Nevi River.

“Bembe’s shop—it’s a big place, where they make and sell stuff—is on the north side of the Citadel, up against the wall,” he explained. “He makes all the fancy stuff.”

Karadi suddenly stopped at the sound of shouting voices.

He thought he recognized Salonitah’s deep baritone.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, and drew his sword as he ran toward the source.

He turned a corner to see Salonitah fighting off two men at once with his sword. A third was wounded and lay with his back against the stones, watching, but the other two were pressing Salonitah badly. It looked like he’d already taken several wounds: he was staggering.

Behind Salonitah was another wounded man, a merchant judging by his garb, one arm folded up against his body in pain while the other held a shaking dagger.

Robbery?

“Salonitah!”

He leapt forward and smashed his sword against the side of the head of the attacker standing in the rear with a dagger, knocking him off his feet to collapse in a heap.

The other man crossing swords with Salonitah tried to step back, but it was too late: he was surrounded, with the wounded Salonitah in front and Karadi behind.

He dropped his sword and fell to his knees.

“I yield! Mercy, have mercy!”

Unable to completely stop his sword, Karadi managed to at least turn it slightly so that instead of slicing into the man’s arm it merely smacked into his shoulder with a dull thud.

The kneeling man almost fell over, pleading for mercy yet again.

“I won’t kill you; stop your whining!”

He threw the men’s weapons to the other side of the alley, where the wounded merchant could easily reach them. Keeping an eye on the kneeling man—apparently only slightly wounded—and his two accomplices, he approached Salonitah.

Blood was bubbling from his lips, and in his throat.

“Karadi... you...”

“Sit, Salonitah, rest. I’ll fetch a physician,” replied Karadi, moving to help Salonitah.

“No time... promise me, Karadi... Nath-Horthath... release me.”

“I promise, Salonitah, but the physician!”

“Take my bow... it will serve... you... well...”

Bright red blood gushed from his mouth and his eyes looked up at the rooftops, then lost their focus.

“Salonitah!”

“He saved my life...” said the wounded merchant Salonitah had died defending. “These men were trying to rob me, and he saved me.”

Karadi sat still for a moment, his arm still around Salonitah’s shoulders, holding him upright. He gradually lowered the body to the ground and pulled a cloth from his wallet to wipe the man’s face.

“You must be Kimjeon,” he said to the merchant quietly, eyes still on Salonitah.

“Huh? No, I’m Than Bulbuk of Eudoxia. Who is—”

“I am Kimjeon,” came a small voice from the first robber Karadi had knocked down. “How do you...?”

“You are Kimjeon!?”

“Kimjeon of Lho Mon.”

“And you are a robber!?”

“We only wanted enough to live,” wept Kimjeon, head down.

Now that Karadi had time to take a better look, he could see that Kimjeon was emaciated, starving. So were the other two.

Karadi sighed.

“All three of you are from Lho Mon?”

“Tseng and I are; Tserzi from Gondara.”

“See to them.”

Kimjeon quickly ran to the man who was lying against the stone wall.

Hearing a scuffle behind him he turned quickly to see the merchant trying to slip away.

“No you don’t! You get back here and sit there until I sort this out!.”

He moved a bit so he could keep an eye on everyone.

“Kimjeon! How is the other man?”

Kimjeon shook his head.

“Master Tserzi has passed on,” said Kimjeon. “It is just Tseng and me now.”

“I will stand for him in front of Nath-Horthath, Master Kimjeon.”

“Thank you, Master... Master...?”

“I am Karadi of Shiroora Shan.”

“Shiroora Shan? Never heard of Shiroora Shan,” broke in the merchant. “But you have my thanks as well, Master Karadi.”

“Perhaps you know of it as Rashahan,” smiled Karadi. “It has grown.”

“Ah, Rashahan,” said Than Bulbuk. “A little fishing village, yes?”

“It was, before. But no more.

“Be that as it may...”

He turned back to Kimjeon.

“Explain all this, and why I shouldn’t execute you. Salonitah is dead!”

Both men fell to their knees and prostrated themselves, but before they could say anything a woman ran from the alley, throwing herself onto the ground in front of Karadi.

With a ragged shift that obviously hadn’t been washed in some time, long, bedraggled hair, and a baby clutched tightly to her breast, she was no threat.

“It is all my fault, Master Karadi! I pressed my Kimjeon to steal money for our baby! Kill me, if you must; I am to blame!”

Kimjeon jumped up, grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her backwards while stepping in front of her.

“No,” he stated clearly, head high and looking straight into Karadi’s eyes. “It is my responsibility to provide for my wife and child. It was my choice, and my punishment.”

His wife grabbed hold of his arm, but it was unclear if she was supporting herself or him. She was crying quietly; the baby was silent.

“Everyone just stop for a minute!” he snapped. “I’m not going to kill anyone. Not right now, at any rate, not until I find out what’s going on here.

“Ruk!” he called, motioning the boy closer. “is there a tavern or something close by?”

“Yessir, right up that alley, no more than a couple dozen meters, on the left.”

“Good. Go get a room if you can, or a table if not. We’ll want tea and enough food for three people.”

He handed over a few coins.

“And milk for the baby, too.”

Karadi called out again to Ruk as he scampered off on his errand: “And I’ll need a Godsworn of Nath-Horthath, too!”

“OK!” came the shouted reply, and Ruk was gone.

“Master Than Bulbuk, will you join us? I need to hear your story before I can properly release my friend, Salonitah.”

“Your friend? I’m sorry he’s dead... I’ve never met him before. When these robbers jumped me, he appeared all of a sudden out of that alley and defended me.”

“He held off all three of them!?”

“The first man—that man, the one who said his name was Kimjeon—just waved his dagger and demanded eight silver. When I refused and drew my sword, the other two attacked me... and that’s when your friend suddenly appeared.”

“Only eight? They didn’t just tell you to hand over everything?”

The merchant frowned as he recalled the incident.

“No... they didn’t. Kimjeon just said eight silver, I’m sure of it.”

“We only needed eight silver,” came Kimjeon’s voice. “Two for each of us, to buy enough to leave this cursed city and return to Lho Mon.”

“You came from there?”

“We came with a cart and a load of silk cloth from Gondara... and were robbed and beaten the first night in this hellhole.”

“You didn’t ask the Guard for help?”

“Of course we did!” broke in Tseng. “They laughed.”

Karadi looked around. No Guard.

“There was a swordfight, there are dead... surely someone must have told the Guard by now?”

“The Guard rarely comes unless paid,” said Than Bulbuk. “And personally, I’d much rather they never came at all, for all the good they are. At least these scoundrels are honest about it!”

The merchant rose to his feet and brushed off his clothing.

“I’m leaving. Master Karadi, thank you for your timely assistance; I hope you’ll look me up later, after things are less, uh, dramatic.”

“Wait, please. So Master Kimjeon didn’t attack you?”

“Why, no.... these other two pushed him aside, now that you mention it...”

“And when I came he was just standing there, watching,” said Karadi.

“Yes, he was. But he did threaten me, first,” said the merchant. “In any case, the Guards may come, and I do not wish to be here when they do. I will leave now.”

Than Bulbuk turned, bowed once to Salonitah’s fallen body, and walked away briskly.

Karadi turned back to Kimjeon.

“So you didn’t attack Than Bulbuk at all?”

Kimjeon had his arms around his wife and child now, a few tears cutting through the grime on his cheeks.

“We just wanted enough to go home, just threatening him, to scare him into giving us the coins, but then he stabbed Tserzi with his dagger.”

“So he defended himself, as any man might, and now my friend is dead. And Tserzi.”

Kimjeon looked at his dead companion, then Salonitah, then back to Karadi. In silence.

Footsteps sounded.

It was Ruk, leading a tall, quite old man, white beard brilliant against the dark red robe he wore. The Godsworn of Nath-Horthath. He carried a large reed basket in one hand.

“I am Godsworn Bilele of Nath-Horthath.”

“Karadi of Shiroora Shan. Thank you for coming so quickly, Godsworn.”

“The dead are in no hurry, but it is best to help them on their way quickly.”

“Can you Release him?” asked Karadi, pointing at Salonitah. “Master Kimjeon, what about your friend?”

Kimjeon and his two companions exchanged glances, shrugged, nodded.

“We cannot give him the rites he needs here, but the Release of Nath-Horthath will suffice,” said Kimjeon. “Please, Godsworn, if you could Release Master Tserzi as well.”

“As you wish,” said the Godsworn, and held out his hand.

Karadi raised an eyebrow but no objection, handing over a gold crown.

The Godsworn accepted the coin without a word, and it vanished into his robe.

He set his basket down and opened it, removing four small bronze incense stands that he placed in a rough square around Salonitah’s body.

“Bring the other dead man over here, too.”

Somewhat taken aback at the Godsworn’s tone, Karadi helped Kimjeon pick up the dead Gondaran and carry him over. They laid him down next to Salonitah.

Kimjeon pressed his hand against the dead man’s chest for a moment, muttering something under his breath, and then walked back to stand next to his wife once again.

At the same time, Karadi took Salonitah’s pack and bow, whispered his thanks for their friendship, and apologized for not coming soon enough to save him.

The Godsworn took a small ember box from his basket, and lit the incense in the four stands with the glowing ember. He knelt down between the two bodies, placing one hand on the chest of each, closed his eyes, and began to chant.

At his words the incense suddenly began to billow clouds of acrid black smoke.

Karadi fell back a step as ashes and grit filled the air.

The wind picked up, a breeze at first, but rising in intensity with the tempo of the chant until it was a thin vortex, a tornado that jumped and wove around the fallen as if seeking to escape from the rectangle defined by the four stands.

As the wind’s sound and fury reached its peak there was a sudden flash of brilliance, and when Karadi opened his eyes again the Godsworn was alone on the ground—the bodies were gone.

Tiny flakes of snow-white ash sifted through the air like the finest powder snow, so fragile that they shattered and vanished at a touch.

The Godsworn picked up the sparkling soulstones that were all that was left of the two men, handing one to Karadi, and the other to Kimjeon.

“Master Karadi, do you return Master Salonitah to Nath-Horthath?”

“I do.”

The Godsworn held out a small bronze bowl for Karadi to deposit the opalescent soulstone in. It made a hard, rattling sound as it hit the metal. Holding the bowl in his left hand, Godsworn Bilele drove the orichalc pestle in his right down, crushing the soulstone with the ring of metal on metal.

And the bowl was empty again.

He turned to Kimjeon and placed the second soulstone in the bowl, and Kimjeon also Released the spirit of his companion to the realm of the God of Life and Death.

The Godsworn picked up the closest incense stand and dumped the ash out on to the ground before storing it away in his basket.

“Looks like it might rain later,” he said cheerfully as he picked up the rest. “Nath-Horthath’s blessings upon you.”

Then he turned and walked away down one of the alleys, leaving an astonished Karadi behind.

“Are the Godsworn here all like that?” he asked Ruk, almost unable to believe what had just happened.

“Yeah, pretty much. Why?”

“Uh... no reason, I guess. I’m... I’m used to a little more formality and ritual,” he answered. He glanced over at Kimjeon, and saw he was just shaking his head in disgust.

“So that’s how it is here, huh?”

Ruk shrugged.

“Whatever. The Godsworn do pretty much whatever they like, as long as they don’t get in the way of the Guard.”

He pointed up one of the alleys.

“I’m hungry. Can we go now?”

* * *

A few minutes later they were all sitting at a table in a small, dingy tavern: Karadi, Kimjeon with his wife and child, Tseng, and of course Ruk.

The three Lho Mon—four counting the baby—had accompanied him at his insistence, terrified that he would turn them over to the Guard, or just kill them out of hand. Their weapons were on the bench next to him for now, and he debated returning them as he watched them shovel food into their mouths like they hadn’t eaten in days.

He figured maybe they hadn’t.

The woman—she was named Clyma, it turned out—was more worried about getting the baby to drink something than eating her own food.

It didn’t look well. Pale cheeks, red eyes, but not crying... she tried holding a cup for it to drink from, but obviously it only knew the nipple.

“Your finger... dip it in the milk and give it to the babe,” he said, guessing that this was her first child and she was at a loss. And presumably so starved her own milk wouldn’t flow.

She did as he suggested and the baby quickly slurped it clean. She did it again, and again, and the baby began to seize on the finger with more energy and interest.

Karadi sipped his tea and waited.

Poor Salonitah. He barely knew the man, but he’d been a good companion on the journey, and seemed a good man. He wondered if he should try to find his people and tell them, but abandoned the idea when he realized he had no idea just where he came from. The endless steppes stretching west from Karida and Zeenar to the foot of the Athraminaurian Mountains were indeed endless... he could easily spend years searching.

But that Godsworn...!

And Ruk said they’re all like that...

“Master! Bring me an ale, if you will!” He turned to the others. “Anyone else? Master Kimjeon? Master Tseng?”

Kimjeon shook his head, but Tseng looked interested.

“I have no money,” he warned.

“Fine, fine,” said Karadi, waving the worry away. “Master! Two ales!”

“Me, too, Master Karadi!”

He looked over at Ruk in surprise.

“How old are you, Ruk? Ten?”

“Fourteen next month, Master Karadi.”

“Drink ale, do you?”

“When I can get it, Master Karadi,” shrugged Ruk. “Nobody cares.”

“Your father?”

“No father. No mother, either. Just me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Ruk,” said Karadi, and turned toward the counter. “Master Ruk, I should say if you’re drinking with us.

“Master! Make that three, but the third in a smaller mug.”

The ale arrived shortly, and with food, ale, and a now-quiet baby the group began to relax a bit. The three Lho Mon still looked starving, but their eyes weren’t feral anymore. They began to raise their glances to meet his.

“So, Master Kimjeon. A load of silk, you said?”

“Mostly silk. And a few other things...” answered Kimjeon.

“Like what, for example?”

“Just a few piece of glassware we made. We were hoping we could interest some of the merchants here in them.”

“Glassware. Teacups and stuff, you mean?”

“Well, yes, among other things. We had a number of blown glass teacups and pots, of course, but also some samples of cut crystal.”

“Blown glass and crystal,” he mused. “You sound like a master craftsman...”

“My father was a master craftsman,” said the other. “He taught Tseng and I everything.”

“How would you and Master Tseng like to come to Shiroora Shan with me, and work there? I can promise you a glassblowing workshop with furnaces, apprentices, whatever you need. And gold sufficient to support you and your family.”

Kimjeon and Tseng exchanged a glance.

“Are you serious? Workshop? Apprentices? Gold?”

“Who are you?”

Karadi laughed. “I already told you, Karadi Chabra of Shiroora Shan, and you two are my Master glassblowers!”

* * *

“You went ahead and had them build the glassblowing workshop before I even got back!?”

“Of course,” replied Lajita softly. “I knew you’d be back with Kimjeon, after all.”

“They love it, of course, but...”

Karadi shook his head and sighed.

“What about the others? Clyma, or Tseng? Ruk?”

“They were a surprise to me, too... but I knew where the workshop should be built, and what was in it. The hardest part was the furnace, because the supports and the clay had to be perfect.”

“They say it is perfect, you know... Kimjeon practically wept when he saw it. Tseng, too. I think they finally believe what I’ve been telling them.

“I never saw any orichalc bear, though, ruby eyes or not.”

“It is strange, yes... and I thought Kimjeon was the merchant being robbed, not the merchant-turned-robber. You sure he doesn’t have it hidden away or something, maybe intending to give it to you later?”

“Pretty sure... if they’d had anything worth any money they’d have sold it long ago, I think.”

“Another ‘prophecy’ that doesn’t seem to be true after all,” she mused. “Did you ever tell them how you knew his name?”

“Just that an oracle told me, and I didn’t mention the glass or crystal at all... I got him to bring it up.”

“He’ll guess soon enough,” she laughed. “Everyone calls me the Seeress.”

“The Seeress of Shiroora Shan... has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“What are you going to do with Ruk?”

“I don’t know yet... he’s smart, and had nothing there. We need more workers, and I thought I’d get him started there. Asked Tarjamon to take him under his wing now that he’s alone, and see how things go.”

“Tarjamon?” Lajita frowned slightly. “Oh, the forester. His own son died some years ago, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, that’s the man. Gruff, but a good man for Ruk, I think.”

“I leave it in your hands. I’m sorry, I know nothing of any boy named Ruk. I guess that means he doesn’t do anything bad, at least.”

She stopped for a moment, frowned.

“There is an Admiral Ruk, later… does this boy like the sea?”

“I don’t think he’s ever even seen it, let alone like it,” said Karadi. “Is it important?”

“No, not really, not now.”

“Hmm. OK. Well, what about Kimjeon’s wife and kid?”

“I know his two sons work toge—”

“Two? He only has one son,” broke in Karadi.

“Yes, now,” she continued. “But he’ll have two. Or rather, he’ll have at least two... two of his sons will work together to make Shiroora Shan famous for glass-blowing.”

“Not crystal?”

“Kimjeon’s granddaughter, a woman named Kirralestra, or maybe Kirralesti, will do that. Later.”

“Later... you mean...?”

“Yes, after we are dead and gone, I’m afraid, although we will meet her before we pass. Our daughter will be here then.”

“Atisha?”

“No, Atisha will be our first daughter, but our second daughter will be the second Lajita.”

“You said seven sons and four daughters.”

“Yes, and all will live to adulthood.”

“Dhruv, Varun, Gitanshu, Kostubh, Habib, Arun, and Paramjit, right?”

“Yes, and the girls are Atisha, Lajita, Asha, and Hansika.”

“That’s eleven. A good number.”

She fell silent, hugging herself and rocking back and forth on the sofa, face dark.

“What is it, Lajita? What is it?”

She took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and listed her head to meet his gaze.

“I am blessed with knowledge of the future. And cursed. There is much I would not tell you, even you, Karadi.

“I only hope that we may together change the future, as I did with the children. Even if poor Cadman did die in the end...”

“But that was surely not your fault!”

“I saved one, but Cadman still died, died horribly. I could have saved him, and I didn’t!”

He pulled her closer, wrapped his arms around her.

“Promise me, Karadi,” she said, voice muffled in his chest. “Promise me that you will love all our children.”

“I promise, Lajita. With all my heart.”

A few moments of silence, then he loosened his arms, looked into her eyes once more.

“We were speaking of Ruk,” he said, noting the traces of tears on her cheeks.

“Yes, Ruk,” she said, voice a little too brittle. “I think he’ll be fine for now.”

She was obviously disinterested in Ruk or his problems.

“It’s good to be home again,” he said, changing the subject in hope of lifting her spirits. “Meeting Kimjeon and helping him build a new life here was good, too, in a different way.”

“I was so sorry to hear about your friend.”

“Salonitah? Not a friend, really, but I think he could have been. You had no knowledge of him?”

“I told you everything I know. I was as surprised as you to discover Kimjeon was a starving footpad!”

“Footpad-to-be, he says,” corrected Karadi. “They say they’d never done it before. Which explains why they failed so badly, I think.

“Before he died he left me his bow, you know. I didn’t show it to you yet, did I?”

He rose from the bed and retrieved the bow from the corner, where it was piled with other gear from his trip, not yet put away properly.

“It’s a beautifully made recurve,” he explained. “Bamboo core and—”

“Karadi’s Gift!” gasped Lajita. She stretched out a hand to touch it, trembling. “Of course! To actually see it...!”

“You know about this already?”

“I’d forgotten, but yes. It’s famous. When we talk... that is, where I came from, we called something ‘Karadi’s Gift’ if it was unique and valuable. My father always said I was Karadi’s Gift to him.”

“You’ve seen it, then?”

“Oh, no, it fell to pieces hundreds of years before I was even born. I’ve seen sketches of it, though.” She held out a hand. “May I touch it?”

“Of course,” he laughed. “Here, take it.”

She held it gingerly, as if it might bite, and pulled the string lightly. It hummed quietly.

She held it up to examine the grip closely and gave a gasp of surprise.

“It’s here! The sign!”

“Sign? What sign?”

She pointed just under the grip, to a tiny symbol incised into the bone lath on the belly of the bow.

“It’s the sign of Equus.”

“The horse god? That makes sense... he came from one of the horse tribes of the Eastern steppes.”

“Strange that I should know of his bow, but nothing of where it came from, or who owned it. We always thought Karadi bought it, or made it, and everyone wondered about that sign.”

“He said he made it himself,” explained Karadi. “It’s one of the finest bows I’ve ever used, and I’ve used quite a few over the years.”

“You do seem to have a thing for bows, now that you mention it,” she giggled, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head toward the dozen or so bows hanging on the wall.

“So now that you’ve welcomed me back properly,” he said, one hand on her almost-invisible belly bump and the other on her breast, “perhaps we can get dressed and go find something to eat? Food, I mean.”

She let him pull her up from bed with one hand, and they put on some clothes to go downstairs and wheedle Batauta for a midnight snack.

END

Chabra: The Unpaid Ransom

“Mama! Dhruv and Varun won’t let me play!”

She looked up from her writing desk, bamboo pen in hand, where she had been writing down more of the prophecies, along with her own comments and observations. She’d tried bird quills, but over the years had come to prefer the feel of bamboo on paper, even if they did need replacing fairly often.

“Gitanshu, aren’t you supposed to be helping Batauta with the washing today?”

The seven-year old boy hung his head and pursed his lips.

“Yeah, but they’ve got bamboo swords!”

“You have a bamboo sword, too, I believe. Don’t you?”

“But theirs are bigger!”

“And they are bigger than you,” she sighed, and put down the pen. “Let’s go see these great big swords, shall we?”

She turned to the girl sitting quietly on the floor nearby.

“I’ll be back in a minute, Lajita. Call if you need me.”

The five-year-old girl, named after her mother, just nodded, absorbed in her reading. Next to her on the mat slept Habib, only one year old.

She gathered her saree and took Gitanshu’s hand as they walked from the study to the deck, and looked out into the garden. She nodded to Batauta as she passed, briefly interrupting her from scolding one of the kitchen maids.

Poor maid... she wondered what the girl had done to set Batauta off like that.

She could hear the clack-clack of swords striking each other before she could see her two oldest boys, Dhruv and Varun, hammering away at each other, as four-year-old Kostubh watched, one finger in his mouth. Atisha, Dhruv’s twin, was swinging her own sword at Varun, eerily synchronized with Dhruv’s own swings.

She had no idea where the younger children were, but the nanny would be with them.

“Dhruv!”

He looked over at her voice, his bamboo sword slowing enough that the other boy’s sword hit him on the shoulder.

“Ow! Stop it, Varun!”

“Who is fighting who today?” she asked.

“I’m Karadi the Bear! And Varun’s the Demon!”

“The House of Grushak, I gather?”

“And I’m you!” said Atisha proudly, waving her sword back and forth.

“So maybe Gitanshu can be Grushak, the innkeeper?”

“Yeah, I guess...” mumbled Dhruv.

“I don’ wanna be Grushak!” whined Gitanshu. “He doesn’t do anything!

Lajita squatted down next to him and turned him to face her straight on.

“Gitanshu, the innkeeper fought the demon first, and wounded him. That was before Karadi or I even knew he was there, waiting for us. He could have been killed, but fought to protect us!”

“He did?” His expression brightened. “I’m Gitanshu, and I fought the demon first!”

Waving his own bamboo stick he ran toward his brothers.

Lajita sighed.

Even with the nannies, eight children was too many, she thought. All day, every day, they never stop... She comforted herself with the knowledge of what they would become, the way her children would establish House Chabra, and make Shiroora Shan a queen among cities.

Dhruv... as firstborn everyone expects him to inherit House Chabra, but my history says he will instead conquer Ademla to avenge poor Atisha, and Varun inherit the mantle. But if I can change the future, I can save Atisha. And if I save Atisha, then what of Varun? What of me, for that matter, five centuries from now? Any change could destroy the future I know...

...but I would risk it all to save my Atisha!

One more fight averted, she walked to the railing and looked down over the growing city.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the sleepy village was turning into Shiroora Shan. The Great Seawall was rising from the sea, and when complete would connect the city to The Spine—the mountain range running down the middle of the Night Ocean, where Cappadarnia would, in time, be born and rise to join Shiroora Shan to dominate sea trade in the region. Smugglers would wend their way over treacherous mountain tracks or paths through the ever-shifting Boorsh Fens and the treacherous morass south of the Low Isles, but merchants would have a choice of the land route through Shiroora Shan itself, the sea route through Shiroora Shan’s Great Seagate allowing ships to pass through the Seawall, or the Narrows cutting through The Spine, under the watchful eyes of Cappadarnia.

There would always be captains who braved those infested shallows to the south, but few had the requisite skill, or luck.

And, of course, Cappadarnia would be controlled by her sixth son, Arun, and his descendants. She chuckled to herself: Arun wouldn’t even be born for another year: her memory of the future suggested that Karadi would be quite affectionate at the next Harvest Festival.

The city wall had been expanded once again, at her suggestion, and the glassworks had expanded to occupy a large area near the docks, at the end of Fishmongers’ Street. At the other end of the docks stood Grushak’s inn, The Leaping Whale, marking the start of the Street of the Weavers: Ta-Rashahan-Bar.

The Leaping Fountain would not be built for another century, unfortunately. She wished she could see its sparkling beauty once again.

She looked to the southeast, toward the distant pirate stronghold of Astarma. Karadi was there now with three armed ships under his command. The pirates had to be brought under control, and while they would eventually be united and neutered by Fen One-Ear, centuries from now Astarma would emerge as a competitor to Shiroora Shan.

Fen One-Ear, of course, would be coaxed and guided by Asha, her third daughter, becoming a key ally of House Chabra. She would have to try to find a way to prevent them from splitting off to become a competitor in the distant future, but she would be dead by then. She would have to depend on future Lajitas to carry out her plans.

Fen One-Ear should have been born by now, since Asha was already three. He was a bit older than her, but she didn’t know by how much—probably, nobody did, including Fen himself.

Was he already one-eared, she wondered? And how did he lose it?

“Mistress Lajita?”

She turned toward the voice to see Batauta, the head housekeeper.

“Yes, what is it?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress, but I’ll have to let one of the kitchen girls go. Found her stuffing sausages into her pockets.”

“Who?”

“Coralynn, one of the new girls we hired in the spring.”

“I’ll see her in my study, Mistress Batauta.”

Batauta nodded and turned to walk back toward the kitchen.

“Who else knows about this?”

“Nobody, but the other kitchen girls may have heard me when I found her.”

“I see. Thank you. I’ll be waiting in the study, then.”

Batauta left and Lajita returned to the study.

She put on her formal black cloak, the one with the high collar, then settled down in her chair to wait.

Batauta ushered Coralynn in only a minute later.

She’d obviously been crying: eyes red, lower lip still trembling.

“Sit, Coralynn,” she directed, pointing at an empty chair. “Mistress Batauta, would you join us?”

She gestured at a second vacant chair.

She looked at the frightened girl in silence, watching her hands tying and untying a small bit of cloth. A handkerchief, perhaps.

The girl refused to meet her eyes.

“Mistress, I—”

Lajita held up a hand to silence Batauta, eyes still locked on Coralynn.

A minute passed, two, and suddenly the girl threw herself onto the floor, sobbing.

“I’m sorry, Seeress! Don’t curse me! Whip me, if you will, but please, please, let me stay. I’ll never do it again, I swear! Please, Seeress!”

“Hush, child,” she said. “Sit up and dry your tears.”

The girl controlled herself a little and sat up, sniffling, into a kneeling position on the floor.

“Now, then. Tell me, Mistress Coralynn, why did you steal that sausage?”

“It’s my pa,” she choked out, voice uneven. “He’s sick and cannot work. Medicine takes all my money, and he’s dying...”

“Mistress Batauta?”

“Yes, Mistress, her father is ill. He was in pain when he brought her here in the spring.”

“I see. Mistress Coralynn, what ails your father? You have no other family to help you?”

“It’s the crab, Mistress. His gut’s been getting worse and worse. My ma died when I was born; it’s always been just him and me.”

“Cancer,” mused Lajita. “Mistress Batauta, arrange for a fast ship to Adelma. Fetch me a Healer, post-haste.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And, I feel hungry. Have one of the girls bring me a roast chicken, two loaves of bread, and a basket of fruit. Oh, and a jug of tea. I may want to have my lunch outside, so stopper the jug, please.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

After Batauta left in a trot, Lajita walked over to the terrified girl, and held out her hand to help her up.

“Come, Mistress Coralynn. We must get you looking decent for your father.”

“My father...?”

“Of course, dear. You can’t bring all that food to your father looking like you’ve been weeping, now can you?”

“Food...? You mean...?”

She collapsed to her knees once again and threw herself onto the floor at Lajita’s feet.

“Thank you, Seeress! My father and I are ever in your debt!”

Lajita chuckled.

“No need, Coralynn. House Chabra takes care of its own, and you are House Chabra.

“Now dry your tears and go freshen up a bit before the housekeeper gets back.”

“Yes, Seer—”

“Mistress, please.”

“I... my apologies, Mistress. Thank you!”

Flustered, the girl backed up toward the doorway, bowing as she went, and escaped into the dim coolth of the corridor leading to the bath, where she could wash her face.

Lajita’s smile faded quickly.

She wondered where Karadi was.

* * *

At the moment, Karadi had his back pressed against the mast of an old caravel, desperately trying to stop a Shang pirate from killing him.

They were locked hand-to-hand, each holding the other’s sword-arm, staring into each other’s eyes yet not seeing anything other than an enemy. They swayed back and forth, each seeking an opening, and trying to unbalance the other.

They were oblivious to the noise and mayhem around them as dozens of other battles played out, men and women screaming in anger, in fear, in death. Karadi’s forces had the upper hand, his own caravels roped to the pirate’s vessel on both sides. They came upon it stealthily in the pre-dawn darkness, and boarded from both sides at once even as the pirate crew surged to defend.

They had the upper hand, but in his own fight, Karadi didn’t.

One slip and I’m dead, he thought. But if I try anything, he’s got me....

Lajita said she knows the future, and we have more children to come. Do I believe her? She’s been right so many times. But she’s been wrong once or twice, too. Can I believe it this time?

He made his decision.

Karadi opened his clenched fingers, letting go of his sword. It dropped, tumbling, onto his opponent’s shoulder, throwing him off-balance and off-guard for a split-second. Reflexively, he flinched and twisted his arm in an effort to block what seemed to be, in that instant, an unexpected attack.

In that brief window of opportunity Karadi’s knee shot up hard, slamming into the pirates upper leg and knocking him farther off balance. Karadi grabbed the dagger from his side-sheath with his now-empty hand, and sank it into the other’s side, up and in, and twisting forward, all the while holding the enemy’s sword still.

His own sword clattered to the deck as he felt the strength seep out of the pirate’s sword arm.

The pirate slumped to the deck.

Karadi slid down the mast, panting, and reached out to recover his sword.

“That was the damn silliest thing I’ve ever seen, Karadi!”

It was Ruk, bare-chested and holding a bloody saber.

Karadi looked up at him, still waiting for his breath and heartbeat to settle down.

Ruk, a muscular red-haired man in his mid-twenties, reached out a hand to help him to his feet.

“The ship’s ours,” he said, waving around at the body-strewn deck. “They’re all dead or yielded.”

Still bent over with one arm on his leg for support, he looked around.

Bodies, his troopers herding captured pirates to the bow or binding up each other’s wounds, the pirate captain dead up top, pin-cushioned to the stern castle with arrows. Most of them were his arrows, in fact.

“How many troopers did we lose?”

“Four dead, two seriously injured. Lots of minor stuff,” answered Ruk. “Yours was the last fight.”

“And you were all watching me fight, right?”

Ruk grinned.

“Never seen anyone drop his sword in the middle of a fight before... he should’ve gutted you, you know, not the other way ’round.”

“I know,” he said, finally standing up straight. “But being married to a seeress has its advantages.”

“She told you to use that stupid trick?”

“No,” chuckled Karadi, “she told me I still have a couple children to father.”

Ruk shook his head in disbelief.

“In any case, let’s get inside,” said Karadi.

They descended into the ship carefully, checking for lurking pirates, following the shouting and banging noises to the hold.

Slaves.

Karadi spat in disgust.

“Get those chains off,” he ordered. “Fresh air and water all around. And open the damn cargo hatch, get some air down here!”

As other crew members got to work freeing the slaves and helping them up onto the main deck, Karadi and Ruk walked back toward the captain’s quarters, in the stern.

It was not as fancy as he’d been expecting, with a stained rug across the floor, clothes and things strewn over chairs and table, a couple of empty bottles, and a large bed.

The bed wasn’t empty.

The woman chained to the bedframe was almost certainly naked under the blanket she clutched to herself, and looked like she’d been through a lot. She was also stunningly beautiful, needed a hairbrush, and held a dagger ready to kill anyone who got too close.

“Easy, Mistress,” he said, holding up his empty hands. “Karadi of Shiroora Shan. The pirates are all dead or captured, the captain is dead. I shot him myself.

“We’re freeing the slaves now.”

The woman waved the dagger through a short arc.

“I’ll kill myself before I’ll be any man’s woman again!”

“Not here to make you my woman,” he said. “I’m quite happy with the one I’ve got. If you’ll lower your dagger, though, I’ll get those chains off you.

“I can see two locks on those chains... the captain has the keys?”

She hesitated, then pointed toward the starboard wall without taking her eyes off Karadi, or lowering the dagger.

“Over there. On that hook.”

Ruk strode over and picked them up, tossing them to Karadi.

“If you’ll lower your dagger a bit...”

He walked slowly toward her and knelt to open the first lock, freeing her left arm. The dagger tip was within centimeters of his face, but he ignored it and stood.

The woman moved her shoulder up and down, obviously trying to work out the cramps. The chain had prevented her from moving her upper arm much at all.

Karadi walked around the bed, and she switched the dagger from her yet-chained right to her newly freed left hand.

“You must have heard of us by now,” he said quietly. “We’ve been cleaning up the pirates for a few years now.”

She glared in silence as he opened the second armlock, and stepped back to safety.

She sat up.

“Ruk, why don’t you hand the Mistress one of the Captain’s tunics, there?”

“Master Karadi?” came a voice from the doorway. “Got a man here says he needs to see the woman.”

“He have a name?”

There was indistinct conversation for a moment, then “Lau Kun.”

“Let him in, please!” said the woman, abruptly lowering the dagger and picking up the tunic Ruk had handed her.

A gray-haired man with a slight limp, maybe in his fifties or so, Karadi estimated, stepped inside.

“Mistress? You’re alright?”

“Lau Kun! You’re free!”

“Yes, Mistress. They aren’t pirates; Pai Lung and his men are all gone.”

She spat at his name, and slowly lowered the dagger.

The man turned to Karadi.

“Lau Kun of Ukos,” he introduced himself. “And this is Mistress Li Wai of Ukos.

“We were taken captive by Pai Lung about two weeks ago. Mistress Li thanks you for freeing all of us.”

“Ukos? You are of Ukos?” questioned Karadi. “And who, exactly, is Mistress Li Wai to Ukos?”

“I am his daughter,” she said, breaking into their exchange. “And the ransom is already on its way, so you would do well to keep us all safe.”

Karadi held up his hands in reassurance.

“No ransom. You’re free. We will take you—all of you—to Astarma and let you off these, since it is the closest. Or we can just meet Ukos wherever the meeting place is.”

“You would do that for us?”

“I have no argument with you, Mistress. I am here to exterminate pirates, and make it safe for merchanters to cross the Night Ocean.

“Ukos is a pirate, and we will one day come to blows, but you are not pirates.

“So, where are we headed? Astarma?”

She motioned Lau Kun closer and they exchanged a few urgent whispers before he turned back.

“About halfway between the Narrows of Cappadarnia and the end of the Low Isles is Couple’s Rock. You familiar with it?”

“Yes, I know it. That’s where you’re to meet?”

“Yes. Sunset the day after tomorrow, she says.”

“I see. Thank you,” replied Karadi, nodding. “Master Ruk, I need a prize crew for this ship. We’ll anchor offshore here tonight. Get the wounded properly taken care of, and the ships back in shape—doesn’t seem to be much damage, though. We start south at dawn.”

“Who to captain her?”

He thought for a moment.

“How many of their crew yielded? And are fit?”

“About half a dozen left, I think, who can still work.”

“Have to get their oaths, but after the way we shattered them I don’t think there’ll be any problems.

“Hmm, bring another dozen on board, then, under Captain Lau Kun here. You are his second.

“Master Lau Kun, you are now captain, but I will have your oaths first not to harm me, my men, or these pirates who swear oaths to me.”

Lau Kun stood straighter.

“I have not captained a ship for some years, Master Karadi. Thank you.

“I give my oath, and I accept full responsibility for my people.”

“Mistress Li Wai?”

“I give my oath not to harm you, your crew, or any of the pirates who give bond,” she stated succinctly. “And I, too, thank you.”

“Master Ruk, see to it, please,” Karadi commanded.

Karadi turned his attention to the iron-bound chest lying against the wall.

“The Captain’s treasure-chest, I gather?”

“Yes,” answered Li Wai. “The key’s on a rope around his neck.”

Karadi looked through the keys he’d tossed onto the table, picking up one.

“This one, no doubt... let’s have a look, shall we?”

It was the right key and the chest opened smoothly. It was about half-full with a wide variety of coins and jewelry of every description. On one side was a small orichalc bear with ruby eyes.

He picked it up and admired it.

“This must be yours,” he said.

“It was. Take it, please, as a reward for rescuing us.”

Karadi laughed.

“I already took the ship and everything on it! You would give me what I already own?”

Her mouth snapped shut, recognizing that he did own the ship and everything on it—including herself—but her eyes glared.

Karadi laughed once again, more softly, and closed the chest.

“Ruk!”

A few seconds after his shout Ruk’s head popped through the doorway, one eyebrow raised.

“Master Ruk, please distribute this among the crew. Usual shares, and half-shares to any of the former crew who take oaths. Captain Lau Kun and Mistress Li Wai get officer’s shares.”

“Yessir,” snapped Ruk, and picked the chest up. It was heavier than it looked, and he shifted its weight a few times before he got it securely settled.

Karadi turned back to Li Wai.

“I accept your gift, Mistress, and assure you I will treasure it. As it happens I’ve been searching for this bear for about a decade.”

She frowned.

“My father had it made for me only six or seven years ago,...” she said slowly. “Searching for it? I don’t...”

“I am Karadi of Shiroora Shan, remember? And I am married to—”

“The Seeress of Shiroora Shan!” she gasped, eyes widening in sudden realization. “That’s how you were able to catch Pai Lung unaware!”

She was wrong, of course, but if they wanted to believe Lajita could scry every battle he saw no need to tell them differently. In a sense, he could: he’d known he’d survive the battle today because Lajita told him they had more children in the future.

At least he’d thought he’d survive... he glanced at the bear in his hand, ten years late and from a different person than she’d foretold. Not all of her prophecies were accurate, it seemed.

He left the two former captives in the captain’s quarters and went to take bond from the prisoners waiting at the bow.

* * *

The next morning was fair, with a light breeze to the east.

He had Li Wai and Lau Kun join him on his own caravel, the Salonitah, and took lead, with the other two—his own Night Terror, and the captured Redfang—following a good distance behind.

They sailed south along the Low Isles stretching south through the Night Ocean. Scrub, mudflats, and occasional twisted trees covered the Low Isles: frequently washed by the sea, with channels and sandy isles changing overnight, it was a deathtrap for ships, and uninhabited.

Here and there reminder of the peaks of The Spine to the north erupted through the sand, serving as landmarks amid the ever-changing scene, and it was toward one of these—Couple’s Rock—they were bound.

The sea was quiet today under the gentle breeze, and together with the almost-cloudless sky provided maximum visibility.

They saw the waiting ship before they even made out the shapes of Couple’s Rock, two huge rocks standing close to each other that were once husband and wife, or so the legend said.

He signaled the two following ships to set anchor, and continued on alone. As they got closer he could see that the other ship was armed for battle, flying the silver and blue standard of Ukos with its toothy flying fish.

He’d ordered the pirate’s own standard taken down, replaced with the black bear of Shiroora Shan. Ukos—Li Wai’s father—wouldn’t know what to make of it, but it should be enough to avoid outright battle.

He commanded the ship to drop anchor well out of range of scorpions or whatever else might be on the other ship, and clambered down to the longboat with Li Wai, Lau Kun, and six of his own men to pull the oars.

“Slowly, slowly... we want them to come meet us, not lure us into range,” he cautioned, and as their boat slowly crept toward the waiting ship, another longboat set forth to meet them.

Li Wai stood in the bow, standing straight and proud in the sunlight, with Lau Kun standing behind. Karadi stayed seated, for now, and let them show their faces.

“Li Wai! Are you unharmed?”

“Father! Lower your sword!” she shouted in return. “I am no longer a captive; these men freed me, and return me to you.”

“Where is Pai Lung?”

“Dead, by my hand,” said Karadi, standing up, hands empty. “Karadi of Shiroora Shan.”

There was a brief pause, then “Ukos of the Night Ocean,” came the response.

“I am here to return your daughter, and your troops who survive.”

“What of the ransom?”

“Keep it, or throw it to the fishes.”

The boats continued to approach one another until they were talking in almost normal voices.

Karadi noticed a very young boy on the boat, and wondered why.

“You and I will one day have a reckoning,” he predicted, “but not this day. Your daughter and Master Lau Kun are free to go, and with your consent I’ll have a second boat bring the rest of your people over. Some have given me their oaths, but you may have the others.”

“You are Karadi of Shiroora Shan, the Karadi who has been killing pirates across the night ocean.”

“I am.”

“Why have you not attacked me? I see your two caravels lying in wait.”

“Because we are here to return your daughter, whom I have no quarrel with,” said Karadi. “And I would have no quarrel with you if only for your piracy.”

The two boats touched, and Li Wai and Lau Kun stepped over into her father’s craft. The boy immediately ran to her, and she knelt to hug him. “I missed you, Fen! I’m back, don’t cry.”

The boy buried his face, a curious mixture of tears and anger, into his mother’s breast as Ukos looked on, nodding.

“Thank you for returning my daughter to me,” said Ukos. “I think we shall meet again.”

“I’m sure of it,” replied Karadi, motioning the rowers to break off. “Your grandson is named Fen, is he? A fine lad, it seems.

“Until we meet again, Master Ukos, safe voyaging to you.”

“And to you, Master Karadi.”

Karadi set and watched the other boat slip away, back to its own ship, as his crew rowed back to the Salonitah. He had quite a few things to talk to Lajita about when he got back to Shiroora Shan.

END

Chabra: Betrayals

She was beginning to show a few grey hairs here and there, he thought to himself. After Arun was born, two years ago, she really looked her age. Thirty-three isn’t very old compared to some people—I’m forty-one, after all—but she’s got a pretty heavy load to pull here while I’m off running around Eudoxia or Karida.

Karadi reached out and brushed a wayward strand of hair from her sleeping cheek. Grey hairs or not, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d even met, he thought.

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead and as he did her face tilted upward to meet him.

“Well, good morning, sleepy head,” he greeted her after the kiss. “The sun’s already up, you know... I think everyone’s up except us. The children certainly are: just listen!”

The sounds of shouting children came from the garden.

“I’m glad Dhruv and Atisha are thirteen now, finally able to keep the young ones under control,” said Lajita.

“Unfortunately for the nannies, they have their own responsibilities now, too, though... If Dhruv is out there now his combat instructor will be furious. I’m not sure which tutor Atisha had today but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already here, tapping their foot impatiently.”

“Today is, um, mathematics in the morning, and geography in the afternoon,” she replied, stretching. “It does feel good to sleep late once in a while, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm,” he replied, voice muffled as he buried his face in the hollow of her neck.

“Stop that!”

“Spoilsport!”

“Isn’t ten children enough, you goat? Besides, I’m hungry.”

“Now that you mention it, so am I,” he admitted. “My mind was on other things...”

“Lecher.”

“Is it still leching if it’s between man and wife?”

The pillow hit him hard enough rip the seams with a spurt of downy feathers into the air.

* * *

The whole family came down to the waterfront to see him off.

The Salonitah was ready and waiting under Captain Ruk. It was actually the second of that name, after his original caravel had been torched by pirates down near the Boorsh Fens. It was also quite a bit bigger and nastier than the first ship had been, equipped with enough speed to catch most pirates and enough trained fighters to finish them off once they did.

There weren’t many major pirates left, mostly small-time operations that only picked on small, weak ships crossing the Night Ocean.

Ukos was one exception, of course... they’d crossed paths a few times since that memorable ransom a few years back, but somehow it had never ended up in battle. He’d even come to admire the man, in fact, after hearing how he only robbed the biggest ships and never took more than a third of their riches; shared his treasure with his men, earning their fierce loyalty; and had, on occasion, listened to the desperate entreaty of a ship’s crew and let them go untouched. He’d even saved the crew from one of Karadi’s own ships, caught on the rocks after a sudden squall... he could have left them there to die, but instead ferried them back to Cappadarnia under a flag of truce.

At the same time, he was a fierce and unforgiving enemy, and people that crossed him, whether merchants, pirates, innkeepers, or whores, almost invariably ended up either dead or fleeing to other lands.

They’d have to settle things one day—Karadi was determined to make the Night Ocean safe for merchanters, and Ukos was the last major obstacle. That was why he was on the way to Astarma now, in fact. He had set up a secret meeting with Ukos there, in hopes of finding a way to resolve the problem.

Only Lajita and Ruk knew why he was going to Astarma. He felt he could trust Ukos to respect the truce and meet with him, and assumed that he had only told one or two of his own trusted people about the meeting.

The Agnid Mountains ran along most of the eastern shore of the Night Ocean, with formidable cliffs in most places, leaving only three routes from the Three Cities of the Plains—Karida, Zeenar, and Ebnon—to Shiroora Shan, Eudoxia, and the rest of the Dreamlands to the west: through Shiroora Shan itself, by land or the Jasharra-Navi River from Karida; via the treacherous tracks over the Agnid Mountains from Zeenar to Istahn Village, perched at the edge of the glacier where the River Eidis was born, and thence down the river to Astarma by the sea; or through the deadly Boorsh Fens, where bottomless pools of scum and ravenous creatures lurked, to the desert of Cuppar-Nombo and on to Shang.

From Astarma, in turn, there were three sea routes: through the Great Seagate of Shiroora Shan to the western Night Ocean and then south to Adelma, through the Narrows of Cappadarnia, or around the south tip of the Low Isles, through the treacherous shallows and sea monsters of the water off the Boorsh Fens.

And, as it happened, Shiroora Shan controlled the Narrows from the growing town of Cappadarnia, which he had brought under his flag some years earlier.

If he could find a way to bring Astarma under his control as well, Shiroora Shan would have an effective monopoly on all trade across the Night Ocean, such as the enormously profitable indigo and silk of Ebnon, Zeenar cotton, and the prized paper, silk, and fragrant teas of unknown Gondara on the eastern side of the Athraminaurian Mountains, close to The Edge. There was a wide variety of traded goods, of course, but one shipload from Gondara would yield more profit than a dozen loads of common goods.

The problem was that much of the Night Ocean belonged to the pirates... ships could carry troopers for defense and usually bull through attacks by the smaller pirates, but troopers cost a lot of money and could easily turn a profitable trip into a loss. Plus, pirates like Ukos often attacked with two or three ships at a time, overwhelming defenses.

Over the years Karadi had built up his navy and whittled away at the pirates, but progress was painfully slow. Lajita assured him he would succeed, and Ukos would join them, but that didn’t make the work any easier or safer. He’d lost too many troopers and ships already and hated to think of losing more.

Lajita didn’t have much to say about this voyage to Astarma, strangely enough. She said the meeting with Ukos would go well, that he would accept Karadi’s invitation, and that they’d agree to wed their children—Fen and Asha—to each other, and Ukos would either absorb the other pirates or eliminate them. Later, he would assume the title of Lord of Astarma, and build a castle there.

She was vague on the details, though, and much as he respected Ukos he had difficulty believing the meeting would go as smoothly as her outline suggested.

He was sailing with two other ships, his old friend Redfang and the newer Hammerhead, and all three were ready for battle, with additional troopers on board just in case. The other two ships would anchor along the Low Isles, out of sight of Astarma, ready to sail at an instant’s notice, and the dinghy that would bring him to shore would wait there, ready to ferry him back again, or take messages to the waiting ships.

A filthy fishing boat had also called at Astarma a few days earlier, selling its catch and letting the crew relax for a few days before setting out again. It was well-known at the fishing port, selling its catch there often, but in fact it was Karadi’s ship and crew, keeping an eye on developments in Astarma. They’d be ready to move during the meeting, too, although, like everyone else, they hadn’t been told who was visiting Astarma, or why.

Even with those preparations he could still be killed very easily, and he knew it. He trusted Ukos not to kill him out of hand, though, and he had Lajita’s prophecies to lean on. He made sure his sword was sharp anyway.

The three ships followed The Spine south to the Narrows of Cappadarnia and anchored there for the night. The next morning they split up, Redfang and Hammerhead sailing farther south along the Low Isles coast, while Salonitah turned east, toward Astarma.

Astarma port appeared in the late afternoon: a small town of weather-beaten buildings surrounded by farmland. The Agnid Mountains running along most of the eastern shore of the Night Ocean curved east here, toward Zeenar, leaving a broad floodplain that could only be reached by ship, or through the narrow, twisting tracks over the mountains, beyond the headwaters of the River Eidis and Istahn Village.

“Ruk, take care of my ship,” he commanded as they lowered the dinghy. They clasped each other’s wrists in farewell. “I’ll be fine. But make sure you’re ready to go when I send word!”

“We’ll be ready; you just worry about yourself,” replied Ruk. “I still think this is a damn silly idea, and I’d be much, much happier if I went with you. Me and two dozen troopers.”

“When you’re married to a seeress you can do a lot of silly things in perfect safety, Ruk,” he laughed while hoping he was right.

“Safe voyaging, Master Karadi.”

“Safe voyaging, Captain Ruk.”

He clambered down the rope ladder and the dinghy pushed off toward the wharfs of Astarma.

* * *

He’d been here many times over the years, but always with a few troopers along. Merchants were happy to see him because he often bought their wares. The villagers didn’t care who visited as long as they paid in hard coin. The pirates who called Astarma home, however, felt quite a bit differently about Shiroora Shan, and especially about Karadi.

He was here in secret this time, but everyone would have recognized the Salonitah offshore, and might guess who the lone visitor was. He had to get to the designated tavern, the Blue Bottle Fly, quickly and rely on Ukos to keep his word.

Fortunately, the Blue Bottle Fly was one of the closest buildings to the waterfront, nestled between two enormous sheds where fishers sorted their catch and repaired their nets. The air stank of fish, both fresh and rotten, of sweaty fishermen, of sea-soaked timber and sodden nets, of well-fed cats padding silently in the shadows.

The hum of voices and the clatter of baskets and trays petered out as he walked toward the tavern, and faces began to turn toward him, hands falling still.

Whispers.

His right hand fell to his sword pommel, lightly touching it, ready to draw.

The tavern door was half-open.

He took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from his palm onto his tunic, and pushed it open, stepping into the relative darkness.

It took a second for his eyes to adjust, and in the dim light that came through the dingy windows and the scattered lanterns hanging, he saw half a dozen small tables and a dozen men waiting.

He scanned their faces.

No Ukos.

He stepped to the side, putting his back to the corner, and his hand dropped to his sword once again.

“Master?”

The voice came from the bar.

He turned to see the tavern master beckoning him.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “Through here.”

He gestured to the low door behind him, and Karadi stepped through into the back room.

A row of shelves covered one wall, and two enormous wood casks stood at the back: ale, no doubt.

In the middle of the room was a table, empty but for two tankards and a candle.

There was one vacant bench, and in the other one sat Ukos.

“The tavern master is an old friend,” said the pirate. “He’ll keep our secret, and warn us if need be.”

Ukos gestured at the casks.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get here, Master Karadi,” he smiled. “Plenty of ale to keep our tankards full.”

Karadi sat, and lifted his tankard, meeting the pirate’s midway over the table.

“To peace.”

“A good toast,” agreed Ukos. “To peace.”

The tankards touched softly, and the ale helped calm his nerves after the walk in.

“Culardi always has good ale,” said Ukos. “Not always the best, but always good.”

“You come here often, I hear.”

“And you were here last four months ago,” countered Ukos.

Karadi grinned.

“We both have our ways of keeping track of what’s happening on the Night Ocean,” he said. “You know I’ve got more ships standing by, and I know you’ve got more troops in the village.”

The pirate shrugged. “As you say, we both took precautions. I think it was a bit harder for me, though, because I had to make sure none of my men would kill you when you came ashore.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” nodded Karadi, lifting his tankard in thanks. “My wife would never forgive me if I got killed down here.”

“Ah, the Seeress of Shiroora Shan. I’ve heard much about her... is any of it true?”

“Probably doesn’t live up to the myths, but then again, who does?”

“And what did she say about our meeting today?”

Karadi examined the wet ring of ale left by his tankard for a moment, silent.

“Several things... she said you won’t kill me, which I found very comforting. You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“Hadn’t planned on it, no,” admitted the pirate. “I may change my mind, though.”

“And she said I’d not kill you, which both of us will appreciate, I think.”

“Very kind of you, yes. And?”

“And she said that you will agree to work with me, that we will be successful in controlling the Night Ocean between us, and that our children will wed, in time.”

“That’s quite a prophecy!”

“It is.”

“For that to happen I’d have to go up against an awful lot of my friends, you know... you’ve killed off a number of them already, but it would take some convincing for me to want to kill off the rest.”

Karadi took another sip.

“I’m a merchant, as you know, and merchants like things to be quiet and predictable. When lots of exciting things happen there are certainly opportunities to make enormous profit, but they come with the risk of losing it all.

“Personally, I vastly prefer the quiet, because it lets everyone grow a bit instead of burning everything to the ground every so often. I have a family I want to protect, children I want to see grow up in a peaceful world. I know you have children, and grandchildren. Surely you’d rather see them safe?”

“Well, they are safe... nobody would dare bother them; I made that quite clear after one very foolish man kidnapped my daughter.”

“Yes, I was the one who rescued her, if you recall.”

“I do,” he admitted, nodding in thanks. “But it will not happen again.”

“While you’re alive.”

“Few people have threatened me and lived,” he said quietly.

“Not a threat,” denied Karadi. “An observation. Once you reach the top you always have to watch your back.”

“True enough,” said Ukos, relaxing. “And your proposal?”

“Let us join forces.”

“Me!? A merchant!?” He guffawed. “You must not know me at all!”

“No, not a merchant,” said Karadi. “My navy.”

His laughter stopped.

“Your... navy...”

“Ships, supplies, salaries, training, port facilities... the works.”

“And I do your bidding like a little servant boy?”

“Hardly. You do your bidding, keeping the Night Ocean safe.”

Ukos mulled that over for a bit.

“...It’s an interesting idea, I have to admit... I am getting a little old for this game.”

“If you’re willing to consider it, I’ll be more than—”

The door suddenly flew open with a bang and a dozen armed men burst in, spreading out quickly to face the pair.

“I trusted you, Ukos!” spat Karadi, springing to his feet and drawing his sword. He moved to put the wall at his back, trying to keep Ukos and all the newcomers in his field of view.

Ukos had also jumped up and drawn his sword, but it was pointed at the dozen who had forced their way in, not at Karadi.

“Not me, Karadi!”

“These aren’t your men?”

“Well, Captain Kanotic in the middle was my man up until this moment, but it seems he’s not any more,...” said Ukos. “And I see greedy old Chail standing outside the door.

“What is it, Kanotic? Finally decided to challenge me in public?”

“You’re finished, Ukos. And that triple-damned Karadi with you!” shouted Captain Kanotic, and leapt to the attack.

Ukos kicked his bench forward, narrowly missing Kanotic and forcing him to dodge to the side, off-balance.

“Your choice, Karadi!” called Ukos, focusing his attention and sword point on the approaching fighters. “We both die alone, or try Fate together!”

Buoyed once again by Lajita’s promise of a future life, Karadi made his decision instantly. He certainly couldn’t defeat this many enemies by himself, regardless of who they worked for. Partnering with Ukos gave him a better chance, however small it might be.

“Back to back, then,” he replied, stepping closer to Ukos and turning slightly to take the right half of the room, leaving Ukos to handle the left.

“We need to get to that corner,” whispered Ukos, using his chin to point at a corner of the room several meters away. “Trust me.”

Swords slashing, they slowly moved in the direction he’d indicated, using benches and tables as barriers to slow their attackers.

Karadi parried one sword stroke and sank his dagger into his attacker’s side. Her chain meant it wasn’t a fatal blow, but the tip penetrated and the force of his blow knocked her back.

He risked a quick glance at Ukos.

He was chest-to-chest with a half-naked black man, sword hilt pressed again the other’s axe handle. They strained for a moment, until Ukos’ leg snapped out to hook behind the other’s knee, pulling him off-balance for a split second.

Ukos twisted his sword-arm, mashing the fingers of the other’s axe hand.

His sword swung up and down again, and the axeman collapsed, his neck cut half-way through.

“To me, now!” shouted Ukos, and leapt straight at the back wall of the room where it met the side wall, right in the corner.

A section of wall popped out entirely, revealing the filthy alley running behind the tavern, and Ukos leapt through.

Karadi jumped, an instant ahead of a whistling sword blade, landing heavily on his shoulder and rolling to a crouch. Ukos was there, hand outstretched, to help him up, and pulled him down the alley. Right around the corner was a horse, saddled and ready.

“Up!” he shouted, pushing Karadi toward the horse as he toppled a pile of wood kegs into the alley to delay their pursuers.

Karadi used the stirrup to jump up into the saddle, yanked the reins, and extended one hand to lift Ukos up behind him as the horse broke into a gallop, down the alley and away from the ambush.

“Where are we going?” asked Karadi as they broke from the alley onto a wider street.

“Left at that willow up ahead,” replied Ukos. “They’ll be after us soon enough—wait, over there! That horse!”

Karadi understood what he meant, and twisted the reins to approach the other rider.

Ukos jumped onto the other man’s horse, knocking him off with a crunch and smoothly settling into the saddle. He yanked the reins to join Karadi, and they set off together for the willow, then left, galloping past street stalls and villagers about their daily business.

They could hear shouting behind them.

“Follow me!”

The two horses sped through the village, galloping down wider streets and cutting through alleys and markets without slowing.

They were heading away from the sea, up into the Agnid Mountains.

As the ground turned rougher there were fewer and fewer buildings until finally they were riding up a narrow trail. Karadi couldn’t see anyone else ahead or behind them.

Ukos slowed their pace, letting the horses cool off a bit, but kept them moving.

“As you said,” mused Ukos, “you always have to watch your back.”

Karadi grunted in agreement.

“And where to now? If we can get to the wharf, I can get us off to safety.”

“Your dinghy is gone, I’m sure,” said Ukos. “Dead, or fled back to your ship.”

“No matter. There is another way.”

“Well, if I didn’t know about it there’s a good chance they didn’t, either. Might still be there.”

“Wait until dark?”

“They’ll be thinking we only have two options: back there and get off to sea, or up the Agnids to Istahn, and over to Zeenar.”

“The trade route over the mountains? Pretty risky, isn’t it?”

“Yup. They could watch and ambush us easily,” agreed Ukos cheerfully. “There’s a third option, though.”

“You have a pet wyvern?”

“Hardly,” laughed Ukos. “I have a path back to the Night Ocean, and a boat waiting.”

“There aren’t any such paths!”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says, and that’s why it’s so useful. Unfortunately, I’ll have to ask you to trust me once more, because I’m going to have to blindfold you for a while.

“It’s my secret, and I’d just as soon keep it that way.”

“Blindfolded. In the mountains.”

“If this was all some plan to kill you I could have done it much more easily back there,” pointed out Ukos. “I promise not to let you walk off a cliff.”

“I don’t seem to have much of a choice, do I? They’ll be waiting for me in Astarma, and on the Istahn road, too.”

“I’m in the same boat, you know. Except that once we get to sea we both have ships waiting, and troopers.”

“Hmm. All true, but still...”

Karadi ran over the possibilities. Going back to the village, or trying to make it over the mountains to Zeenar, were both very long shots. Longer if he had to try it alone. And Lajita said he’d be back.

“Do it,” he said finally. “Blindfold away!”

“It’ll only be for about twenty minutes, and most of that easy riding,” said Ukos as he began wrapping a turban cloth around Karadi’s head, top-down to the nose.

“I’m going to walk around in circles for a while, just to be sure you don’t know where we’re heading, and then up to the trail. Once we’re well in I’ll take off the blindfold again. Deal?”

“Deal,” sighed Karadi. “Let’s get it over with.”

Ukos led the horses around and round, back and forth, until Karadi was thoroughly confused. He gave up trying to keep track and just gritted his teeth.

“We’ll have to dismount and climb here,” said Ukos. “I’ll send the horses back on their way.”

He helped Karadi down, and led his to a nearby rock wall to wait while he took care of the horses.

There was a shout, the sounds of a hand smacking into the horse’s flank, and then hoofbeats fading off into the distance.

Karadi forced himself not to tear off his blindfold.

Ukos grabbed hold of his upper arm, pulling him to the left, then turning him to face the rock wall.

“I’ll guide you. A couple meters up, and then pretty flat walking. There’s a sheer drop on the right, so don’t lose your footing up there.”

“If I fall I’m taking you with me,” said Karadi.

“Yeah, fine. Left foot, up!”

Ukos guided his foot into a shallow toehold, then his hands, and they gradually climbed the rock wall.

“OK, you’re up. We can just walk most of it from here,” he finally said. “Just another ten meters or so, until the mountain hides our path, and I’ll take it off.”

Karadi grunted.

“Good breeze up here.”

“Keep your hand on that wall to your left,” warned Ukos. “That breeze is from the drop-off on your right.”

They walked slowly along the trail, Karadi feeling every step carefully with his booted foot before putting his weight on it. Ukos stayed beside him as much as possible, or behind when the trail was too narrow.

“Only a little further, Karadi. Sharp turn to the left here, and then we’re done.”

Karadi’s hand trailed over the rock face, and he slid his foot forward to feel where the corner was.

There.

His hand and foot located the corner at about the same time, and he shuffled forward, around the bend.

“Watch out!”

Just as heard the shout, a snake sank its fangs into Karadi’s hand, right behind the thumb. He yanked back in pain and surprise, and his feet slipped out from under him.

“Karadi!”

He slid and bounced down the cliff, unable to see because of the blindfold, screaming, and something hard hit him in the head.

Blackness.

* * *

Someone was shaking him, gripping his shoulder.

He groaned, realized he was lying on something hard and sharp, and opened his eyes.

Rocks.

A pair of straw sandals.

Dainty feet, slender legs... that wasn’t Ukos!

He sat up and grabbed his head at the splitting pain.

He looked up.

The woman, still in shadow against the sky, looked concerned.

“Are you alright? You fell and hit your head.”

“Yes, I... Who are you? Where is Ukos?”

“Ukos? There is no-one here named Ukos, just us, dear one.”

She was wearing a light, flowing gown that shimmered and rippled in the breeze. Behind her was a gentle slope covered in knee-high grass, dotted with grazing sheep.

Fluffy clouds overhead.

She had a garland of daisies on her head, yellow flowers almost the color of her blonde hair.

He stretched out a hand to leverage himself up off the ground, and his hand spasmed in agony.

He yanked it back—snakebite!

The twin punctures were beginning to swell and skin darken, blood oozing out.

“The snake... have to get the poison out...”

He pulled his dagger and moved to slash his own hand open, to suck out the venom, but she knelt next to him, and stilled his hand with her own.

“It is a minor matter, my dear, let me cleanse it for you.”

She leaned forward and kissed the wound, a brief touch of cool, soft lips, and the pain faded away like a dream.

He sat, somehow unable to think properly, bemused.

“Who... are you?” he finally managed to ask.

“You silly! You know who I am!”

He shook his head, unable to concentrate.

“I am Karadi of Shiroora Shan.”

“Why, of course you are, dear Karadi. Lucky thing your wife was here to help you!”

“My... wife?” He looked around. “Lajita is here?”

She leaned forward with the scent of lavender and cinnamon.

“The fall has addled your brains, dear Karadi. I am Lajita, of course!”

He shook his head again, rubbed his eyes.

Yes, of course she was Lajita. He recognized her now, familiar pitch-black hair framing deep brown eyes.

“But where are we? Why are you here?”

“Come, Karadi, let us go back home and rest a bit. The sheep will look after themselves.”

She took his arm, helping him up.

He looked at his hand: the snakebite was healed, only faint white scars marking where twin wounds had been mere seconds ago.

He shook his head again.

Something was strange. He felt like he had had a few too many ales.

His head didn’t hurt anymore, but it was hard to focus on anything except Lajita.

The sleeping mat was already laid out.

Had he forgotten walking to the hut? Suddenly he was there, and she was undressing him, wiping the dust off his body with a cloth.

She rubbed a fragrant oil into his skin, massaging his muscles deeply, working out kinks he hadn’t realized he had, her naked body sliding over his, legs entwining, lips caressing his neck, his ear, his lips.

He tried to concentrate, to throw off the inertia that gripped his mind... but not his body. Lajita. He tried to recall her face, her body, and his thoughts were shattered, blown away to dust by her kisses.

“Come to me, Karadi, my lusty Karadi,” she breathed as she straddled him, dragging him into her lavender and cinnamon scented paradise. He lost himself in her flesh, driving blindly until he reached release as she reared above him, riding him deep, head thrown back with an orgasmic scream, shuddered, shook, collapsed onto his chest panting.

“Man-seed, after all these years!”

He heard her words but couldn’t comprehend what they might mean, still drifting in a fog.

“Lajita?”

She began to dissolve into the air, tiny particles falling off like grains of sand, wafting away in the breeze, face melting in the sunlight. Sunlight. Where was the hut? Where was Lajita? What was...?

Her hands reached down to cup her belly, already swelling with new life, and she reached in and through herself to pull out a swirling cloud of glittering dust that clung to her hands like a living thing.

As the lingering traces of the phantom vanished into the air, Karadi heard the last whisper of a fading dream: “At last, a child! My long-awaited Shikhandi,” and she was gone.

Someone was shaking him, gripping his shoulder.

He groaned, realized he was lying on something hard and sharp, and opened his eyes.

Rocks.

A pair of leather boots.

“You alright, Karadi?”

Ukos!

He sat up, winced in anticipation, but there was no pain.

No pain in his head, or his hand.

He looked at it: the snakebite was healed, just those two faded white scars left behind.

“You’re a damn lucky man, Karadi,” continued Ukos. “If you hadn’t landed on this ledge, you’d be a couple hundred meters lower, and dead.”

Karadi sat up and looked around.

He was sitting on a narrow ledge jutting out from the steep cliff.

No grassy slope, no sheep, no beautiful woman, no Lajita.

A rope hung down from above; Ukos must have used it to descend.

“Let me see that snakebite, Karadi,” said Ukos, hand extended.

Karadi stood, held out his own hand.

“I think the snake missed me,” he said. “Just surprised me, that’s all.”

“Huh... no bite mark, but there’s blood on your sleeve there.”

“Must be from the fall, I guess,” said Karadi.

That woman—if she was a woman, and he doubted it—must have been real. The snakebit, healed. His head, his bumps and scratches, healed. His “seed,” as she had said... he couldn’t tell Lajita about this, not ever!

He stopped breathing as he recalled her final words. She had named the child Shikhandi!

“You OK? You’re awfully pale...”

“I’m... fine,...” he whispered. “The fall...”

“My pack’s up there,” said Ukos, pointing up the cliff. “Let’s get off this ledge, and get you some water.”

Had all that just been a dream?

He glanced at his hand... two little white scars stared back.

Karadi shook his head, dissipating the last traces of fog.

“Sorry,” he replied. “Let’s get going.”

He grabbed the rope, pulled two or three times to check that it was tight, and walked himself up the cliff, followed close behind by Ukos.

“You sure don’t climb like a man who just fell off a mountain,” chuckled Ukos. “Don’t look like it, either, except for your clothes.”

Karadi grunted.

“Just lucky, I guess. Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Well,” said Ukos, pulling himself up over the edge and coining up the rope, “You trusted me, and I didn’t see I had much choice in the matter.”

“Some people might have overlooked me on that ledge.”

“I’m not some people.”

He stowed the rope in his pack and brushed his hands off.

“Ready? We’ve about an hour’s walk, and then a short swim ahead of us.”

“And then?”

“And then we part ways, I think. You to the Salonitah, and me back to Astarma.”

“Astarma!? They’ll kill you!”

Ukos laughed.

“Oh, I won’t be going back alone. I’m afraid Kanotic and Chail won’t be with us much longer. You know any reliable lieutenants looking for a job?”

“Hardly,” smiled Karadi. “So are we still friends after we get home?”

“Well, perhaps not friends, but it seems we’re not enemies anymore, either.”

“So it seems.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way, and without a blindfold Karadi had no difficulty navigating the tricky places where the path diminished to almost nothing.

“Just up ahead,” said Ukos, breathing heavily. “Go slow.”

Karadi looked around the rock blocking their path to see the Night Ocean stretching out in front of them, blinding in the afternoon sunlight.

There wasn’t a sail in sight, and they could see quite a ways because the ocean was at least twenty meters below their feet.

Karadi leaned forward for a better look.

The cliff was almost sheer, with nothing to hold onto while climbing down. Below, the ocean was a deep sapphire blue: deep water.

“You mentioned the walk and the swim, but you didn’t tell me there was a little jump in the middle,” he complained.

“A minor oversight,” chuckled Ukos. “I’ve done this twice already, and I’m still alive, I assure you. Don’t think of it as a jump, rather consider it just one more step to reach the boat.”

“You sure there’s a boat down there?”

“Absolutely. Hidden, because I’d rather nobody steal it, but it’s there.”

Karadi frowned.

“I’ll go first, if you like, but I have to warn you that if you don’t join me, you’ll never find your way out of these mountains,” said Ukos. “When you jump, hit the water straight, feet-first if you can.

“And try not to land on top of me, if at all possible.”

Ukos dropped his pack over the edge, nodded, and stepped into thin air.

It seemed to take an awfully long time for him to hit the water, but once he did time sped up again, and he bobbed to the surface and waved.

“Water’s nice and cold, Karadi! Come on in!”

“Son of a bitch...” muttered Karadi, gritted his teeth, and jumped.

He started to flail instinctively, but immediately clamped down on his panic and brought his legs together, feet pointed down, arms at his side.

When he hit he was almost vertical, knifing down into the water with a shock that sent spikes of pain up his right leg. His impetus slowed rapidly in the water, and he swam upwards toward the air.

Ukos was waiting, his look of concern was replaced with a grin when Karadi’s head broke the surface, sputtering.

“See? Just one more step... nothing to it,” he said, and pointed toward the cliffside. “Behind that rock there. Help me get it out, and we’ll be on our way.”

There was indeed a tiny boat there, barely big enough for the two of them, but with both oars and sail.

“Where to? The Night Ocean is pretty big,” asked Karadi.

“South. My ship is waiting just a bit farther down the coast, out of sight.”

“And then?”

“And then we take you out to the Salonitah, and I make some preparations to go back to Astarma.”

“You could kill me once we reach you ship.”

“I could,” he admitted. “Or I could have just left you on that ledge.”

The wind was blowing from the west, and they were able to tack south very easily.

The pirate’s ship—the Wren—was waiting right where he’d said it would be, and Ukos scuttled up the rope ladder first to be sure none of his crew would raise their weapons when they saw who his guest was.

They didn’t.

They didn’t object when he commanded them to set sail for the Low Isles, either, or run up a white parley flag later as they approached the Salonitah.

And shortly after sunset the two ships parted ways again, the Salonitah turning north to head back to Shiroora Shan, and the Wren back toward Astarma.

* * *

Weeks later, a messenger came calling on Karadi at Shiroora Shan.

He carried a letter from Ukos, bound to hand it personally to Karadi.

Karadi snapped the seal and unrolled it.

 

Master Karadi,

My apologies for the difficulties we encountered in Astarma, and my thanks for the trust you showed me.

As you may have heard there have been a number of changes of late in Astarma, and in the pirate fleet. Captain Kanotic and several other pirates unfortunately passed away recently along with a number of respected merchants and other residents of Astarma. The village is being rebuilt now after some minor damage from fire.

Given the recent difficulties there and our mutual desire for peace in the Night Ocean, I felt that I had no choice but to assume the position of Lord of Astarma. We would be pleased to discuss further your proposal to hire the Astarma Fleet to patrol the Night Ocean.

Awaiting your favorable reply, I remain,

Yours faithfully,

Ukos, Lord of Astarma

END

Chabra: The Falls of Kra

It had been two years since they’d entered into a pact with Ukos, now Lord of Astarma and effective commander of the combined fleets of Shiroora Shan and Astarma. Piracy was almost unheard of in the western arm of the Night Ocean, and trade was flourishing through all three key routes: Shiroora Shan, which controlled both land and sea routes through the north end of the Night Ocean; Astarma, which commanded the route from Zeenar over the Agnid Mountains and then by sea west; and Cappadarnia, overlooking the Narrows allowing ships to pass between the southern end of The Spine and the Low Isles farther south.

There were always smugglers who wended their way through the shifting channels south of the Low Isles, or dared to travel even farther southward and brave the monsters of the Boorsh Fens, but those routes were slow and risky, for the most part, and presented little threat to the effective monopoly Karadi and Ukos commanded.

Ukos was also the father of Fen, who was betrothed to Lajita’s third daughter, Asha. She was only eight now, and Fen a few years older, so while they had exchanged gifts and promises for the future marriage, it was still very much in the future.

Fen had already visited Shiroora Shan several times, spending a month or two getting to know them better, and several of Karadi’s children—especially Asha—had spent time in Astarma. By now Shiroora Shan had evolved into a major trading city, while Astarma had only just completed its transformation from town to city.

Cappadarnia as well was growing steadily, with guard towers on both sides of the Narrows and chains of iron and wood across the channel to prevent free passage. It was managed by Ruk, now almost thirty and father of his own children. He was nominally an Admiral under Ukos, and captain of his own ship, but with the pirates largely under control he had less need to sail it.

Piracy was not unknown of in eastern stretch of the Night Ocean, but Ademla worked with them to keep the trade routes mostly safe. Eudoxia also did its part, although it was less likely to cooperate with Shiroora Shan, and pirates—and smugglers—could often take advantage of their mutual distrust.

Lajita was beginning to wonder just how the other Lajita had managed to send her messages through time.

It had been years now, and she had a considerable number of books and notes all ready to go, but no clue as to how to send them. As far as she knew she possessed no magic, except perhaps for the enigmatic amulet hanging around her neck.

Even after using the amulet, first when she became The Lajita and touched it to the book to reveal that strange note, and then to save herself from Shikhandi, she was no closer to understanding what it did, or how.

She wondered again where it had come from... she had brought it with her from the future, and it would pass again through over five centuries of Lajitas before returning once again to the past, to start the cycle over and over again. It was never made at all, it simply existed.

Her only guide was a strange, single line of Lajita’s that she had read in the book so long ago. At the top of a page had been written “You must go to the Falls of Kra,” but the remainder of the page had been torn out of the book, apparently by accident rather than by intent, leaving only that cryptic command.

The head housekeeper, old Batauta, had mentioned a magical being in a cave behind the Falls of Kra up in the Ifdawn Marest, the huge mountain range north of Shiroora Shan several times. An eerie spirit or creature that could wield magic for good or bad, she said, to help you or curse you, seemingly at whim. Some said that a gift of fruit, or meat, or jewels would win its favor; others said it depended on your speech and mien, or the weather. In short, nobody really knew.

Lajita had her doubts that the creature existed at all, but she recalled that Shikhandi had met her in those mountains. Could he be what they were talking about? It seemed unlikely because they had met over five hundred years in the future, and because he hadn’t recognized her: surely if he was the one who granted her a magical ability he would remember, even five centuries later!

Karadi and the twins—fifteen-year-old Dhruv and Atisha—were on a trading ship to Eudoxia, carrying a cargo of Gondara silk, porcelain from Karida, and glassware and crystal from the enormous glassworks here in Shiroora Shan.

The other children were busy at their studies, training, or playing, under the watchful eyes of their nannies or tutors, and the city was buzzing with its daily activity.

It was a good day to go see for herself if there really was a magical being up in the Ifdawn Marest, and if it could help her.

She decided to go alone, and already had her gift prepared. She had thought about what might be good. Anyone living in the mountains could get fruit, fresh meat, and fish pretty easily, and she didn’t think food would be anything special. Gold or jewels were a possibility, but they wouldn’t be of much use to someone living alone in the wilderness. Still, they were the traditional favorite.

She finally decided on Cydathrian brandy, and had a very special crystal bottle with matching goblets made by Kimjeon himself. They were covered with intricate designs of flowers and birds etched into the glass, and looked stunning when filled with the dark red brandy.

To protect them from breakage she had a special case made as well, of leather and wood with inlaid designs of mother-of-pearl, semi-precious stones, and silver. The case was lived with deep blue velvet.

“Thank you for the lunch, Mistress Batauta,” she said, accepting the bundle from the housekeeper. It was just bamboo boxes holding rice balls, spicy chicken with vegetables, and some fruit, wrapped up in a cloth for easy carrying (the cloth could be spread on the ground for sitting, too). “I have some things to think upon, and will be back in a few hours.”

“Yes, Seeress,” replied Batauta, nodding four or five times. “I’ll keep an eye on everything here.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” she said, and pulled the reins lightly. Her horse, a dappled gray mare, turned to face the path leading up into the Ifdawn Marest, and began a leisurely walk. She flicked the reins again, and the walk became a canter.

The morning was still young, the sun not yet high enough to reach into all the folds of the mountains, and the morning mist still hung low where the sunlight had not penetrated. Birdsong was everywhere, and several times she heard something large crashing through the brush to escape her—deer, no doubt.

She had never been to the Falls of Kra, but she knew that hunters from the city had. They fell from a great height into an almost-circular pool of crystal-clear water, feeding a mountain stream that raced down the mountains to the sea.

They had seen it but none had ventured closer, and no one had ever dared fish there. At least, none had tried and survived to tell the tale.

Clearly it was home to a powerful spirit or monster, or so the stories went, although no one claimed to have seen it with their own eyes. She wasn’t afraid because she knew from history that she still had many years to live.

This low on the mountain’s flanks there were still scattered trees, and even stretches of woods in places, but as she rode deeper into the Ifdawn Marest they gave way to low scrub and windblown rock. The path itself had vanished, leaving her with only the many stories to guide herself by, but the mountain stream was always easy to follow, even if she did have to ride around barriers every so often. And the stream led directly to the Falls.

Despite the terrible fates the stories foretold, the ride was beautiful: the air was brisk and clean, scattered wildflowers swayed in the breeze, birds soared and swooped, once she noticed a mountain lion watching her pass.

The stream gradually trended upwards, as streams tend to do, and it became more and more difficult to find a path for the horse until finally a low cliff and waterfall made it impossible. She could easily scale the cliff—she could almost reach the top just by stretching—but the horse could never surmount that obstacle.

She climbed up directly from horseback and left the horse there free to roam. It would wait for her, she knew, unless danger threatened. Her pack, carrying only the brandy and enough food and water for a day, was light.

The stream was faster here, cutting deep through rock, but potholes showed that it had once been far larger. Boulders blocked her path here and there, and one large rockslide that had pushed the stream far out of its usual path, creating a large pond upstream of it. She had no choice but to wade through the ankle-deep water to reach the far side: it was either that or risk clambering across the steep mountains on both sides, covered with treacherous scree. Footing in the pond was dangerous enough.

Above the pond was yet another small waterfall, perhaps two meters or so. She pulled herself up over the edge and saw that she had arrived: a few dozen meters ahead of her loomed a massive cliff, dozens of meters high, a single cascade of water pouring down from above in a stunning arc, sunlit as it crashed into the pool at its base with spray and mist.

The sun’s rays illuminated the waterfall only partially, blocked by the cliff stretching away on both sides.

She couldn’t tell if there was a cave behind the waterfall or not. The left side of the pool was formed by a sheer rock face but the right was lower. It might be the way to the back of the waterfall.

As she approached the pool the rocks became slippery with mist and moss, her feet sliding. She slipped her sandals off, dropping them into her pack, and advanced on bare feet.

The waterfall roared, and the rock beneath her feet vibrated with the impact.

Placing her feet very carefully, she proceeded around the edge of the pool, into the shadows behind the fall.

There was no cave.

The path, if that’s what it was, merely petered out into nothing.

No witch, no evil spirit, no loathsome creature waiting.

She cursed under her breath and pushed her sodden hair back up out of her eyes.

She turned to retrace her steps.

There was no path.

She spun around, looking behind her, then more slowly in a circle.

She was standing on a tiny rock shelf, only barely big enough to hold her, with a black stone wall behind her and the hammering waterfall in front.

She stood and stared at the falling water, trying to think of what to do next.

It would be a risky gamble to leap into that torrent: it could batter her to death against the rocks quite easily.

Suddenly she noticed that the tumult of the waterfall was fading, and as she watched a pair of huge yellow eyes appeared in the water, seemingly suspended in the air.

They were perfectly round, with enormous pitch-black pupils, but every few seconds one or the other would blink, and for a fraction of a second would reveal that they were split into three lobes, not two like a cat.

“I am Lajita of Shiroora Shan,” she said, head up, meeting that gaze directly. “I have come to ask a boon.”

“I know who you are, child,” came a soft voice with the faintest echo. “And I can see that you are not from this time.

“Interesting... centuries upon centuries... And that amulet! May I see it?”

Unsure of the situation but unwilling to offend the creature that apparently held the key to her escaping this prison, she carefully pulled it up from where it hung on her breast. She held it up for the eyes to inspect, and turned it to show the other side.

“I haven’t seen that script for aeons,” murmured the voice. “And what boon do you seek?”

“Before I came here, in the future centuries from now, I received a message from myself here and now. I need to know how to send those messages to those women who follow me in the future.”

“You came here from tomorrow but have forgotten how you did it?”

“I did not do it. A spirit named Shikhandi sent me here.”

“Shikhandi? Never heard of him. And he actually told you his name?”

“He said it was his name, yes. When he touched this amulet accidentally it frightened him, or hurt him, and he sent me here in rage.”

“The amulet, again.”

The eyes blinked again, this time in unison, and looked more closely at the amulet she held.

“Yes, I see...” came the voice. “Whoever worked that did a masterful job indeed.”

“I cannot think of how it as ever created,” she said. “I inherited from my mother, and she from hers, and back through the centuries to the First Lajita. And I am the First Lajita, and brought it here with me from the future. It has always been and will always be, it seems...”

“You humans, always thinking of time in such simplistic terms,” chuckled the voice. “Merely touch it to the message you need to send, and think of when you wish to send it. The message will be transferred to the amulet at the time you signify. There is no spell; the amulet is self-contained.”

She held the amulet up more closely, examining it once again as she had done so many times in the past.

“I never tried that... and there’s no mention of it in the books.”

“Surely you’ve noticed by now that the future is not as immutable as you think.”

Her mouth snapped shut as she recalled Haarith and Cadman.

“I... I thank you, Master... How shall I address you? Master of the Waterfall?”

“If you wish. Address me or not, I exist all the same.”

“Then I thank you for your explanation and assistance, Master of the Waterfall.”

“Quite simple, really, nothing you couldn’t have figured out yourself if you’d but bothered to try.”

She bit back her sharp response, and bowed in thanks instead.

“I have brought with me a small gift to express my appreciation,” she said, removing the ornate box from her pack. She carefully opened it to reveal the crystal bottle and goblets inside, and held it out to the yellow eyes.

There was a snort of disdain, and they blinked once again, the left eye slightly lagging the right.

“What in the world would I do with Cydathrian brandy, or crystal? I have no need for either.”

“What, then, must I do to receive this knowledge?”

“But you’ve already received it, child,” it admonished her quietly. “And I have received mine.”

“You... You have? But we haven’t agreed on—”

“Hush, child,” came the voice. “You entered my home, you accepted my knowledge, and I have received my due.”

“But we never reached an agreement!” she protested. “Surely—”

“There is no agreement. It is done.”

“There must always be an agreement! That is the law!”

“No law binds me, and you left the quaint laws of your reality behind when you entered my realm. Here, I am the law.”

It was right.

She had no idea how powerful this thing might be, but it had blocked her route to escape, and had given her the knowledge she sought. She had no choice.

“What did you take in return?”

“Nothing,” it replied as those eyes began to fade away. “I gave you something instead.”

“What? What did you do?”

“You shall know in due time, child.”

And it was gone, the path back to her world open before her.

* * *

She retraced her steps and returned home in the late afternoon, absent-mindedly responding to questions or comments. She pretended to listen to her children, she smiled at the staff and thanked them for a delicious meal, all the while thinking of what it might cost her, what she might suddenly lose.

A month later, after she missed her second period and was sure she was pregnant yet again—this would be her last child, Paramjit—it finally occurred to her to wonder if the Master of the Falls of Kra had done something to the unborn babe. It would have been two weeks old at that time, she calculated... The other Lajita had warned her about Paramjit, saying “A mother loves her son, no matter what may come.”

But what was to come?

END

Chabra: The Lone Tower

It hurt no matter which way she turned.

She sighed; Karadi snored beside her.

She thought she’d be used to it by now. After all, this would be her eleventh child. According to the other Lajita, her last child. One every year or two, and as much as she loved them all, she still hated this part of it. In fact, she realized, Paramjit would be her seventh son... was that what the other Lajita had been trying to warn her about?

Why didn’t she just come out and say it, she wondered.

Knowing that he was the last one didn’t make it any easier to sleep, though, with a huge belly, a body that hurt in all sorts of places, and the constant need to pee. It didn’t help that he kept kicking at odd moments, either.

She sighed again and rolled a little more to her left, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Dawn was still hours away, but she could already feel the first twinges.

It wouldn’t be long now.

* * *

“A beautiful boy!” exclaimed Zlatka, handing the newborn baby to Lajita. “Came out smiling, he did, and he’s smiling yet!”

Zlatka had been her midwife for all of her children, starting with the twins sixteen years ago. She was very old now, unable to do many of the required tasks herself; instead, her own granddaughter performed them under her watchful eye. Soon Tuli—the granddaughter—would take over completely as midwife.

Lajita clasped the swaddled babe to her breast, looking down into his face.

It was terribly wrinkled and red still, and the eyes were unfocused, seeing nothing, but instead of screaming at the shock of birth he was smiling, flexing his fingers aimlessly, making the same cooing noises as any happy baby might.

As any baby two or three months old might, she thought. There was nothing sinister in making baby noises this early—and you couldn’t get any earlier than right after birth—but it was unusual, to say the least.

And he was indeed a beautiful baby in spite of the strangeness and the red, wrinkled face.

She smoothed back the few strands of hair on his head, still damp, and kissed his forehead.

“Hello, Paramjit,” she whispered as Tuli and Zlatka finished cleaning up. Tuli left the room with a basket of towels and sheets to be burned, and was stopped by Karadi just outside the door.

“How is she? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” laughed Tuli. “Not her first birth, after all. Mother and baby boy are both fine.

“You can go in now, Master Karadi,” she continued. “All of you can.”

Behind Karadi was a small flock of children, headed by twins Dhruv and Atisha and ending with five-year-old Arun and his stuffed turtle.

Behind them lurked the head housekeeper, Mistress Batauta, for once overlooking the fact that the housekeeping staff was standing and watching instead of working.

Karadi turned around and shouted “It’s a boy!”

There was a cheer and a stamping of feet, and suddenly everybody burst into motion again. Karadi led the charge into the room, kneeling next to Lajita to join her in admiring Paramjit, while the rest of the children gathered around the bed to stare at the new addition to their family.

The twins, being the oldest, had seen it all before many times, but it was a new discovery for little Arun, and even for Hansika and Habib, who had been too young when they saw Lajita give birth last.

“This is your brother, Paramjit,” said Lajita, holding him up for everyone to see.

“Why is he so red and winkled, Mother?” asked seven-year-old Hansika. “He looks like an old man!”

Gitanshu answered her with all the scorn and infinite knowledge of a twelve-year-old boy: “They always come that way. They dry out quick.”

“This is Kamera,” announced Arun, holding up his stuffed turtle to mimic the way Lajita was holding Paramjit. “She’s a turtle.”

“All you alright, Lajita?”

“I’m fine, Karadi, relax. Popped right out like a melon pip,” she answered, turning to the baby. “He’s going to be such a beautiful boy...”

Her comment, whether personal opinion or actual prophecy, came to pass, and Paramjit grew into a stunningly beautiful child.

* * *

At the age of three, Paramjit was already quite well-known throughout Shiroora Shan. Quiet, inquisitive, friendly, he was a common sight, little legs pumping madly as he hurried from one place to another, frequently with a harried nanny chasing after.

His looks always attracted attention among the adults, with pitch-black hair cut short above deep brown eyes and Aquiline nose, but the children were fascinated more by the way animals trusted him. Animals were common in Shiroora Shan, still a small city very much in the country. Farm animals such as cows, horses, pigs, goats, and sheep, as well as raptors and deinos, could be seen everywhere, their bellows and calls echoing in the alleys day and night.

Paramjit was especially drawn to the animals, and would often walk into a shop or home, ignoring the people there, to walk straight to an animal pen, and hold out his hand. Without fail, the animal, even wild beasts that had never known the touch of a human being, would approach, sniff, and rub their heads on his fingers as might a dog to its owner.

“I saw that boy walk right up to a fox we’d caught in the chicken coop,” said one farmer. “Vicious beast, jumping and snapping at us with one foot caught in the snare. I missed with my first arrow, and before I could draw the second, the boy was standing right next it!

“Damnedest thing. It just lay down and rolled over to have its belly scratched, paw still snared and bloody.”

“And then what?”

“The Chabra boy said he wanted it, so I just loosed it, and damn if it didn’t just walk away right next to him like a trained dog, on three legs.

“Damnedest thing I ever saw.&rdquo

Standing at the bar, Karadi took another sip of ale and held his tongue.

If they recognized him, which was likely if he lifted his head out of his glass, they’d change the subject, and he really wanted to hear what they had to say.

Paramjit seemed to be a hyperactive kid, precocious for his age, whom everyone liked. He was stunningly beautiful, some internal radiance that just charmed everyone off their feet, he was kind, he was quiet, speaking softly and gently, and he slept cuddled up next to Lajita like any boy that young might do.

But he also played with animals more than other children, even dangerous animals, and had never been bitten by a raptor or panther, kicked by a skittish horse, or even stung by a bee. Never.

Once when a viper was discovered in the bath and the maid was screaming in terror, Paramjit calmly picked it up like a scarf, holding the middle with the ends drooping down on both sides, and carried it outside.

“Kill it!” screamed the maid, but Paramjit merely shrugged and set it down at the edge of the woods and watched it slither into the darkness.

* * *

As Paramjit grew from a child to a young adult, he was drawn to the numinous: not only organized religion, but sacred places that instilled feelings of awe and reverence in the onlooker, such as the dark face of the Agnid Mountains where they met the Night Ocean as sheer cliffs, or the giant boles of the forbidden jungle stretching between Dothur and Eudoxia, even the sunrise as it set the sky afire in the east. He trekked the mountains to the north, some say as far as Irem, and the endless steppes to the east, and the deserts of Cuppar-Nombo, unafraid of the wild beasts and deadly monsters said to await the traveler.

There was an infinite array of gods and godlets to choose from in the Dreamlands, but after witnessing the fiery vortex of a funeral, Paramjit felt an indescribable presence from the resulting soulstone, an invisible pull on his awareness that he could not ignore.

That very day he called upon the Temple of Nath-Horthath in Shiroora Shan, and sought permission to join the Godsworn. The head of the temple, Godsworn Monterosi, was more than happy to accept a new acolyte, especially one with such a close relationship to powerful House Chabra, and so Paramjit in a very short time found himself entirely bald and dressed in a simple black robe.

As the newest of Monterosi’s acolytes he was naturally put in charge of caring for the temple’s animals, a chore which consisted primarily of feeding and brushing them, and cleaning the stables. He didn’t mind the work, especially as the normally obstinate and at times dangerous horses mildly obeyed his lightest touch or beckon, to the amazement of the other acolytes.

The acolytes learned to read and write, and mathematics, and history (such as it was, as history was subject to change without notice in the Dreamlands), and especially about the myriad gods and their magics. As a son of House Chabra Paramjit of course was well versed in reading, writing, history, literature, mathematics and so much more, to the extent that he soon found himself teaching mathematics and sometimes other courses.

He had little interest in those mundane subjects, instead turning his attention to the sacred texts of Nath-Horthath, and knowledge of the spiritual.

What was that transcendent feeling he received from the soulstones?

He attended numerous funerals as an acolyte of Godsworn Monterosi, and finally what he had been waiting for, happened: the Godsworn dropped a soulstone by accident, and asked him to pick it up.

Half in fear, half in wondrous anticipation, he grasped it between thumb and forefinger, and a surge of raw power ran though his body, his heart, and into the infinite. It was gone in an instant, leaving him stunned, motionless, until the Godsworn cleared his throat and brought him back again.

That night he thought of what he had felt, that power that had shocked him so.

It was the raw power of the soul, the spirit of the dead, still linked to the world of the living and the world of the dead, a bridge between two realms, a window into the other side.

It shattered the blinders he had worn all his life and never seen, opening up a new dimension of possibility. He was no longer entirely of the Dreamlands of the living, but now of both realms.

And, he realized in a sudden clarity, he was addicted to the feeling.

The next morning he had vanished, and with him vanished the four soulstones that had been in the temple.

Seeress Lajita wielded the full weight of the name of House Chabra to smother the scandal, and in time it was said that poor Paramjit had been killed by a wild animal, perhaps a mountain lion, or some said a venomous snake. Stories of his beauty and his animals faded, and merged with legend until only House Chabra itself could say for sure what was true.

And they never did.

* * *

Paramjit searched for the sacred, the touch of the “other” in lands near, and then increasingly far beyond the reach House Chabra.

Some time later he was found, close to death from thirst and the heat, in the Eastern Desert between Nurl and the forbidden city of Irem, by a small party of Ibizim who would have left him to die without a second thought had not their camels refused to leave his side.

Left with no choice, they gave him water and loaded him up onto a camel, taking him with them to one of their secret oases, and left him there.

Two days later, largely recovered although still burned red and black by the sun, he sat with the Ibizim trooper—a young woman named Geriel—who was the solitary guard there. She poured him a warm, sour ale.

“You would have died if they hadn’t found you,” he said. “You’re a very lucky man!”

“Who found me? I would like to thank them.”

He shrugged. “The Ibizim found you. They could as easily kill you next time, you know... we generally don’t rescue anyone silly enough to wander into the desert. They were Ibizim, and saved your life. That is enough.

“But who are you? A youth of such radiant beauty should be famous, yet I have never heard of such. Some godlet, lost in the desert, perhaps?”

Paramjit frowned, sipped, tilted his head in apparent confusion.

“I... I have no idea!”

He put the ale down and stared at the other.

“I said nothing in my fever?”

“Nothing in any language I could understand, I’m afraid.”

“...I do not know who I am...” said Paramjit slowly. “Where am I? Who am I?”

“Your memory may return, with time,” said Geriel. “Or perhaps you are a godlet after all, bringing beauty and love to this barren land.”

“Beauty? Godlet? Why do you mention such?”

“Look at yourself, then, and see,” urged the Ibizim, holding out a mirror.

Paramjit held the mirror up to his face, examining it as if he had never seen it before, turning his head, peering, touching his own cheek and nose.

“Is that... I mean, of course it’s me,” he whispered. “But I’ve never...”

He turned his head this way and that, looking.

“Looks like a perfectly normal face to me,” he said finally. “I mean, maybe better than average, on the whole, but I wouldn’t say beautiful.”

Geriel looked at Paramjit’s reflection in the mirror, frowned.

“That’s strange... you look the same in the mirror, but... just... not beautiful anymore. It’s the same face, but it’s just a face. In the mirror, I mean.”

She looked back at Paramjit’s face.

“When I look at you, it’s something special. Not just the face. Some radiance, warmth, I don’t know how to describe it. It’s beauty.”

They fell silent for a moment.

“So you’ve no memories, then?”

“I remember watching the waves break on the shore, a young girl’s face—my sister, perhaps. I remember carrying a viper outside from... from... from the bath, I think... and the maid... was it a maid? ...screaming to kill it.”

“Waves on the shore? An ocean, then. The Night Ocean?”

“I have no idea,” he said, handing back the mirror. “I can recall only tiny fragments of the whole.

“But I can clearly recall the thrill, the sense of presence, that I felt as I wandered the desert. I was searching for something, some god or spirit, and I felt it, then.”

“Before they found you.”

“Yes, somewhere.”

“You had these in your bag,” said Geriel, holding out four soulstones in a small dish.

“My soulstones!”

He took the dish and poured the soulstones into his hand, glittering like gems.

“Your family, or loved ones?”

“I don’t know... I can’t remember! But they are important to me,” he cried. “They... whisper to me.”

Geriel was silent for a moment.

“Stay until you are well,” she said finally. “You aren’t Ibizim, I think, judging from your hands and face—you’ve not spent years in the desert, that’s clear—but you are welcome, and would be good company.”

In about a week he was fully recovered, sharing the simple meals with Geriel: chicken, beans, and corn, for them most part. They sat and talked for hours and days.

He could recall no more of his past, but he did learn a bit about the Ibizim.

The Ibizim of the Desert, as they called themselves, were masters of the Eastern Desert, roaming its wastes on camelback or foot. They had secretive cities scattered throughout, usually in protected mountainous sites, but sometimes surrounding a major oasis, or even underground in the strange caverns left by the Children of the Night, the lizardfolk.

Each city was ruled by a matriarch in accordance with their laws and traditions, and the matriarchs, in turn, selected one of their own to be the Matriarch of the Ibizim of the Desert, commanding them all.

The tale told that the Ibizim came to the Dreamlands long, long ago, and lived mostly in peace for centuries here in the Eastern Desert, once a fair land of green forests and plains. Thuba Mleen, a sorcerer who may have been Ibizim or may have come from the distant East, was determined to conquer it all. Some of the Ibizim followed him, but others stayed true to the traditional matriarchal system, and resisted.

The war between Thuba Mleen and the Matriarchs turned the land into desert, and the Ibizim fled into hiding. The Ibizim who stayed in those lands, hiding in the depths of Xinaián, the Sunless Roads of the Children of the Night, became the Ibizim of the Desert. Others fled to distant mountains in greener lands, hiding in their crags and gorges, now known as the Ibizim of the Mountains.

The sorcerer vanished, nobody knew why, but the desert remained, and the Ibizim stayed hidden, and so the situation had remained, almost unchanged, for centuries. “Almost,” because after long years of hiding the Ibizim began to build a few cities above ground, in hidden valleys deep in the mountains of the northern Hills of Noor, cities secret from prying eyes on pain of death.

His body grew strong, his skin healthy and deep, dark brown, but his memory remained elusive.

And throughout it all he held those soulstones, feeling their warmth, their whispers, deep in his heart.

“You should release them, you know,” said Geriel one day.

“I don’t even know who they are,” replied Paramjit. “I must been keeping them for a reason, though.”

“If you can’t remember why, free their souls, boy,” advised the Ibizim. “You cannot give them whatever they were waiting for; let them go.”

Paramjit looked at the four milky-white soulstones in his hand.

“Perhaps you’re right...”

That night he lay on the sand looking up at the countless stars overhead, and held up one of the soulstones. He could almost see the starlight shining through its hidden depths.

On a sudden impulse he clenched his fist, crushing it.

There was a small pop, and a faint, whitish vapor drifted upward.

His body threw itself forward, of its own volition, and breathed it in.

Sacrilege! And of the vilest sort!

His mind recoiled at the thought of inhaling another’s soul, barring it from Release.

But his body savored the smell, the taste, like a rare drug that brought visions of Paradise.

He watched in shock as his hands poured out the other soulstones, crushing them all at once with the strength of the possessed and breathed in that pale white mist.

He could feel Geriel sleeping nearby, the sandsnake coiled at the corner of the hut, the individual fleas in the bedding... he turned his attention farther, sensing a group of camels some kilometers distant, Ibizim riders, and the wild sand lizards hunting, and he quailed under the cold cognizance of the stars.

He could not move, his mind frozen by the torrent of sensation and awareness that flooded in, his mind spreading out over the desert, scenes flashing by, until...

He was in front of a tower of rock, weathered by centuries of wind-borne sand. It stood some twenty meters high, or more, solitary in the starlight.

It pulled at him, a siren call he could not resist.

He smiled as he rose and walked into the desert night.

* * *

Geriel awoke, unsure of what had awakened her.

She listened, and heard nothing but the usual night sounds—scuttling insects and mice, an occasional hoofclop or muffled whoof from the horses, wind-blown sand skittering. Nothing unusual, she thought.

Then it hit her: she couldn’t hear the stranger’s breathing.

She quickly rose and looked through the hut, confirming that he was gone. A quick trip to the toilet confirmed he had left entirely.

She bit her lip.

She was only recently accepted as a trooper, and sent here as one of her first assignments.

He must be out in the desert again, she realized, possibly possessed.

She had no obligation to rescue him, but she’d enjoyed his company in this lonely posting, and thought she’d hate herself if she didn’t at least try to save him. At the same time, though, her duty was here at the guard post.

It was a boring, almost meaningless job, and she’d get little credit for doing it properly, but she knew she’d be in serious trouble for leaving her post unattended.

He couldn’t have gone far, she reasoned, and saddled up her camel. Just a quick walk around the area to find him, she thought to herself, and back by dawn.

Still, as any responsible Ibizim, she filled her pack with plenty of water and a few other things that might prove necessary in the desert.

The half-moon and the stars were bright enough for her to make out his tracks a few minutes later. He was walking straight east toward the Flats, making no effort to hide his sign at all.

The Flats. The hottest, driest, deadliest region of the entire Eastern Desert. No trees, no oases, no shade, no hope of crossing alive. And he was walking into it with, apparently, no water or gear at all!

She goaded her camel to a faster pace, hoping to catch up to the stranger before the sun rose and brought the heat.

Two hours later she still hadn’t caught a glimpse of him, and dawn was approaching fast, the peaks of the Ifdawn Marest ahead of her already limned in yellow.

He must have left hours before she got up, and been walking steadily since. Actually, she realized as she looked at the spacing of his footprints in the sand, it looks like he’s been on an easy run, not just walking.

Should she quit the pursuit now and return to her post? Or...

She decided to continue on until dawn, and then head back if she hadn’t found him.

Some time later, as the orange sky brightened and the sun was just about to peep over the top of the distant Ifdawn Marest, the mountain range to the east, beyond cursed Irem, she spotted a black dot loping over the bare white flat ahead.

She snapped the reins for a new burst of speed from the camel, and chased after, gradually drawing closer.

All of sudden, in the middle of the naked desert, with barely a pebble in sight to break the monotony, the figure dissolved like salt in water.

A shimmer!

Out here, in the middle of the Flats!?

She rode closer to where he had disappeared, and dismounted as the wavering outlines of the shimmer’s effect became visible. From a distance it was invisible, especially in the heat-dancers twisting up from the hot, packed sand, but up close the distortion was obvious.

She drew her sword and stepped through.

She was looking down into a huge pit, not unlike a sand-roach might create, an upside-down cone of sand. In the center, where the sand-roach would normally wait to knock prey down into its fanged jaws, stood a stone column.

The stranger was sliding down the slope, trying hard to keep his balance in the shifting sand.

She didn’t trust that loose sand, and stopped a little ways back from the edge to watch.

There was movement on the flat sand at the bottom, but it was hard to make out from here... she took out her looking glass for a better look, and gasped.

Red-bellied scorpions!

She could count at least a dozen from where she stood.

One sting and a grown man would writhe in agony for days, three and he’d be dead in minutes.

And the stranger was blithely strolling through them without a care in the world!

She couldn’t save him now, she could only watch in horror as he died a hideous death.

But...

He’d already walked past several of the creatures, without a single sting! They were ignoring him.

No, not ignoring, she realized... some of them were actually following him!

She continued to watch in amazement as he stood in front of the stone column, looking up at an obvious hole a little above his head.

She focused her looking glass on the hole, noticing tiny movements. Hornets.

That black hole, maybe large enough for a man to crawl into, was a massive hornet’s nest.

She switched back to the stranger.

Sure enough, he was climbing up the column, straight toward the hornet’s nest. As she watched in disbelief he squirmed inside, head first.

His feet waggled a little bit, as if he were moving about, but certainly not as if he’d been stung by hundreds of angry hornets.

A minute later he emerged, holding a small gold box under one arm, and scaled down the column. He casually brushed the waiting scorpions to the side with his hand and sat cross-legged on the ground, placing the box in front of him and opening the lid.

With the lid up she could clearly see the sigil it held.

Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized it.

He reached in and picked up something, something small, holding it up to the light in admiration.

It was a soulstone.

So he was dead all these long years. And his soulstone had been hidden here in the Flats all that time.

As she watched in horror he placed the soulstone in his mouth and crushed it between his teeth.

The stranger was deathly still for a moment, expression locked in a rictus that could be agony or ecstasy, eyes blank, unseeing, then took a long breath, and awareness returned to his eyes.

He turned to look directly at distant Geriel, and spoke.

“Geriel of Ripplesnake of the Ibizim of the Desert, you healed me, and I repay that debt by allowing you to live. Carry my message to the Matriarchs, to all the kings and queens and petty rulers of the Dreamlands.

“Thuba Mleen has returned. Go!”

He waved his hand at her, and she realized with horror that the hundreds of scorpions in the pit had started clambering up the slope toward her.

She fled to her camel, and together they raced the rising sun west.

END

Chabra: Vows

Dhruv stared at the distant coastline blankly, seeing but not really noticing the tiny villages and fields as they swept past. He was still trying to figure out just how his life had changed.

He understood all the reasons why his twin sister Atisha married Prixadius, the brand new Lord of Adelma.

Adelma had been long squeezed between the old metropolis of Eudoxia and the rapidly growing power of Shiroora Shan, and with the ascension of Prixadius to Lord of Adelma following the sudden death of his father, the balance of power was ripe for change. A marriage between House Chabra and Prixadius would reduce the trade friction between them, providing more peaceful (and profitable) trade across the Night Ocean.

Shiroora Shan had already entered into a strong alliance with Lord Ukos of Astarma on the eastern shore, and controlled the Narrows through The Spine with the fort and sea chains at Cappadarnia. There was a large trade between the central regions of the Dreamlands and those to the east, with indigo, silk, cotton, paper, porcelain and more traveling westward toward Rinar, Celephaïs, and Dylath-Leen, while cargoes including wool, ivory, and jade traveled eastward toward the cities of the steppe and far Gondara.

The vast majority of that cargo had to pass through Adelma or Eudoxia, then to either Shiroora Shan or Cappadarnia. From Cappadarnia ships could unload at Astarma, but the road from there over the Agnid Mountains to Zeenar and east was dangerous and slow, so most ships proceeded on to Shiroora Shan, unloading cargo there for Karida and farther east. It was also possible to sail around the southern tip of the Low Isles from Eudoxia, risking the sand bars and deadly monsters of the southern reaches near the Boorsh Fens, but only small, shallow-draft boats with brave crews would take that chance.

Eudoxia was still the largest city on the Night Ocean and represented the greatest competitor to Adelma, as well as to Shiroora Shan’s rising mercantile power, but a blood alliance between Adelma and Shiroora Shan would reduce its strength.

It was never clear exactly who had suggested it first: Prixadius and Karadi both noticed the potential, and informal discussions started shortly thereafter. The betrothal was held by mutual consent in Cappadarnia, which constructed a new and ornate temple to Agdistis, the goddess of marriage (and sexuality) especially for the occasion.

The betrothal was a fairly private ceremony, in spite of being between two of the most powerful families on the Night Ocean. In addition to the two families—Lord Prixadius and entourage, and House Chabra with Karadi and Lajita at the head—Lord Ukos of Astarma was there, ostensibly ensuring the safety of the various ships involved, and curiously enough Lord Bikal of Ebnon at the invitation of Lord Prixadius.

The betrothal went smoothly, and after the two got to know each other over the period of about a year, the marriage followed without serious objection from anyone. Almost anyone, Dhruv thought. His mother, Lajita, had seemed quite cool to the idea at first, but warmed up after they’d met with Prixadius a couple times.

Karadi and Lajita were esteemed guests at the wedding, of course, along with Dhruv and the rest of their children, and, as one would expect from House Chabra, they brought along their own guards and maids and entourage, arriving on a small flotilla consisting of a massive merchanter and a half-dozen smaller boats and frigates. Lord Prixadius had welcomed them with full ceremony, both for the honor of his future in-laws and to vastly strengthen his city’s position in the relatively confined geopolitics of the Night Ocean. He also needed an heir, of course.

For three days, the city was buried in flower petals, drenched in liquor, and stuffed with sweets. Lord Prixadius of Adelma wed the beautiful Atisha Chabra—eldest daughter of the fabulously wealthy House Chabra—and the city’s entire population rejoiced. Most were more interested in the food and liquor, and the occasional coins tossed about by nobles and courtiers, than they were in the strategic marriage between two of the major powers in the Night Ocean, but they cheered and threw flower petals nonetheless.

After the three days of celebration were done the city returned to its usual bustle and clamor, with little change to the lives of the people.

The marriage, however, had an enormous impact on twenty-year old Dhruv, overturning his entire world.

He and his twin sister had always been close, far closer than most siblings. They played together, studied together, trained together, shared private thoughts and fears and laughter that others, even other siblings, were never a part of.

Atisha had come to respect and like, maybe even love, Prixadius and his city, and Dhruv wished her a long and happy marriage. He just wished it didn’t mean he had to be alone.

As future heir of House Chabra he knew he would also have to marry eventually, to carry on the bloodline, and he didn’t especially care one way or the other. He didn’t mind Atisha marrying, of course—Prixadius seemed a reasonable fellow, and the two of them certainly got along well.

No, there was no jealousy involved: he was merely lonely because he’d lost someone he’d always treated as a part of himself.

Who could he share his thoughts and fears with now?

His mother?

Seeress... that’s what everyone called her, unless formality demanded Lady. She was a wonderful mother, but also terrifying because she could prophesy the future. Some said she could shape the future, and it certainly seemed that way.

Had she known this marriage would happen, all along?

Had she arranged it even while he—and Atisha— were merely babies?

He was scared to ask, although as the future head of House Chabra he should know the truth, he thought.

Would she tell him if he did?

He wished once again that Atisha was here so he could share these doubts with her, seek her wisdom.

But she wasn’t. She was Lady Atisha of Ademla now.

They should reach Shiroora Shan late this afternoon, he thought, and he had no doubt his father—Karadi—would drag him off to one of the projects immediately.

Karadi was in constant motion, visiting a host of different projects and people every day. The Great Seawall of Shiroora Shan was complete, creating an almost impenetrable barrier between the east and west halves of the Night Ocean. The Seawall was fortified with battlements capable of raining death down on attacking ships, and the road on top was wide enough for two wagons abreast. The only way through was to use the Great Seagate through the Seawall, a network of massive chains and logs that could be raised to block passage, or lowered out of the way.

The shore leading up to the Seawall, both on the city side and along the northern edge of The Spine, had also been fortified with walls, observation towers, and several types of catapults and ballistae.

The road continued from there along the shore of The Spine until it reached the Narrows, where it ended in another fort overlooking that chokepoint. Karadi had suggested that they build a second seawall there to extend it to Cappadarnia, on the other side of the Narrows, but Lajita advised him that it had been tried multiple times over the centuries and ended in failure every time due to strong currents.

A number of small boats and ferries transported goods and people between there and Cappadarnia, but Cappadarnia obtained most of its necessities from the seaports on both sides of the Night Ocean.

He thought of the new temple to Agdistis that had been constructed there for the betrothal ceremony. House Chabra had donated a considerable amount to the construction, and more to support the temple, and as his father had explained, much of that money had flowed from the temple into Cappadarnia, which provided the temple with goods and services directly or indirectly. Cappadarnia was growing from a tiny fishing village into a city in its own right, collecting tolls from trade goods passing through the Narrows in one direction or the other.

As it became a richer city it would also have to be defended, and by providing defense, House Chabra would ensure that it remained firmly under their control.

He sighed.

Politics, politics, politics... wheels within wheels within wheels, grinding him into a fine powder.

“You look sad, Dhruv,” came Karadi’s voice as his arm wrapped around Dhruv’s shoulders. “Miss Atisha already?”

Dhruv was silent for a moment, watching the sunlight on the waves.

“Yes, I do,” he finally said quietly. “She understood me as no-one else has, even you. We talked all the time, about everything.

“I feel pretty alone right now.”

“I used to feel very alone, too,” replied Karadi. “It’s part of growing up, I guess... I was alone, and alone in a place where I knew nobody at all, until your mother came into my life.

“I’ve never felt alone since, even if we’re not together.”

“Do you share everything with her, and she with you?”

Karadi recalled his experience in the Agnid Mountains with Ukos. He’d never breathed a word of that to anyone.

“Of course,” he said. “She’s a seeress, so there’s not much point in hiding anything, right?”

“Right. I guess.”

The sunlight danced on the waves.

“When we get back we have to check the timbering in the silver mine,” said Karadi. “When I was up there last week I thought one of the beams looked a little askew.

“Might be late to dinner on the way back.”

He gave Dhruv another shoulder squeeze and left him to watch the scenery once again.

* * *

Much later that night, at the main house in Shiroora Shan, Dhruv couldn’t stand the pain in his heart any longer, and decided he had to talk to Karadi and Lajita about it. He didn’t know what he wanted, but he could think of nothing but her absence. He needed someone to share his feelings with, and with Atisha gone he really only had them to turn to.

Neither he nor Atisha had never been able to really open up to their siblings, but sometimes Lajita would understand. Their father—not so often.

He left his brothers sleeping, and walked along the corridor toward the master bedroom, overlooking the central courtyard of the house.

It was a cool evening, with a slight breeze, and on that breeze, barely audible over the night insects, he heard Karadi speak his name.

He slowed, and stood in the darkness, eavesdropping on their conversation.

“...ready to take over House Chabra, I think. He’s certainly as good as I am in keeping things running smoothly, but it’ll take time for him to learn how to handle people like Ukos and Prixadius,” continued Karadi. “Are you still sure about it?”

“No, of course not. But it seems to be happening no matter what I do,” said Lajita. “Goodness knows we tried to steer her in other directions but it just happened! It feels like fate took a hand, pushing its own story regardless... the inertia of future history, I suppose.”

“But you’ve already changed history, right? Cadman and Haarith, among other things.”

“Cadman still died!”

“But Haarith didn’t. You changed his fate,” countered Karadi. “I’m not convinced Cadman’s death has anything to do with you, you know... you saved them from drowning, and the fire was just that—a fire, nothing more.”

“Suppose, for some reason, Cadman had to die, but Haarith was irrelevant.”

Cadman!? He was just a child! What God would want to kill a child such as he?”

“Maybe he grew up to offend some God, somewhere, in some reality.”

“That’s just silly... You had nothing to do with Cadman’s death, and you have saved countless people over the years with your knowledge. There’s no reason to think Atisha is fated to die.”

Atisha!? Die!?

Dhruv couldn’t help himself as he cried in disbelief.

Karadi was in the doorway in a second, Lajita close behind.

“Dhruv... you’ve been listening...”

Speechless, unable to talk or even move, Dhruv just looked up at his father, than at his mother’s face, seeking reassurance, praying he’d misheard.

“Come in, Dhruv,” said Karadi, holding out his hand. “I think we need to talk.”

The three of them sat down in Karadi’s bedroom, Dhruv and Karadi in the chairs and Lajita cross-legged on the bed.

“I’m afraid the tea’s cold and bitter,” apologized Karadi. He poured three cups.

Dhruv looked at them, flicking back and forth from one to the other.

“What do you mean, Atisha must die?”

Lajita sighed and shook her head.

“Karadi and I were talking about the future, Dhruv, and what I know of it.”

“What you think you know, you mean,” shot back Karadi. “Sometimes things happen differently.”

“Let me talk, Karadi, please,” she shushed, and turned back to Dhruv. “You know a little about my ‘prophecies’ but you’ve never heard the full story. I think it’s time.

“I know many things that will happen to House Chabra, in detail, and use that knowledge here, now, revealing the future. I know that’s hard to understand, but don’t think too deeply about it. I read a book that told me what happens next, that’s all.”

“A book... like the books you’re always writing in?”

“That’s right. And sometimes what was written in those books I read isn’t always the same as what happens, but it almost always is. That’s why House Chabra has been so successful in so many things over the years, because I read about what to do, and what will happen, and Karadi and I can plan for it.”

“And that book said Atisha dies?”

“Yes, it did. It said that Atisha married Prixadius, exactly as it happened. It also said that she will give birth to two children, a daughter next year, and a second daughter the year after. And Prixadius will be so furious with her for birthing another girl instead of a male heir, he will murder her in a fit of rage.”

“I... Murder?.... He wouldn’t...”

Dhruv caught his breath.

“I don’t believe it. We’ve spent months together over the last few years, and he doesn’t even like killing animals, let alone killing people.

“And he’s really in awe of the Seeress... I mean, you, mama.”

“It’s alright, Dhruv. I know what everyone calls me, and it doesn’t bother me.”

“Uh, yeah, um, sorry. Ah, he’s never talked about how papa should run things at all. In fact, he asked me if it was OK to marry Atisha because he thought she’d inherit House Chabra and run it all, and he was worried that by marrying her he’d force me to take over, and I wouldn’t like it!”

Karadi cleared his throat, obviously wanting to speak.

Lajita smiled, lifted an eyebrow and sat up straight again, giving him space.

“We know, Dhruv. We’ve been working on him since he was a little boy, exposing him to all sorts of new ideas. All those things you mention are wonderful, and maybe we helped make them happen. But we also took Atisha to Eudoxia in the hopes she’d marry someone there, and tried to find other ways to render the book incorrect.

“But somehow, in spite of our best efforts, the idea of a marriage between our two houses came up, and gained momentum, and there was no way of stopping it short of flat refusal, which might have ended up in a war.

“We tried, but we failed.”

“We don’t know that we failed, my bear,” said Lajita. “This conversation proves change is possible.”

“You never read about this talk, then?”

“Never,” she stated. “That doesn’t prove it didn’t happen, of course, but I will certainly note it in my book.”

Dhruv cocked his head.

“Note it in your book? What do you mean?”

“My diary, Dhruv. I keep a diary of everything important that happens, that’s all.”

Dhruv was unconvinced, but let it slide.

“So, what? You just let it be, and hope he doesn’t murder her?”

“We’ll visit her as oft—”

“I’m going back to Ademla,” said Dhruv, standing abruptly. “I’ll stay there and protect Atisha.”

“But you’re the heir to House Chabra!” protested Karadi. “You can’t!”

“I can. Let Varun run things; he’s better in math, and has read every book in the library at least twice.”

“And you can beat him in riding, or swordsmanship, or archery, with one hand tied behind your back,” countered Lajita. “Well, one-handed archery might be a bit difficult.”

Karadi cocked his head, looking at Dhruv. “Why do you suggest Varun?”

“Huh? Because he’s next in line, why else?” replied Dhruv in surprise. He glanced at Lajita. “Wait a minute... there’s something you’re not tell me.”

“I think he deserves the whole story, Lajita.”

She bit her lip, then nodded.

“I think so, yes,” she agreed. “Dhruv, there was more in that book. It says that you would raise an army, attack and siege Adelma, kill Prixadius, and become Lord of Ademla.”

“With Atisha at my side!?”

“No. Atisha would remain a widowed mother under your protection, and eventually a beloved aunt for your children. You would marry someone, of course, but not Atisha.”

“You want me to kill Prixadius...”

“No!” countered Karadi. “We do not want you to kill anyone. We have spent over a decade trying to make sure that never happens. We want Atisha to live a long and happy life with him.”

“And Varun?”

“Varun would become the head of House Chabra, exactly as you just suggested.”

Dhruv shook his head in exasperation.

“This is all far too complicated. What book? Why should I believe any of it? You already said it isn’t always the truth!”

“It is almost always true,” said Lajita quietly. “And those truths have guided the success of House Chabra since Karadi and I first met, here in Shiroora Shan.”

“In Rashahan, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“You two really believe it.”

“We do, yes. There is no doubt in our minds that it is true.”

“Even though it’s wrong sometimes.”

“It’s hard to explain, but yes,” said Lajita. “Sometimes we can... bend fate.”

He thought for a moment.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” he finally said. “I will ride for Adelma nevertheless.”

“You can’t just traipse in the gate and demand to stay!”

“Hmm, maybe he can,” interjected Karadi. “Atisha already has two maids from Shiroora Shan with her, and it wouldn’t be unreasonable to ask that Dhruv be put in charge of her personal guard detail.

“Prixadius already knows you, right. Does he trust you?”

“Yes, I think so... we’ve been hunting alone, just the two of us, a number of times.”

Karadi and Lajita shared a glance.

“It’s decided, then,” said Karadi. “But there are two conditions I must insist on.”

“Condition?”

“You must swear not to murder Prixadius, or hire anyone to kill him. No matter what.”

“So I must let him kill Atisha!?”

“Your job will be to protect her. If that means fleeing, so be it, but it shall not mean killing Prixadius.”

Dhruv nodded slowly.

“And the second?”

“Do not ever be in a room with Atisha alone, ever.”

“I would never...!”

“You know that, and we know that, but Prixadius may not. Never give him reason to doubt you. Or her.”

“I accept your conditions, and do swear to abide by them.”

“I shall send the dragolet first thing in the morning, and you should plan on setting sail the following day.”

* * *

“It’s a girl, Lord Prixadius!”

The midwife proudly held up the newborn baby, already wiped clean and dry and bawling furiously in outrage at being shown to her father so unceremoniously.

He reached out tenderly and accepted the child, holding her in his left arm and he stroked her cheek with his finger.

She began to quiet, and her waving arm collided with his finger, hitting it, trying to grasp it with tiny fingers that didn’t know how to work yet.

“She’s beautiful...!”

“Yes, my Lord, she is,” said the midwife. “Come in, please, Lady Atisha is waiting.”

He shifted the baby to hold it more securely in two arms, and entered Atisha’s bedchamber with a silly grin still on his face.

She looked exhausted, sweaty, and proud.

He lay the baby down at her side and sat on the bed next to her.

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

“Thank you, my love, for such a beautiful daughter.”

“What shall we name her? Our first.”

“What about Lelai, after the wondrous hanging flowers of Celephaïs?”

“I’ve never seen a lelai,” said Atisha. “Will you take us?”

“Of course, my love. As soon as Lelai can walk, to Celephaïs, the Cirque of the Moon, and the lelai trees in bloom.”

Prixadius turned toward the doorway.

“Sergeant Dhruv! Come in, man, see your new niece!”

Dhruv, who had been waiting outside, stepped in to see Atisha murmuring sweet nothings into the baby’s ear.

“We’ve named her Lelai,” said Prixadius proudly.

“A beautiful name, my Lord, and a beautiful daughter,” he said. “And an heir for Ademla.”

“My first-born child should have been a son,” said Prixadius, slight lines appearing on his forehead. “No matter, though... she’ll have a brother soon enough.”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Dhruv dutifully.

He’d accepted the duties of his position—officially a sergeant in the Lord’s guard, unofficially commander of Lady Atisha’s bodyguard—with full realization that he’d have to be a loyal retainer to Lord Prixadius. To be honest it wasn’t very hard, as Prixadius was not a difficult man to get along with. Over the last year they’d gotten to know each other even better, although their relationship was colored by their relative positions.

He'd actually gotten to like the guy even more, and had wondered if his mother’s prophecies were really true or not.

But she had just given birth to a daughter, as Lajita had predicted, and he had just been upset that his first-born hadn’t been a son.

Suppose the rest of her prophecy was correct, too? She gave birth to a second daughter, and he killed her for it?

No, he couldn’t believe that Prixadius could ever do such a thing.

He obviously loved his wife, and his newborn daughter. Didn’t he?

“Dhruv, come see!” called Atisha, beckoning him closer.

He glanced at Prixadius, who nodded and waved him over.

“Say hello to your Uncle Dhruv, Lelai!” laughed Atisha. “Oh, Dhruv, isn’t she beautiful?”

“She is, Atisha. And I promise to spoil her dreadfully.”

He gave the baby a peck on the cheek and quickly pulled back, away from Atisha, before Prixadius might even start to feel uneasy.

“I’ll be getting back to my post, my Lord.”

“Good man, Dhruv,” said Prixadius, already returning his attention to Lelai. “Let me know how many more troopers you need for Lelai, and I’ll set it up.”

“Yes sir,” replied Dhruv. That meant he’d be taking over bodyguard responsibilities for Lelai, too. That was fine with him, and it would be pretty simple as long as Atisha and Lelai were together, but once the baby started spending more time with the wetnurse or nannies things were going to get complicated.

Atisha looked so happy, he thought again, then turned his mind toward his work.

Two weeks later, Karadi and Lajita showed up to pay their respects and see their first grandchild. It was a much simpler affair this time, with only a handful of guards accompanying them on a single frigate.

While Lajita and Atisha—along with Atisha’s younger sister Lajita, now sixteen—gushed over the baby, Karadi, Dhruv was finally able to relax and act just like “one of the family” with Prixadius when Karadi was with them, although he made sure that the guards around Atisha were on the ball.

After a few ales and a few glasses of stronger drinks, Prixadius headed off to the toilet, and Karadi leaned over closer to Dhruv.

“You seem to be getting along nicely. No problems?”

“No problems,” said Dhruv. “But he did mention that he really wanted a male heir...”

“Hmm,” murmured Karadi, noncommittally. “He seems to dote on Lelai, though.”

“Yes, he does. But then again...”

Footsteps in the corridor.

“I think it’s time to go see what the womenfolk are up to, don’t you?” said Prixadius as he entered the room. “And maybe see if the kitchen can fix us up a little snack.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” laughed Karadi. “Drinking with friends is hard work!”

As they were walking back toward Atisha’s drawing room, Karadi spoke up again.

“You know, I was thinking... Perhaps next time Atisha could come stay with us, in Shiroora Shan. You too, of course.”

“In Shiroora Shan? It never occurred to me,” said Prixadius. “It would be a comfort to Atisha, I’m sure. Let me see what she thinks, later.”

“Just an idea. Certainly nothing we need to decide any time soon,” said Karadi, passing it off as an idle thought.

* * *

The hunting party wove between the trees, spreading out through the pine forest. Most of the underbrush was low, cut off from nourishing sunlight by the thick branches of the cedars high above, but was still more than enough to impede progress.

They directed their horses toward the thinnest sections, using game trails when they could, working their way slowly deeper into the Ifdawn Marest just north of Shiroora Shan.

Karadi was in the lead with one the local woodsmen who was guiding them. He’d been through this forest many times over the years, but the woodsmen who lived here year-long knew the trails even better.

Close behind him trailed Prixadius and Dhruv, with various guards and servants spread out to the flanks and behind. They were in Shiroora Shan territory, usually quite safe, and nobody was worried about brigands or monsters.

They were more concerned with finding deer and boar for dinner. Back home Lajita would be preparing the rest of the feast with heavily pregnant Atisha and the others.

Karadi held up his hand and everyone came to a silent halt as he slowly pulled an arrow from the quiver hanging from the saddle, and lifted his bow. He was using the composite bow that Salonitah had left him: his favorite.

Dhruv looked in the same direction, up ahead and off to the right, and could barely make out three deer—one buck and two does—on the other side of some underbrush. He had his bow in hand, too, and, just in case they ran into something unpleasant, a battleaxe hanging from the saddle.

Karadi pointed them out to Prixadius, who set an arrow to his own bow.

Dhruv himself didn’t have a clean shot and decided there was no point in wasting an arrow, but readied one just in case.

Karadi slowly drew, his aim slowly settling onto one of the deer, and the string snapped.

All three deer leapt in panic, one falling immediately to its knees with Karadi’s arrow in its side, two more deer suddenly appeared from where they’d been hidden. The herd tried to flee from Karadi, two of them heading straight for Dhruv and Prixadius.

Two more bowstrings snapped, one doe down and kicking, a second trying to walk with an arrow sunk deep in a rear haunch.

One of the guards dismounted to finish off the one of the ground as Prixadius shot a second arrow into the hobbling one, knocking it down.

Dhruv looked over to see Karadi already dismounted and walking toward his own deer.

“One for each of us,” he called. “A good start to the day’s hunt!”

“One buck and two does,” added Prixadius. “A good hunt, but I note that the two of you only needed one arrow. You really have to teach me how to shoot like that, Dhruv.”

“I just got lucky this time, my Lord. Yours was a good shot and would have brought the deer down shortly, I’ve no doubt.”

Prixadius and Dhruv dismounted, and walked toward their kills, which were quite close to each other. The rest of the party rode closer, some dismounting to begin setting up a rough camp to dress the deer.

Dropping his reins, Prixadius drew his knife and walked closer. The deer was dead now its eyes already beginning to glaze over, tongue hanging out.

He reached down and grasped the deer’s legs to flip it over, and as he did Dhruv saw something black and gold flash through the air, striking Prixadius in the back of his left hand.

A forest viper!

Before anyone even had a chance to scream, realization flashed through Dhruv’s head: This was his chance! Being bitten by a forest viper was sure death unless his hand was chopped off, toxin and all, within a few seconds. A bad blow that didn’t cut all the way through, or any delay longer than a second or two, would almost surely mean Prixadius would die.

If he merely pretended not to notice for another two or three seconds, Prixadius would die, and Atisha would be saved. Atisha, his beloved twin sister. Prixadius, his beloved companion.

Nobody else was close enough, even if they had seen the viper... Prixadius was his to save or let die.

He made his decision.

* * *

“You’re a lucky man, Lord Prixadius,” said Physician Jivin, wiping his hands. “If Master Dhruv hadn’t used that axe as swiftly and as surely as he did, you almost certainly would have died.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, in spite of the torniquet, and it’ll take some time to recover, but I think you’ll be alright now.”

The drawing room, usually pristine and elegant, was a mess, with basins of hot water on the table and floor, bloody cloths and sheets scattered about, and Physician Jivin’s kit spread out.

Prixadius lay on the divan, pale, eyes closed. He was still dressed in his hunting clothes, his tunic sleeve rolled up roughly to reveal his well-muscled arm, now stained with blood.

Where his hand should have been was only a mass of bandages.

“Thank you, Physician,” he breathed. “Please... Where is Dhruv?”

Dhruv stepped forward from where he’d been waiting.

“I’m here, my Lord.”

Prixadius lifted his remaining hand hesitantly, and Dhruv clasped it.

“Thank you, Dhruv. You saved my life.”

“That’s my job, my Lord.”

“You are no longer Sergeant Dhruv of the Lady’s Guard. From this moment on you are Captain Dhruv, commander of my personal guard. And of hers.”

“Thank you, my Lor—”

“You are a friend, Dhruv, not a servant. No more ‘Lords,’ please.”

“Of course, my Lo... Master Prixadius.”

“Just Prixadius, please. Nobody’s watching.”

“Prixadius.”

“Thank you,” replied the wounded man. “Atisha?”

Dhruv coughed.

“Um... Atisha collapsed when she heard you’d been bitten, and I chopped your hand off... she’s, uh—”

The man’s eyes snapped open, and his hand gripped Dhruv’s arm.

“What happened? Is she alright?”

He began to struggle to sit up.

Dhruv pressed him back down gently.

“She’s fine, Lo... Prixadius. The midwife’s with her now.”

“The midwife!? Our baby is being born?”

“Just a few minutes more, Prixadius. Rest for now; she’ll be here soon to show you the babe.”

“My son,” mumbled Prixadius, relaxing and closing his eyes again.

I hope so, thought Dhruv to himself. I hope so.

He sat with Prixadius as the servants cleaned up the mess, wondering if he’d made the right decision. Prixadius was a friend, and he couldn’t just let him die, he thought.

But, Atisha...

A wail sounded from another room.

A baby!

And a healthy one at that, he thought as the infant’s screams echoed through the house before trailing off.

A few minutes later footsteps, and Atisha herself walked in, as flushed as Prixadius was pale, grinning like an idiot and with a newborn baby in her arms.

“Prixadius,” she called gently. “There’s a young man here to meet you.”

Dhruv felt the tension drain away as Prixadius reached out to greet his son.

END

Chabra: The Sculptor

Sixteen-year-old Kostubh jerked the rod again, making the float bounce and (he hoped) wiggling the worm enticingly. Gitanshu, three years his elder, stoically watched his own float as if willing it to move.

Nothing moved but the waves, the buzzing insects, and the distant bustle of the harbor.

The two boys had snuck out in the early morning, denied a place in the hunting party Karadi had arranged for visiting Lord Prixadius. Dhruv got to go, of course, but he was always with Prixadius. Or Atisha. And since Atisha was waddling around like a fat-assed duck, ready to give birth any day now, everyone was far too busy to worry about the two of them.

A nice day fishing off the rocks opposite Shiroora Shan harbor was much better than all that noise and energy, and constantly being told to do this or fetch that. Dhruv had planned on just going alone, but since Gitanshu’s boss was in Shiroora Shan, quite by accident, he’d arranged to get the day off as well, to “attend the family event.”

They weren’t really interested in catching anything, which was probably why they’d been so surprisingly successful—they’d caught over half a dozen good-sized fish already. They hadn’t brought a creel or net, though, and had just been letting them go again.

Kostubh noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced up at the top of the Seawall. Two guards were standing there, looking down at them from a dozen meters up.

He waved back, knowing the guards wouldn’t bother them... they came here often, and besides, they were House Chabra.

“You getting hungry?”

“Mmm. You?”

“Yup,” said Gitanshu, lifting the line and hook out of the water. “Let’s head back and get some food.”

“You got any money?”

“Yeah, a little. C’mon, I’ll treat you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that!” laughed Kostubh, standing to reel in his own line. “Curry?”

“Curry.”

They clambered back up the jumbled boulders along the shore to the base of the wall. About three meters high, the wall extended from the base of the Great Seawall for about a kilometer along the shore. In theory nobody was supposed to be down here, and certainly nobody was supposed to leave ropes hanging over the edge of the wall to help them climb back up, but... they were House Chabra.

From there it was a short hike up the flank of The Spine to reach the top of road, which ran from the Narrows at Cappadarnia, across the Great Seawall, and into Shiroora Shan.

“You boys pick up your rope?”

It was one of the guards.

“Yessir, we always do,” replied Gitanshu. “We wanted to inspect the defenses at the water’s edge.”

“No fish this time?”

“We just came to get away from all the excitement.”

“Ah. Lord Prixadius,” snorted the guard. “Yeah, visiting nobility always screws things up, especially when they’re married to a Chabr... Uh, my apologies, Master Gitanshu. When they’re married to someone from House Chabra, I mean.”

Gitanshu waved it away.

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t worry about it. When you’re the third son it’s not that big a deal.”

“Thank you, Master Gitanshu. Master Kostubh.”

He bobbed his head and hurried away, eager to escape before they could change their minds. House Chabra was a pretty good bunch of people, he thought but you never could be sure with nobility.

They took the short way down into Shiroora Shan instead of staying on the wagon road. The Great Seawall was built higher than the docks of the city, and continued into the high hills on the eastern side, the road gradually sloping down to street level. People who didn’t feel like taking the longer, easier way around could just use the stairs.

The Seawall had never been attacked, but the Seagate—the network of chains and logs that could be raised to block ships from passing under the Seawall, or lowered to allow passage—had been used a number of times.

Lajita said it would be needed one day, but she said a lot of things.

Gitanshu led the way to one of the little curry stalls along the wharf and waved a greeting.

“Yo, Hesta! How ya doin’?”

“Master Gitanshu! Hey, good, good,” replied the red-headed cook, probably about the same age as Gitanshu. “And Master Kostubh, haven’t seen you around for a while.”

“Hey, Hesta. Yeah, study study study, and now Prixadius with all his hangers-on. Everybody wants me to do stuff all the time.”

“Well, hungry customers are always welcome here! What’ll it be? The usual?”

“Yeah, two big ones, and hot.”

“Comin’ up!”

Hesta used a huge iron ladle to spoon dollops of thick, light-brown bean curry into two of the waiting bowls, and hand each of them one, then dropped four pieces of hot flatbread on the counter for them to take.

“The tea’s on the table; help yourself,” he added and grinned, revealing misaligned and badly stained teeth.

“Thanks, Hesta,” said Gitanshu, and tossed him a coin. The cook deftly caught it and, nodding his head in thanks, dropped it into his apron.

There were a number of small, rickety table facing the sea, with a scattering of stools and benches around. The boys picked one and got busy tearing bread and scooping up the rich curry.

“Hasta! More flatbread!”

“Yessir, Master Kostubh! Right away!”

True to his word, Hesta arrived very quickly with another four pieces.

“You have to go back tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Gitanshu. “Master Bulbuk’s not a bad guy, but he gets pretty angry when people don’t do what they’re supposed to.”

“You just asked for today off?”

“Hey, my sister’s about ready to pop!” laughed Gitanshu. “We’re already here; that’s the least he could do, right?”

“I guess,” said Kostubh, pouring more tea and waving the pot so Hesta could see they needed more. “I’m stuck here learning shit and you’re on a damn caravan to Despina!”

“And from there to Rinar by ship!” boasted Gitanshu. “Master Bulbuk says we’re going to Celephaïs next spring. Celephaïs!”

Kostubh scowled.

“Yeah, lucky you.”

“Papa sent me off to learn from Bulbuk two years ago, when I was seventeen... you’re almost that now. Ask him; maybe he’ll let you come, too.”

“Damn! You think so!?”

Gitashu shrugged.

“Can’t hurt to ask.”

“Wow, Despina and Rinar! I’ll ask him tonight.

“About two months, right?”

“Yeah, unless something unusual happens. Master Bulbuk says he doesn’t expect anything this trip. He says the weather’s been good, and piracy is down along the Cuppar-Nombo coast.

“If Master Bulbuk says it’s OK with him, I bet papa would go along.”

Kostubh used to last of the flatbread to wipe his bowl clean of curry and crammed it into his mouth. He sloshed another cup of tea and drank it down, then stood and stretched.

“You done yet?”

“What, you’re gonna run and ask him now? Can’t wait?”

“C’mon, Gitanshu! Let’s go!”

Gitanshu laughed and drank down the rest of his tea.

“Thanks, Hesta! Good as always!”

“Come back soon, Master Gitanshu, Master Kostubh!”

They ignored him and began walking toward the stairs up to the Chabra main house.

“You really think papa’ll let me?”

“You’re sixteen,” said Gitanshu. “He’s gonna let you go one of these days; might as well be today.”

They found Karadi looking out over the bustling port and the Night Ocean.

“Well, well... if it isn’t the two absent uncles!” he chuckled. “I hope you’ve already dropped by to see your new nephew and congratulate Prixadius and your sister?”

“Of course, papa, we were just on our way there now, but happened to see you standing here,” countered Gitanshu quickly. “Kostubh has something he wants to ask you.”

He pushed his younger brother forward and deliberately looked up at the clouds.

There was a moment of silence, broken by Karadi: “Yes?”

Kostubh inhaled, straightened his shoulders, and looked his father in the eye.

“If Master Bulbuk agrees, I would like to accompany Gitanshu on this trip. They’re going via Eudoxia, Thace, and Despina to Rinar. I promise to follow his orders, and I’ll work with the crew. I know I’m only—”

Karadi held up his hand, cutting off the torrent of words.

“Kostubh, once you’ve started on this venture you can’t suddenly change your mind, you know. You would have to stay with his caravan until he returns here, which will be at least six months from now, or until he releases you.

“And I can say with confidence that he will not release you without my permission.

“Are you prepared to follow Master Bulbuk’s orders for half a year, without complaint or any special treatment? You’d be an untrained recruit, at the bottom of the crew.”

“Yessir, I am,” he shot back without a moment’s hesitation.

Karadi grinned and stepped forward to hug the lad.

“I’d be happy to let you go if that’s what you want. And I’ll even ask Than Bulbuk to take you, but that’s all I can do.”

He turned to Gitanshu.

“Kostubh will make mistakes, just like you did. It’ll be your job as one of Than’s team to make sure he learns from them. But as Kostubh’s brother, try to make sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

“Yeah, I’d already realized what I’m getting myself into,” grumbled Gitanshu, face sour. “I’ll try, but Kostubh does some pretty damn stupid things at times.”

“It runs in the family,” snickered Kostubh. “We all take after papa.”

“If you only knew,” laughed Karadi, and gathered the two boys closer, an arm around each. “I think it’s time to introduce you to your nephew, and maybe we can tell your mother about all this a little later, what do you say?”

* * *

Than Bulbuk of Eudoxia had arranged for transport on one of the many ships plying the western reaches of the Night Ocean. Now that piracy was almost unheard of, especially in the northern waters closer to Shiroora Shan, more and more trade between Eudoxia, Adelma, and Shiroora Shan was moving by sea, and traffic along the older caravan routes along the coast had plunged dramatically.

He knew many of the ship captains, of course, as his route had passed through the Night Ocean for decades, and he had no difficulty finding one he knew and trusted for this part of the journey.

The ship’s crew took care of the ship, but Kostubh and the rest of Than Bulbuk’s people had to do most of the heavy labor involved in getting the cargo into the hold and secured properly. The crew was happy to offer advice and assist, but always seemed to have more pressing jobs when it came to hoisting or carrying crates.

Kostubh, of course, was expected to be helping.

“Kostubh! Quit gawpin’ and help get the goods movin’, boy!”

“Yessir!” he shouted to the caravan’s loadmaster, a middle-aged Shang man named Chang Wu. Kostubh didn’t know much about him yet... in fact, he didn’t know much about anyone in the caravan yet.

He ran down the deck to the cargo hatch, already open, and glanced around to see what he should be doing. The ship’s crew was operating an overhead pulley, moving various crates, bundles of textiles, and huge jars of wine from the wharf to the hold, while Than Bulbuk’s people were responsible for securing them there in good order.

Kostubh figured he could be of most use standing between the pulley operator and the open hold, relaying information and making sure everything went smoothly.

“Another thirty or forty centimeters up,” he ordered the pulley operator, gesturing with his hand. “The ropes are getting all tangled on the floor.”

“Get out of the way!” shouted the woman on the pulley. “Can’t see anything with you blocking me!”

“Hey, don’t tell me what to—”

Kostubh! Get your ass down in that hold and get the damn cargo loaded!” came the shout from Chang Wu. “And shut your damn mouth!”

He spun around, on the verge of shouting back with all the anger of an insulted Chabra boy, but noticed Gitanshu standing on the wharf, helping unload the cargo as it was transferred over. His older brother didn’t say a word, but he caught Kostubh’s eye and shook his head “No.”

Kostubh clenched his jaw and glared at Chang Wu for a moment, then jumped down into the hold.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the new kid,” said Ran, an enormous, blond-haired youth who was the unspoken boss of the hired laborers. “Help get those crates over here.”

Kostubh froze for an instant, still angry at the tongue-lashing from Chang Wu a moment earlier, but even that momentary pause was too long for Ran.

His ham-sized fist shot out, slamming into Kostubh’s chest near his shoulder and knocking him backwards. He barely managed to catch himself on a bale of Zeenar cotton.

“You struck—”

Ran grabbed him by his tunic, yanking back onto his feet again.

“You get over there and start helping or I’ll break your head in,” he said, and pushed him toward the pile of crates.

Kostubh took a quick look around. Everybody was still moving cargo, but their eyes were all watching him. And none of them looked like they wanted to get involved.

He was pretty good at fighting—Karadi had made sure that all his children knew how to fight—but Ran was very big, and Gitanshu had just told him to shut up.

Kostubh shut up and turned to help.

Another man was slowly shifting a heavy-looking crate toward the stern, and Kostubh took the other side, working with him to nudge it forward.

As his eyes adjusted to the relative dimness of the hold he recognized the characters inked down the side.

“Hey, this is crystal from Shiroora Shan!”

“Yeah, it is,” said the other under his breath.

“And if you break it Ran’ll take it outta your hide,” he continued after an unusually long pause. “If there’s any left after Chang gets through with you.

“You’re new, right? From Shiroora Shan?”

“Yeah. Uh, Kostubh of Shiroora Shan.”

“Robert of Zeenar.”

“You’re a pretty quiet guy, Robert.”

“I... I don’t make friends easily.”

“Hey, I’ll be your friend. First person that’s talked to me since I climbed onboard!

“I’ve been to Zeenar a couple times,” said Kostubh. “Usually just to Karida with my father, sometimes to Zeenar, once as far as Ebnon.”

“All the way to Ebnon!? Never been down that way... I hear it’s all swamp and leeches.”

“Nah, the Boorsh Fens are a pretty long ways from there,” chuckled Kostubh. “Never been there myself, but there’s no swamp around Ebnon, except maybe in the spring when the Tlun floods.”

“Yeah, we get runoff from the mountains in the spring, but rarely any flooding... the larger rivers are some ways away.

“Love the way the streets turn into canals in Karida, though! You been there in the spring?”

“Only once,” said Kostubh, shaking his head. “Pretty neat, huh?”

Robert laughed.

An hour later they were all done, and joined the rest of the caravan on the deck.

The ship set sail shortly thereafter. Kostubh and the others had little to do until they reached port in two days except eat, sleep, and gamble. People who had joined the caravan in Shiroora Shan hadn’t been paid yet, but since they would be paid when they reached Eudoxia they were able to gamble with promises, usually written ones.

Gitanshu was busy with Than Bulbuk most of the time, leaving Kostubh to fend for himself, and he quickly became a fixture in the various gambling schemes under way. He didn’t actually cheat, at least not that anyone ever saw, but somehow he kept winning more than seemed reasonable.

Ran, the big blond man who had been running the gambling operation since the caravan left Karida, quickly recognized Kostubh as a threat to his own success, and often dice or cards ended up with the two of them in a face-off. It never came to blows—not quite—but it was pretty clear that it would someday. And Ran was taller and heavier than Kostubh, by a significant margin.

Kostubh was pretty good at gambling, and knew an opportunity when he saw one. He gradually built up a coterie, loaning them money, paying off their gambling debts, or just defending them from Ran. Robert in particular was deep in debt to Ran, and Kostubh went out of his way to help him recoup his losses and then some.

The morning of the second day they docked at Eudoxia.

The port was enormous, and far, far older than Shiroora Shan’s recent growth. Eudoxia had been a major trading city on the Night Ocean for centuries while Shiroora Shan was still a tiny fishing village, and it showed.

The wharves were much larger than those of Kostubh’s home city, and the walls and minarets of Eudoxia dwarfed Shiroora Shan’s. More than the bustling wharf and the towering defenses, though, Kostubh was astonished at the sheer number of people... he’d thought the streets of Shiroora Shan were crowded, but this...! He’d never imagined so many people in one place!

They all spent the afternoon unloading all the crates and barrels and other cargo from the hold, and getting it moved to the wharf safely.

Than Bulbuk had arranged teams from his own warehouse to handle transport. A line of deino-drawn wagons stood along the wharf next to the ship waiting patiently for cargo to be loaded up. They were all marked with Than Bulbuk’s yellow ox-head symbol.

They’d unloaded the ship’s cargo onto wood platforms standing along the wharf, built to about the same height as the wagon beds, and thanks to rollers on the platform and in the wagons, it was fairly quick and simple to move everything.

The last wagon rolled out in less than half an hour.

Kostubh walked, of course, with the rest of the workers.

Gitanshu and a few other managing the caravan had gone on ahead, so Kostubh just followed everyone else, listening and learning.

He already knew a few names and faces, but there were about a dozen workers, men and women, most a little older than he. Most of them had been hired for one portion of the trip, usually to the next city on the route but sometimes longer distances. They’d all be paid off here in Eudoxia. Workers who had done well would be offered the same job on the next portion, probably through Thace to Despina. Workers who did exceptionally well might even be offered an apprenticeship: the first step to a career, and what most of the workers were hoping for.

Kostubh had little interest in becoming an apprentice trader... he was a Chabra, after all, and House Chabra already controlled much of the lucrative trade around the Night Ocean.

Suddenly someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

Ran.

“Hey, new boy! I see you slacking off again and I’ll beat you even sillier.”

Kostubh yanked his arm free and took a step backwards, opening up a little space between them.

He flexed his fingers, tensed his shoulders, and then lifted his fists to the fighting position.

“I’m not good at taking orders,” he spat, and glared at the larger man.

“Don’t fuck with me, boy!” snarled Ran, striking forward with a massive fist that smashed through Kostubh’s defenses and into his abdomen.

He staggered backwards in agony, but before he even had time to fall a second blow shot home into the side of his head and he collapsed onto the nearby wall.

Ran picked him up by his tunic and dragged his face up close.

“You hear me, boy?”

Groggy, Kostubh just tried to stop his head from spinning.

“I said, You hear me, boy?” repeated Ran, shaking Kostubh like a terrier with a rat.

“Yeah... Got it,” he whispered.

The hand let go and he dropped to all fours on the cobblestones.

As he caught his breath he watched the rest of them walk on.

Robert stayed behind, and helped him to his feet.

“You OK?”

“Yeah, I guess... thanks.”

“Don’t get in his way. He’s pulped a few of us already.”

Kostubh started to chuckle, then winced.

“I won’t... not again.”

They walked after the others, Kostubh still a little wobbly on his feet.

“So how come you’re working for Bulbuk?”

Kostubh shrugged.

“The usual... got tired of living at home. Time to go see the world!”

“Yeah, me too. Got tired of getting beat on by my old man.”

“So now you get beat up by Ran? That’s an improvement?”

“I don’t think Ran’ll be with us after Eudoxia. He’s got the muscles of an ox, but also the brains.”

Kostubh snorted.

“You going on after Eudoxia, Robert?”

“I hope so! I’ve been here for two years now, shouldn’t be any problem... might even get apprenticeship!”

“That fast? Thought it took longer.”

“Usually does, yeah. Hey, I can dream, right?

“What’re you signed up for?”

Kostubh hesitated. If he revealed he wasn’t a hired worker he’d probably be ostracized, and that’d make life pretty miserable. But it’d be strange to say he’d already been hired through Rinar. He was a new worker, after all, and it’d be unheard of to hire an unknown worker that far.

“Despina,” he said, picking the end of the coming land route as a good end-point. “The voyage from Shiroora Shan to here doesn’t count, after all.”

“You’ll like Despina,” said Robert. “Bulbuk went there last year, too.”

“Never been there.”

“Most of the buildings are white-washed brick, real thick walls to keep the heat out. Beautiful when the morning sun hits it, all pink and orange.”

“So what’s there besides white-washed houses?”

Robert shrugged.

“Nothing except trade routes, as far as I know. Rinar’s a hell of lot bigger when it comes to trade, but almost everything moving between the Night Ocean and the rest of the Dreamlands goes through there. The Cuppar-Nombo route doesn’t have enough oases along the way, and nobody cuts through the jungles between Dothur and Eudoxia.”

“You been to Dothur?”

“Nah. You?”

“Nope. Never been west of Eudoxia.”

“I’m not much on jungles,” mused Robert. “The steppes are best, green everywhere. Deserts are OK, I guess, but not by choice. And jungles? Uh-uh, no way.”

“No jungles up around Shiroora-Shan, just mountains and the Night Ocean, with the city squeezed in between."

"Well, we'll see some of the jungle on the way to Thace,” said Robert. “Hopefully from a distance, though.”

Kostubh glanced ahead to see the rest of the work crew standing in front of a white-walled compound. The yellow ox-head standard was flying over the gate.

Than Bulbuk’s home base.

Just as they joined the rest of the group, Loadmaster Chang Wu came walking out of the gate.

“Follow me to the wagons. Items with a red circle on them are unloaded here, and need to be moved into the warehouse. The warehouse team will show you where they go.

“Everything else has to be transferred to desert wagons.

“And it all has to be done carefully, you clods!”

“Yessir,” came the chorus of grumbles, and they moved as a group toward the wagons and the waiting warehouse.

A few hours later they were done—nobody had dropped anything—and Chang Wu stepped on onto a wagon to speak.

“OK, you can use that barracks over there,” he pointed, “and you can get a meal there. I’ll be by later to settle up payments, and arrange for the next leg of the journey.

“It’ll take a day or two before we’re ready to go, but as you know we’ll be traveling on to Despina mostly on camelback, with at least two, possibly three horse-drawn wagons. We’ll be using the Trade Road, of course, so unless we run into a sandstorm or something it should be a pretty quiet trip.”

The Trade Road—a whole network of roads, actually—ran from Eudoxia to Thace, then on to Despina and Dothur. The ancient stone-paved roadways had been built in the unknown past, and marked with time-weathered statues every few kilometers. The sands had worn away the statues until it was impossible to tell exactly what they had been, but people said they were lizardfolk, and the stumps of tails still remaining suggested the rumors were right.

Desert storms shifting dunes often buried the roads themselves, but usually the statues were tall enough to serve as landmarks. Unfortunately, sometimes the shifting sands also revealed new, unknown statues marking roads that led to where no-one knew. Other rumors told of caravans that had mistakenly taken the wrong roads, trusting the silent statues to show the way, and vanished forever.

Kostubh was familiar with them, of course, as they also ran from Adelma north to Nurl, and forbidden Irem.

The Ibizim were masters of the desert road network, and often served as guides for travelers on the Trade Road.

They made their way to the barracks. Some of them just grabbed mats and settled down for a nap, but most dropped their gear and headed toward the mess hall.

They’d have to start paying for meals as soon as their term was over, and that would be just as soon as Chang Wu got around to paying them for this last leg. For most of them, it was the journey from Karida to Eudoxia.

“Damn, finally some crowns!” said Robert. “As soon as I get paid I’m outta here.”

“I know some places with pretty good ale,” suggested Kostubh. “Been through here a few times.”

“Nah, any old ale’s fine with me. Time to go find a woman.”

Kostubh hesitated.

He’d been drinking, little by little, for a few years now, but he was still a virgin. Karadi hadn’t actually forbidden him, but his parents seemed to know everything that happened in Shiroora Shan, and when they were on the road somewhere the guards always kept pretty close.

He was interested, sure, but... a little scared, too.

“Mind if I keep you company? Wouldn’t mind a little companionship myself,” he said, trying to sound smooth.

“Hey, sure! Might blow your coin, though.”

“That’s OK. It’s too heavy to lug around all the time anyway,” he chuckled.

They loaded up on deino stew and rough black bread at the cafeteria, washed down with lukewarm tea, then lounged about until Chang got around to them.

“How much you getting paid?” asked Robert. “Just the trip from Shiroora Shan.”

Kostubh didn’t have a clue... he had his own money from gambling, and it had never occurred to him that he might be getting paid like everyone else. Or was he?

He decided to play it safe.

“Nothing, yet. I don’t get paid until we reach Despina.”

“You sure you’ve got enough for the girls?”

“I saved up special,” he smiled. “No worries.”

“Hey, Robert! Get your ass over here!”

It was Ran, shouting from the other end of the hall.

“Master Chang wants to see you!”

Robert flashed a grin at Kostubh and stood. It was a short walk to where Chang Wu was sitting, and while Kostbh couldn’t hear what they were saying, he could see Chang handing Robert a bag of money.

Robert bowed and came walking back, tucking the bag into his wallet with a smile on his face.

“Got a bonus, too... Gonna have some fun tonight!”

Ran shouted for the next person, and eventually Kostubh heard his own name.

Chang Wu cocked his head and looked up at Kostubh standing in front of him.

“Master Bulbuk says I shouldn’t pay you. You OK with that?”

“Yeah, whatever... It’d look bad to pay me so soon anyway.”

“You’re right about that,” nodded the seated man. “Anyway, you’re with us to Despina. You work like everyone else, you’ll get paid like everyone else.”

“Yup.”

“You know why Master Bulbuk agreed to let you join us?”

“My father told me he once saved Master Bulbuk’s life.”

“That’s right. A long time ago, in Karida. This is partial payment on that debt.

“That doesn’t mean you can lounge about, though... He said to treat you just like one of the regulars, and that’s what I’m going to do. Screw up and I’ll leave you by the side of the road, debt or no debt.”

“Sure, no problem, Chang. I’ll be hap—"

“That’s Master Chang to you, Kostubh. And you won’t be anything, kid, except a good worker, or you’re out on your ass, that clear?”

Kostubh gritted his teeth and managed to stay silent.

He nodded, turned, and walked back to where Robert was waiting.

“Looks like you and Chang have a little problem there.”

“Ah, fuck Chang. Let’s get outta here,” he said, and spat on the ground. “Hang on for a sec, I gotta go bum some cash. Be right back!”

He left Robert waiting and walked into the office to find his brother, who was checking a cargo list with one of Than Bulbuk’s cargo handlers.

“Hey, Gitanshu. You gotta sec?”

Gitanshu slammed his hand on the tabletop and spun around, stepping toward Kostubh.

“That’s Master Gitanshu to you. And what are you doing wandering around in here anyway?”

“I... Wow, what’s the big deal?”

“Leave. Now,” said his brother, pointing at the door in fury. He turned to the other man. “I’ll be right back. Let me get rid of this insolent child.”

Kostubh started to protest, but Gitanshu grabbed him by the arm and manhandled him to the doorway. “Silence! Not one more word.”

He pushed Kostubh out of the door, and stepped out next to him.

“What the hell is wrong with you!? I told you you’d be treated like everyone else. People find out I’m your brother and we’ll both be in trouble. Now get out of here.”

“Gimme some cash and I won’t bug you again,” said Kostubh. “I don’t get paid until Despina.”

“You’d better grow up fast, Kostubh. House Chabra doesn’t mean shit out here,” warned Gitanshu, but handed him a handful of coins. “Next time, it’s Master Gitanshu, and don’t forget it!”

He gave Kostubh another shove toward the compound gate and turned back to his work.

Robert was still waiting.

It was already starting to get dark. They were both a little tired from moving all the cargo around—once off the boat, and then again off the wagons—and just having eaten, but the thrill of getting out for a night of fun was more important than a nap.

“Where to?”

“The sailors were gossiping about a place called Lili’s,” said Robert. “There’s some Zarite girl there that drives you wild. C’mon, let’s go!”

Awestruck by Robert’s familiarity with women, Kostubh nodded and followed.

Seen from the street, Lili’s was the usual white-washed, mud brick building, with a dimly lit tavern on the first floor and smaller rooms upstairs. It was about half full, and Kostubh noticed half a dozen women along the stairs wearing revealing clothing. In one case, very close to nothing at all.

A very large red-haired man stood at the bottom of the stairway, twin daggers at his belt.

“One crown,” he said, holding his hand out to Kostubh, who slapped the coin down without hesitation and pushed Robert up the stairway.

He stopped and looked back at Kostubh to see if he was coming up, too, but Kostubh just laughed.

A woman with long blond hair, maybe from Lomar, stood to greet Robert, and took his hand in hers. She didn’t have to guide him: he dropped his hand to her ass and practically pushed her up the stairs.

He glanced back one last time.

“You coming, Kostubh?”

“In a bit,” he called. “Ale first.”

Kostubh watched his friend vanish into the second floor, and stood for a moment, hand on his wallet, lost in thought. He started to pull a second crown out, then changed his mind and turned toward the counter.

He took a step forward, stopped for a moment and glanced upstairs, then stepped up to the counter.

“Got any Zeenar pale ale?”

The man behind the counter laughed.

“Well, well, well, the little prince, huh? We got ale, and we got wine, and we got some Shang jitsu about, but we ain’t got any Zeenar pale ale.”

“Uh, ale, then.”

A mug-full of warm ale slapped down on the counter.

“That’ll be a copper.”

Kostubh slid a laurel across the countertop, to be snapped up by the other.

He took a sip and frowned.

It wasn’t very good ale

Robert had already vanished upstairs, and he didn’t recognize anyone in the tavern.

“Buy me a drink, too, would ya?”

He turned at the woman’s voice to see a dark-eyed woman with reddish-brown hair, only a few years older than himself. She was dressed in a simple but very low-cut tunic, with a triple strand of blue beads around her neck.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

He turned back to order another ale, but the barkeep was already there, slapping a second mug of something in front of her.

The barkeep held out his hand and Kostubh dropped another copper into it.

She took a sip and placed it back on the countertop.

“Where you from? Somewhere east, I bet.”

“Shiroora Shan,” he answered. “Came over on a caravan.”

“Oh, so you just got in!” she said, smiling and placing one hand lightly on his thigh. “First night, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You all alone?”

“For now. My buddy’s upstairs.”

“Oh, you poor man,” she sympathized. “This is your first visit, isn’t it?”

He nodded, blushing.

“A handsome man like you! I’ll take good care of you, don’t worry—a night you’ll never forget. Why don’t we go upstairs and get more comfortable?”

She wrapped herself around him, practically dragged him toward the staircase, her breasts rubbing against his chest.

“It’ll cost you a crown,” she said, “but I’m worth it, you’ll see.”

He eagerly pulled a handful of coins from his wallet, picked one crown out and pressed it into her hand.

“There’s more ale upstairs,” she whispered, eyeing the heft of his wallet. “On the house.”

Her hand slipped a little on his thigh, touching him briefly.

“Oh, my, you just can’t wait, can you?”

The room was smaller than the bath he’d used at House Chabra, barely big enough for a sleeping mat and a low shelf with a bottle, some cups, and a wad of thagweed.

She broke off some of the thagweed, crumbling it in her fingers into the cup, then poured the liquid over it. Whatever it was, it was mostly alcohol, he thought. He could smell it from where he was sitting.

“Just drink it down like a good boy,” she smiled, “and let me get ready.”

He’d tried thagweed a couple times and absolutely hated the taste, but he loved the way his senses expanded... and the sight of her naked body excited him so much he didn’t even notice the taste.

Her hand moved up under his tunic and he froze as it grasped his cock and began to stroke it, then hesitantly reached out to touch her breast.

Already he could feel the thagweed taking effect, accelerated by the alcohol, his senses expanding. He could smell her body, her heat, hear her pulse even over the pounding of his own heart, feel the smoothness of her skin and the tiny bumps around her nipples.

He groaned at the sensory overload and leaned forward to take a nipple into his mouth. He tongued it, back and forth, feeling it slowly grow harder, and felt the soft, comforting darkness closing in. He was so sleepy...

* * *

“Get up, you drunken lout!”

The shout was accompanied by a painful whack to his ass with a broom.

He tried to open his eyes, blinded by the sunlight.

A second whack woke him up completely, and he got a better look at where he was—lying in a filthy alley surrounded by garbage, face flush against the slimy cobblestones.

A pair of large sandals was in front of his nose, connected to a pair of stocky, quite muscular legs.

“Up, boy!”

He scrambled to his feet before a third whack could find its target.

He had a splitting headache, and his mouth tasted like camel shit.

He swayed for a second, caught himself, looked at the woman holding the broom.

In her fifties, he guessed. Dumpy, tired, dressed in well-worn clothes, broom and bucket in hand.

“Where—?”

“So drunk you can’t remember where you are, young man? Not my problem,” she scolded, sweeping garbage to the side and dragging the broom over his bare feet in the process. “Off with you now, or I’ll throw you out with the rest of the trash.”

He tried to remember what had happened. Lili’s place, right. With Robert. He looked around, and spotted a leg sticking out from behind a nearby pile of stones.

He took a step and noticed he only had one sandal.... no sign of the other one.

He gave up and stumbled over to see who was lying there.

It was Robert, snoring like a baby.

He slapped him lightly a few times until finally one eye opened and he sat up, groaning.

“What the fu... where are we?”

“I think we’re in the back alley behind Lili’s,” said Kostubh.

Robert hurriedly checked his waist, then twisted to his knees to look around.

“Shit. My wallet’s gone. That’s all I had, until we get to Despina.”

Kostubh grabbed for his own wallet—it was gone.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” screamed Kostubh, kicking the innocent pile of stones. “I’ll fucking kill those bitches!”

“No swords, either,” pointed out Robert. “Let’s get back to Bulbuk’s place; I want to wash up.”

Kostubh picked up a handy length of wood and tested it against his hand.

“Don’t need a sword,” he snarled. “Which one of these is Lili’s?”

“Leave it, Kostubh,” warned Robert, one hand on the piece of wood and the other on Kostubh’s shoulder. “You don’t have a chance.”

Kostubh shook him off and stomped down the alley into one of the larger streets. He looked around to catch his bearings, then stalked toward the entrance to Lili’s, with Robert close behind.

The door was shut, of course, this early in the morning, but he hammered on it with his fist anyway.

“Open up, you bastards! I want my fucking money back!”

The door suddenly open, outwards, knocking him off balance for a minute, and as he staggered backwards a large man—the same redhead who’d been guarding the staircase last night—stepped out, his sword pointed at Kostubh’s throat.

“I dunno who you are, don’ care. Go away or I’ll spit you like a pig.”

“You rolled me—us—and stole our money, you thief!”

“I didn’ steal nothin’. Now git the fuck away from here, boy!”

He prodded Kostubh with his sword for emphasis.

Unarmed, Kotsubh let Robert pull him away.

“I told you to forget it, Kostubh! Leave it be!”

“Sons of bitches! I’ll be back to settle up with you later!”

He kicked out at a passing dog in anger, but missed and got a flash of bared teeth for his trouble.

In spite of looking and smelling like they crawled from some sewer, the guard at Than Bulbuk’s compound grudgingly let them back in.

* * *

Everyone else laughed at the whole thing; some of them had their own experiences to share. Robert and Kostubh—especially Kostubh—hated being needled about it.

Robert didn’t seem very upset at losing his money and his sword, but Kostubh seethed.

It was pretty much forgotten the next day, of course, as they were all busy getting the cargo packed and ready for the next leg of the trip. Most of the crystal from Shiroora Shan and the Gondaran paper and silk was destined for Rinar, where it would be split into shipments to the other three major sea-trade hubs of Dylath-Leen, Celephaïs, and Pungar-Vees, with some distributed to the cities that Rinar served directly. Than Bulbuk wouldn’t be involved in any of those transactions, selling the entirety of his wares to other traders—and a few merchants—in Rinar.

Chóng Lán of Penglai had been pressing him for years for an exclusive arrangement while simultaneously trying to set up his own parallel network, but so far Than Bulbuk had managed to preserve both his independence and his profits.

Once he’d sold his goods in Rinar he’d purchase goods heading in the other direction, eastward back toward Eudoxia, Shiroora Shan, and the cities of the steppes beyond the Night Ocean. He hoped to pick up some of the fragrant resins and perfumes of Oriab, fine porcelain from Baharna, hopefully some of the iridescent fabrics of Hatheg, and maybe even some spider-silk from Moung. He’d carry more common goods as well: Ulthar wool, copper ingot and worked brass from Aphorat, Kadatheron cork, apples from Sinara and Jaren.

Finally Chang Wu, the loadmaster, said everything was ready, and they’d be leaving at first light.

“I’ll need you awake and alert tomorrow, so if there’s anything you need to do in Eudoxia get it done and get rested up. Anyone sleeping on the road will be walking back.”

There was a rumble of conversation from the crowd, and they broke up into smaller groups, some people breaking off alone.

“Let’s go get our money back,” said Kostubh, grabbing Robert by the shoulder. “Bastards!”

“That guy at the door looks a lot stronger than me.”

“Yeah, well, fuck him. There’s two of us, right?”

Robert shook his head.

“Sorry, Kostubh, I’m out. It’s not worth getting killed over.”

“Well then fuck you too!” snarled Kostubh, shoving Robert away and stomping off toward the gate. “I’m going, with or without you.”

Robert hesitated as Kostubh stalked through the gate and started down the road, then cursed and ran after him.

“I still think it’s a stupid idea and it’ll get us killed, you asshole. Let it go!”

Kostubh was silent, fingering the newly borrowed sword hanging at his side.

“At least wait until it’s dark!”

Kostubh’s footsteps slowed.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually... Let’s grab some eats first; it’ll be dark soon enough.”

They headed toward the market, packed with people of all sorts buying and selling almost everything under the sun, and all of it at the top of their lungs.

Kostubh picked out a small stand selling po, the steamed buns of the Ibizim. They were stuffed with a variety of spicy meat and vegetables.

“That’ll be a copper apiece, lads,” said the cook as he put pulled a leaf from the pile and dropped two steaming po onto it.

“Here,” said Kostubh, handing over some coins. “Make it four; we’re hungry.”

The cook glanced at the coins.

“This is only three laurels...”

“Yeah, three coppers is enough. Or we can go somewhere else,” sniffed Kostubh, holding out a hand for the leaf. “Put the other two on another leaf for my friend here.”

The cook hesitated for a moment, then silently pulled out another leaf and dropped two more buns on it, handing it to Robert.

They walked through the market as they ate, eyeing the enormous variety of goods and food on display.

“It’s only another copper, Kostubh...” said Robert quietly. “Why not just pay the man?”

“Ah, fuck ’im,” said Kostubh around a mouthful of hot bun. “He’s just a peasant.”

He turned to look at Robert more closely.

“You’re not serious, are you? You can’t go around paying these people what they ask for! You can always drop the price. Or say you found a dead rat in it!”

He laughed at his own jest, missing the twitch of disgust that flashed across Robert’s face.

“No, of course not,...” he agreed. “Just peasants, after all.”

Kostubh nodded his head several times in agreement as he wiped his hands on his tunic.

“Go over there are shout you saw a snake,” he said, pointing to a nearby stall.

“A snake...? What...?”

“Just do it, Robert,” said Kostubh, giving him a shove. “Sound scared!”

The other man shrugged and walked over to where Kostubh had pointed, looking at the fresh turnips displayed by a farmer in passing.

“Pulled ’em this mornin’,” he said, waving a leafy bundle with clods of dirt falling off.

Robert shook his head, holding up one hand to stop the man’s spiel, and kept walking as directed toward a small wagon selling some sort of reddish pottery.

He bent forward a little as if to get a better look, and then leapt backwards to fall on his ass, screaming “A viper! There’s a viper! Right there!”

Everyone who could hear him jumped one way or another, some trying to run away and some hoping to kill the snake. The market was so noisy that his screams only carried a few meters, but it was enough to cause a sudden squall of excitement.

Robert quickly backpedaled from the pottery seller’s wagon, catching up to Kostubh as he was walking away from the scene.

“Hey, what was all that about?”

Kostubh pulled him around a stack of carpets, out of sight of the rapidly cooling viper scare, and handed him an apple.

“There you are,” he said proudly, and took a second one from his wallet. “Compliments of that fruit cart just now.”

“Wait, you had me scream ‘snake’ just to rip off a couple apples?”

“Yeah,” said Kostubh, taking another bite. “Good ones, too!”

“You’re gonna get the Guard after us,” moaned Robert.

“Nah, fuck ’em all. They should thank me for eating their crap.”

Robert stared at the beautiful, red apple in his hand for a moment, then took a bite.

“Good, huh?”

“Yeah, good,” he agreed, and took another.

They wandered through the marketplace for another hour or so, just wasting time until it was dark. Once, Robert said he wished he had more money, looking wistfully at an engraved steel dagger, Kostubh found a way to steal it out from under the eyes of the shopkeeper, and pulled it out of his tunic later to a flabbergasted Robert.

“Here, you said you really liked this.”

“You got it for... wait a minute. You stole it for me?”

“Nah,” said Kostubh with a wave of his hand. “The shopkeeper gave it to me because I’m a Chabra. Keep it!”

Robert hefted it a few times, and practiced a stab.

“Have to get a decent sheath for it, too,” he said, grinning. “Thanks!”

“Sure,” said Kostubh, looking up at the sky. “It’s pretty dark... let’s head over there and see, huh?”

They both remembered where Lili’s was, and a short time later stood in the shadows across the road, watching the entrance.

The same red-haired guard stood there, making sure that only paying customers got in. He was big, armed, and obviously quite capable of using that sword if he had to.

“So what’re you gonna do? Just walk over there and stab him?”

“Doesn’t look like much to me,” sniffed Kostubh. “I don’t want to get my tunic dirty, though.

“Nah, this is a whole lot easier.”

He reached up and removed two of the oil lanterns hanging from a nearby street stall, and shook them once or twice, listening to see how much oil was inside.

“Oh, yeah, this’ll do nicely,” he smiled, and looked across the road, judging the distance.

“Kostubh! No!”

He stretched his arm out and whipped it forward, launching the lantern across the road and through Lili’s window. There was the sound of breaking glass and then a muffled whump as the spilled oil ignited. The second lantern followed almost immediately.

“Fire! Fire!”

“Quick, get water!”

“It’s spreading to the curtain!”

The guard at the front door half-drew his sword and glared in their direction, but at the screams he stopped and slammed the sword back into its sheath. With a curse he grabbed a nearby bucket and raced toward the nearest well, some hundred meters down the road.

“Kostubh of Shiroora-Shan, you’re a dead man!” he shouted as he ran.

“What the hell, Kostubh? You out of your mind?”

“Fuckers stole my money, that’s what they get,” snarled Kostubh, turning away from the spreading conflagration behind him and walking back the way they’d come. “I hope the whole place burns down, and that bitch with it!”

Robert stared at him, aghast, then glanced back at the black silhouettes struggling to contain the flames. Kostubh kept walking, though, and Robert trotted after him, away from the blaze and into the darkness.

“Kostubh, they won’t let us back into the compound this late... and the city guard’ll be after us soon enough. What’re we gonna do?”

Kostubh halted and turned to face him, the whites of his eyes pale in the night.

“Of course they’ll let us in! I’m a Chabra!”

“You’re a fucking idiot! You just set fire to that place, maybe killed some people, and the whole guard’ll be looking for you, Kostubh of Shiroora-Shan. And me. And the first place they’ll look’ll be Bulbuk’s compound.

“You can’t go doing all this shit and expect to get away with it because you’re a fuckin’ Chabra! That doesn’t mean a damn thing here! They catch us, they’ll chop our damn heads off!”

“They’d never kill me, son of Karadi Chabra of Shiroora-Shan.”

Robert grabbed the other man by the shoulders and shook him, hard.

“Listen to me, you idiot! Chabra doesn’t mean shit here! They.Will.Kill.Us.”

Kostubh stilled, shuffled his feet, spat once, looked up at the few stars visible between the overhanging roofs.

“You’re serious...”

“Yeah I’m serious!” said Robert. “We can’t go back to Bulbuk—he’d turn us over to the guard himself. And if we stay here they’ll catch us sooner or later. Probably sooner, because they know the city and we don’t have anywhere to go. We’re fucking dead, Kostubh!”

There was silence for a moment, then the faint sound of a crying baby from somewhere nearby.

“C’mon, this way,” said Kostubh suddenly, tapping Robert on the shoulder and heading for the compound.

“We can’t...”

“Yeah, we can. Shut up.”

When they reached the compound, the guards refused to let them in, just as Robert had warned.

“Call Master Gitanshu,” asked Kostubh. “It’s urgent.”

“I’m not going to go bother Master Gitanshu for a couple drunks!”

“Maybe this’ll make it easier,” said Kostubh, handing over what was left of the money he got from his brother.

The guard weighed it, sniffed, hitched up his sword belt, and turned to hand some of the coins to the other guard.

“Keep an eye on these two, will ‘ya? And if they’re fuckin’ with us we can take it outta their hides.”

The other guard nodded, hand on the pommel of his sword.

Gitanshu showed up only a few minutes later.

“What is it now, Kostubh? I have better things to do than babysit you!”

“Sorry, but I’ve—we’ve—got a little problem,” explained Kostubh, leading his brother away from the ears of the waiting guard. “There’s been a misunderstanding and the city guard’ll probably be here looking for us later.”

“If you’ve done anything to hurt Master Than Bulbuk I’ll hand you over myself!”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. Strictly a misunderstanding, but one that would take time to clear up. Rather than getting into a complicated argument with the guard, possibly delaying departure tomorrow, it might be easier to just hide us until we’re out of Eudoxia.”

“And then what? They’ll figure it out, Kostubh, and come after you.”

“And then we’ll leave the caravan in Thace, or Despina, and it’ll be as if we were never there.”

“Everywhere we go I have to clean up after you!” raged Gitanshu. “This is the last time! Come with me and I’ll find a way to get you out of the city, but I want you out of this caravan in Thace! Got it?”

“Of course, brother, no problem at all,” smiled Kostubh, and winked at Robert. “We’ll leave long before the guard might cause any problem.”

Gitanshu spit and cursed under his breath.

“You two leave now. Make sure the guards see you leaving. Go around to the mill entrance, on the east side, and I’ll let you in there. And don’t screw it up!”

“Thanks, Gitanshu. I knew I could count on you.”

“Fuck you, Kostubh. And you—what’s your name?”

“Robert, Master Gitanshu. Thank you for helping us out.”

“I don’t know how he roped you into this, but you’re his now. And I want you gone with him.”

Gitanshu stomped back to the guard cursing, and then turned back to the two waiting men.

“No, I won’t let you in, you drunkards! Now get out of here before I call the city guard myself!”

He stopped next the guard and clapped him on the shoulder.

“They won’t be back, because they don’t work for Master Than Bulbuk anymore. If they try to get in you should spit them like any other thief.”

The guard grinned and nodded.

“Yessir, sorry to have bothered you, sir. They won’t be gettin’ in.”

“Good man,” said Gitanshu, nodding sharply and striding back into the compound.

The guard glared at Kostubh and Robert, who slunk back into the darkness.

* * *

Early that afternoon Kostubh woke up suddenly when the camel stopped. He’d been banging around in the wicker basket for hours, strapped to the side of one of the cargo camels, and had fallen into a sort of half-sleep, half-delirium state due to the heat.

“Kostubh!”

He recognized the whisper, of course. It was Gitanshu.

“Kostubh? You OK in there?”

He groaned and tried to force words out of his parched mouth.

“Awa..... wa... wa–ter...”

The basket hasp opened and his brother’s silhouette looked down at him through the blinding sunlight. Through the tears he saw a huge black hand descending, and instinctively shied away, holding up one hand in defense.

The waterskin hit his hand and he sighed at the incredible delight of the cool water inside.

He grabbed it from Gitanshu’s hand and drank ferociously, spilling a good bit in the process.

“Keep it,” said his brother. “Give me the old one and I’ll fill it up again for you.”

“Aahhhh...”

Kostubh finally pulled the waterskin from his mouth, sated.

He breathed for a moment, enjoying the freedom of the open basket, and licked his lips.

“I thought you were trying to kill me, Gitanshu! Locked up in there, banging about like a damned potato. A well-baked damned potato!”

Gitanshu shrugged.

“No other way to get you out of Eudoxia. You know that. They stopped and questioned us, you know, looking for you. You and Robert. Master Than Bulbuk is furious, but said he owed father that much.”

“How about some food, too?”

“I’ll see if I can sneak something to you. If you need to take a piss, better get it done now—I’ve blocked off the view from the caravan, so you can get out of there for a few minutes.”

Kostubh managed to drag himself out of the basket, collapsing onto the ground in a heap as his legs gave out from under him. Robert joined him momentarily.

Robert just sat on the sand massaging his legs with one hand and drinking with the other.

“Kostubh, we’ve had it with you. I begged Master Than Bulbuk to look the other way this time, but you’ve repaid his trust terribly, blackened your name forever. And his name, and my name, and even our father’s name.”

Kostubh shrugged and jumped up and down experimentally.

“Like I said just a misunderstanding. We’re out of the city and nobody saw us, right? So no harm done, I’d say.”

“It wasn’t a misunderstanding, you maniac! You burned down three buildings and they say one person died in the blaze! That’s not a misunderstanding, and if you ever go back to Eudoxia they’ll spike your head on the city wall.”

“So I won’t go back to Eudoxia. Plenty of other places to go.”

“It’ll take about another five or six days to reach Thace,” said Gitanshu, “but Master Than Bulbuk wants you gone tonight. I’ll give you two horses when we make camp.

“He’s already sent a dragolet to father with a complete explanation and refuses to reconsider.”

“Two horses, huh?” asked Kostubh, looking interested for the first time. “And supplies?”

“Yes, of course with supplies. If I wanted you dead all I had to do was hand you over to the guard,” said Gitanshu in exasperation. “We’re still in the foothills of the Hills of Noor, not the desert, so you shouldn’t have much difficulty.”

“I’ll be gone, then, assuming I survive this torture until nightfall,” said Kostubh, nodding.

“What about you, Master Robert?”

Robert looked up suddenly, not expecting to be addressed.

“Uh... I’ll go along with him, Master Gitanshu, thank you.”

“So both you, then. Two horses, supplies, arms... I’ll have it ready to go.”

“Thanks, Gitanshu,” smiled Kostubh. “I knew I could count on you.”

“I’m not helping you because I want to, Kostubh. You’re dangerous and I want you gone before you ruin Master Than Bulbuk and me with him!”

“Yeah, whatever. I love you too, Gitanshu.

“Just give us the word and we’ll be gone.”

As Gitanshu stomped off fuming, Kostubh looked around at the caravan.

They were stopped for lunch and a rest, heading north at the foot of the Hills of Noor.. The mountains shielded them from the morning sun, and runoff usually meant there was sparse groundcover for much of the way. A few days from now the trail would turn west, away from the Hills of Noor—a mountain range, in spite of the name—and toward Thace, into the desert proper.

Except for a few people tending to their animals—the caravan had both horses and camels, but of course no deinos on the desert road—and a group of three cursing men trying to repair a bent cartwheel, everyone was eating or lounging. Sunshades and a few shimmers were up, keeping the heat down to a reasonable level.

They stayed hidden, knowing that any of the caravan crew would betray them to the city guard without a moment’s hesitation. They were half a day’s ride from Eudoxia, but there was no way of telling where the guard might be.

They’d just have to suffer in silence until nightfall.

Gitanshu was back in a few minutes with a pot of warm, spicy beans and a stack of bread to eat it with.

“Can’t even bring us an ale to go with it?”

“Drink your water and be happy I got you this much,” said Gitanshu sourly. “And make sure you’re back in your baskets as soon as you hear everyone start to gear up for the afternoon ride.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” said Kostubh through a mouthful of bread. “Don’t worry, we won’t embarrass you.”

“You already did that quite adequately,” said Gitanshu.

They climbed back into their reed prisons about half an hour later as the caravan began preparing to set out once again, and a few minutes Gitanshu dropped by to make sure the baskets were securely fastened, and their hidden occupants invisible.

“Enjoy your ride!” he whispered gayly, rapping on Kostubh’s basket.

“Fuck you.”

* * *

That night they finally took their leave of Than Bulbuk’s caravan, thanks to Gitanshu. He’d wheedled the trader into providing two horses (not the finest steeds, true, but certainly an improvement over walking) and a modest amount of supplies.

Than Bulbuk refused to even meet them, so that he could continue to truthfully say that he had not seen them in his caravan.

Gitanshu was quietly furious and while he didn’t discuss what the whole situation had cost him in terms of Than Bulbuk’s trust or possibly even gold, there was little doubt that Kostubh had used up his welcome.

They slowly rode away from the caravan’s night camp, east deeper into the mountains, and by dawn should be well on their way.

Kostubh suddenly slowed his pace and guided the horse over to a stand of trees. He dismounted, and tethered the horse to a tree hidden in the darkness.

“Watch the horses,” he ordered to Robert. “One last thing to do before we leave.”

“You’re not going back are you?”

Kostubh grinned.

“Don’t you worry about it. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone,” and slipped off into the night.

True to his word he was back in a little over an hour.

He untied the rope and climbed back up into the saddle grinning widely.

“What are you so happy about? What did you do?”

Kostubh held a large handful of coins out for Robert to see, and dropped them into his surprised hand.

“Where’d you get the money? You didn’t rob Master Than Bulbuk did you!?”

“Of course not. I just paid a little visit to our own friend Ran, and relieved him of some excess baggage. He was sleeping like a baby; didn’t notice a thing.

“In fact, since his wallet is now full of gravel instead of coins, he may not notice anything until they reach Thace and he tries to pay for something!”

Robert laughed, delighted. That took care of his own debt to Ran, too, he realized.

“As far as anyone knows we left the caravan in Eudoxia, so he’ll no doubt make life difficult for everyone else, trying to figure out who stole his money. Poor fools.”

“He deserves it. Hell, he deserves a lot more than that, the way he treated me,” agreed Kostubh. “And you, of course.”

Without waiting for Robert’s response he kicked his horse lightly and began to trot again in the wan light of the half-moon.

Robert hurried to catch up, settling his horse into position just behind him.

“Where are we going?”

“Well, we can’t go back to Eudoxia, and we can’t go to Thrace, at least not until Bulbuk leaves,” replied Kostubh. “I’m heading for the Oasis of Noor. Ever been there?”

“Noor? Nope. What’s there?”

“Once we get to the Oasis, we can take the route through the mountains to Nurl, hook up with a caravan heading north on either side of the Hills, or even turn west and head for Mnar.”

“Mnar? That’s where Sarnath is, right?”

“Yeah, the lake and Ib and all that. I don’t know how much of that is true, but might be a good idea to stay well away.”

“Hell yeah!”

They continued north, paralleling the Hills. In spite of the name, the Hills of Noor were only hills well to the south, where they sank into the Night Ocean. They grew in height northward into a major range. They were still well to the south—the Oasis roughly marked the halfway point in the range—but the mountains were already high enough that the horses would have been largely useless.

It was much easier to ride at the base of the mountains, with the Liranian Desert stretching off to the west on one side and the mountains to the east. There was plenty of grass for the horses to eat, watered by mountain streams, and since they weren’t in any particular hurry they could relax and take the easy route.

The easy route also meant rabbits and deer, and they finally reached the outskirts of the Oasis days later well fed and rested.

The Oasis of Noor was actually a small lake, fed by several streams running down out of the mountains. It had no known outlet, but standing as it did on the edge of the Liranian Desert there was no doubt that the dry sands drank every drop.

There was a route threading through the Hills of Noor, east, to Nurl. Horses and camels could use it safely, but it had a number of narrow sections that few wagons could pass. There was also a trade road connecting it to Thace to the south, and northward. The road north ran though the western bulge of the Hills and then into the desert to Tsol and beyond.

From Tsol there were numerous possibilities: they could travel farther west, through the Mohagger Mountains encircling the Lake of Sarnath, or continue northwest towards Tsun.

There were always caravans on the ancient trade roads through the desert, guided through the waste by the wind-worn statues standing silently every few kilometers.

The scrub dotting the flanks of the mountains gradually gave way to greener leaves and taller trees as they approached the Oasis. The greenery was a pleasant sight for eyes tired of endless sand and rock, and the horses appreciated the change to fresh green grass.

Kostubh was even whistling once in a while, obviously far less affected by their situation that Robert, who seemed quite worried that someone might be pursuing them. He looked over this shoulder often, and half-drew his sword at the slightest noise.

There was never a sign of any pursuit, though, even though they doubled back once just to see if there were any other tracks.

As the Oasis of Noor grew closer, though, even Kostubh began to think about what might be waiting there.

“We came here along the fastest road from Eudoxia,” he said, “and nobody passed us on the way. I don’t see why anyone should be waiting for us.”

“They could have used dragolets.”

“Sure, they could, but why would they? Even assuming they actually have a dragolet pair for the Oasis,” he countered. “Besides, if they look for us at all, they’ve already checked the caravan and didn’t find us. They have no reason to think we’re heading to Noor, or the desert.

“I figure the Boorsh Fen is where they’re looking. If they’re even looking at all.”

“Maybe,” Robert agreed grudgingly. “But...”

“Relax, everything’s fine. Just leave it up to me.”

Kostubh reined his horses to a halt and slid off.

“I’m gonna slip up ahead and see what the Oasis looks like. Don’t know much about it.”

“Me neither,” agreed Robert. “Let me go with you.”

“Nah, keep an eye on the horses, will ya? I won’t be back for a few hours.”

Kostubh handed his reins to Robert and adjusted his sword belt, then melted into the underbrush.

The Oasis of Noor was just ahead of them, at the base of the mountain’s slope. The bushes and trees were getting higher, but it was possible to see quite a bit from their vantage point.

What they could see consisted of open water, palm trees surrounded by lower vegetation, and a handful of buildings built variously of stone or wood. It was early morning, the sun still low over the Hills of Noor behind him. Shadows were long and dark.

Kostubh had been taught well by his father, master hunter Karadi, and moved silently through the brush. He moved closer to the main road, running into the Oasis from Thace to the south. Most trade from Thace traveled west, heading for Despina, but there was also considerable traffic from Thace to the Oasis, then west along the desert’s edge, trending gradually northwest, and beyond.

Kostubh was pretty sure that nobody from Eudoxia could have gotten here before them, but it wouldn’t hurt to watch the road for a bit and try to get a better idea of how busy—and dangerous—things were.

He picked a nice thick tangle of brush to hide in, right next to the main road where a tiny footpath ran off deeper into the mountains. In the shadows under the brush, he was effectively invisible.

About half an hour later a horse-drawn wagon piled with bales of hay plodded by. Kostubh figured it must be from some pasture nearby, brought here to feed the animals. And probably sell to people passing through. The fresh grass around the oasis was great while they were here, but once they left and entered the desert, grain or dried hay lasted a lot longer than fresh leaves.

A wagonload of hay was not much of a threat, though.

He yawned and kept waiting.

A few other innocuous people passed by in one direction or the other: traders, farmers, one Godsworn with acolytes, a few traveling alone for no apparent reason. All in all, though, perfectly normal.

The sun was high, around noon.

Just as he was thinking that he might as well go get Robert and ride into the Oasis, he heard clashing swords and shouts.

He twisted to the side so he could see better.

He could just see a small covered wagon, gaily carved and painted in brilliant colors. Looked like an itinerant Rom family, he thought to himself.

The main man of the family was dying messily in the dirt, screaming in agony as his guts spilled out. Two of his two attackers were now ganging up on a boy standing between them and the wagon. He was trying, but he was too inexperienced, and too weak... even as Kostubh watched, one of the robbers knocked the sword out of the boy’s hand with his own sword. The other robber took advantage of the opening to thrust deep into the boy’s side. The boy screamed and staggered sideways until a sword in the back toppled him.

Behind them another robber already had a youngish girl on the ground, enthusiastically pumping away as she screamed, and tried to push him away. He laughed at her screams and weak fists.

Two more were already climbing up the wagon, battering its wooden door open with their weapons. They finally chopped it open and eagerly tore it out of the way, crowding in, weapons drawn.

The wagon shook, more screams, and suddenly a woman leapt out of the wagon through the front, onto the driver’s bench, then down to the road, carrying something in her arms.

The two robbers scrambled out of the wagon after her, joined by the two who had just killed the boy.

She was running right toward him!

Kostubh couldn’t squirm backwards without raising a commotion, and he couldn’t win against four or five well-armed men, especially lying down. He moved his head to hide behind the leaves more effectively.

She was carrying a baby.

The woman saw the path off into the mountains, and ran toward it, her pursuer growing closer.

Bad luck again as she stumbled and fell, barely catching herself on her free hand as she protected her baby with the other.

Their eyes met.

She froze for the merest fraction of a second, entreating him to save her child. She knew she was doomed to rape, possibly slavery or more probably death.

But he could save her baby; her pursuers would leave it to die, or kill it outright.

After what felt like a decade time started ticking again, and she thrust the baby into the underbrush right in front of his nose.

She whispered a single word—Peanna—and yanked a branch down to hide them.

She was up and running again instantly, as if she had merely stumbled and caught herself, but Kostubh could still see her brown eyes beseeching him as she ran.

A moment later he heard more shouting, and a woman screaming, and laughter.

They’d caught her.

While they were busy with their prey, he had a chance to get away to safety.

But what to do with the baby?

He looked down at the child for the first time, and it—she—looked up at him, silent and still, huge eyes transfixing him.

“... Hansika...?”

Peanna, her mother had called her. She looked exactly like his little sister. Hansika was only fourteen, and the baby was older than he’d thought. Two, maybe? He didn’t really know much about babies or young children, as he was one of the youngest of the Chabra children and had never really had to babysit anyone.

But in spite of the age difference, the child looked just like Hansika. The same eyes, the same nose...

He couldn’t just leave her here to die.

But he didn’t know how to take care of a kid!

Still holding the silent child in his arms, he wriggled backwards away from the road until he could rise to a crouch, then left the area as quickly as he could.

Robert was right where he’d left him.

“We’re leaving,” he said in a low voice. “Right now, and stay quiet, on your life.”

Robert nodded and unhobbled his horse. He glanced at Kostubh and raised an eyebrow.

“Robbers. Now, quietly.”

They led their horses back up the slope, deeper into the mountains, away from the Oasis.

Kostubh carried Peanna in his arms all the way

* * *

The small fire lit the walls of the cave in red and orange, black shadows dancing as the flames leaped.

Pursuers, if there were any, might be able to spot the fire if they were close enough, but they were well off the road and the entrance to the cave was shielded by a convenient boulder, hiding the light.

The smoke would give them away in the day, Kostubh thought, even for such a small fire.

“So they’re all dead?”

“Probably,” mused Kostubh. “Or enslaved. The man and his son are dead for sure. I don’t know about the woman and the girl. They didn’t look like slavers to me, though.”

“Should we go back and check? You might be able to get rid of that kid.”

Kostubh frowned, and glanced down at Peanna, who was sleeping next to him. She had spent most of the day in his arms or clinging onto an arm or leg like a burr.

She was old enough to walk around and eat most things, it seemed—at least, she had no trouble eating their dried meat and fruit once he’d chewed it a bit—but she’d not made a sound yet. He figured she must be three or so, just small for her age. She didn’t need diapers—thank goodness!—and should be able to talk.

Was she a mute?

Simply terrified?

She didn’t seem scared of him, at least. She had hung onto him like a leech throughout dinner, which was a thin stew of day-old rabbit, beans, and a few leftover potatoes. He’d chewed the rabbit for her to soften it, and she’d managed a few small pieces, but mostly ate beans and potatoes.

He’d rocked her back and forth until she finally fell asleep.

“No. The mother knew she’d never see her daughter again, and made her choice.”

“So you’re going to raise her!?”

“I have to...” he murmured, half to himself as she smiled in her sleep.

“You don’t know anything about raising a child! And neither do I!”

“True enough, but I can’t just throw her to the wolves, can I?”

He turned back to Robert.

“We can’t go back to Eudoxia, or to Thace, and it looks like the Oasis might not be a good idea if people are getting slaughtered on the road... north, I guess, for now.”

Robert prodded the fire with a stick, watching the sparks fly.

“I wonder if I should go back... to Zeenar, I mean...”

Kostubh shook his head.

“C’mon, Robert, you just got out of a lifetime of humping crates and picking up deino shit. We’re free, free to go where we like, do what we like. You’d be an idiot to throw it all away!”

“But they’re after us! Eudoxia, I mean.”

“Who cares? They’re not gonna chase us, and I don’t care if I never see Eudoxia again. Big world out there, Robert, just waiting for me. Us.”

Peanna stirred, and Kostubh patted her softly back to sleep.

“Stick with me, Robert. There’re some great things coming, you’ll see.”

Robert smiled and let the stick fall into the fire. He stood and brushed the dirt off his tunic.

“I’m with you, Kostubh, wherever you go.”

Kostubh, still seated, reached up to wrist-shake him.

They gradually drifted north along the western edge of the Hills, traveling generally parallel to the trade road but not on it. There was not much traffic, and what little there was showed no interest in a distant pair of riders.

Peanna was still silent but had been crying quietly more often.

She’d been sucking on her fingers more, too... whatever children needed to eat, she wasn’t getting enough of it, realized Kostubh, but what did they eat? They caught some sweetfish, and she obviously liked their soft, white flesh far more than tough rabbit meat.

A few days later they approached Andersweald, a large, isolated stretch of woods along the boundary between mountain and desert. The road cut sharply west here toward the Mohaggers, across the desert, and most travelers spent a day or two here resting up before making the crossing.

There was no clear marker, but gradually the trees thinned and there were scattered fields, sometimes small shacks here and there. The hard-packed dirt road was unchanged, until they turned a corner and saw what awaited.

It was a huge gate, tree trunks roughly hewn into two columns on either side and one across the top horizontally. No guards, no walls, just a tree trunk across the road... and on top of the tree trunk was a row of spikes about half a dozen of which had heads on them.

“I guess they don’t like trespassers,” said Robert.

“No, I heard about this... those are robbers, murderers, and people like them. The heads are up there to tell us to be careful.”

“What do you mean, be careful?”

“Don’t rob or kill anyone, I guess...”

Robert snorted, and they rode on under the row of heads.

There was no water along the nest stage of their planned route, and while it only took two days it was good to be well rested and hydrated before starting. There were a few small homes here in Andersweald, farming and selling food to passing travelers, clumped together around a public well of unknown antiquity.

Kostubh sat Peanna down and let the bucket drop, watching the pulley spin and rattle until the splash sounded. It was a fairly small bucket, and easy to crank back up again.

He spilled the first three buckets into a basin for the horses to drink, and then started filling up their own waterskins. Peanna sat next to him, one arm wrapped around his leg for security, happily splashing one hand in the puddles.

One of the horses swung its head over to investigate, blowing wet mist over her in a loud whuff; she giggled and wiped her face.

“And where’s your mammy, little one?”

Kostubh turned to see a middle-aged woman approaching with a good-sized water keg, obviously to fetch her own water. Dressed in rough-spun wool and leather, she had a square jaw, ice-blue eyes, and twin braids of orange hair hanging down to her massive chest. She set the keg down with a hollow thump and squatted to talk to Peanna up close.

“My, you’re a happy little tyke, aren’t ya?”

She held out her finger and Peanna quickly latched on, pumping it up and down and giggling again.

“This your little girl?”

“Yup. Her name’s Peanna.”

“Where’s her mammy?”

“Dead. I’m all she’s got now.”

“Peanna! What a pretty name! Doesn’t talk much, does she?”

“Nope. She had a big shock when her ma died; still getting over it, I think.”

He squatted down and held his arms open, and Peanna jumped up and into them.

“Seems to like you well enough.”

He stood, carrying her easily in one arm.

“Like I said, I’m all she’s got.”

“You look pretty young to take care of a young ’un,...” she continued.

“No, it’s fine, really, I’m fine...”

She stood up herself and picked up the bucket to draw her own water.

“You just wait right there, young man. This child is starving. You’re coming with me and I’m gonna feed you both, teach you a few things you need to know. This poor child needs a mother.”

Kostubh hesitated. He didn’t want to stay in one place very long if he could help it, not with Eudoxia still nearby, but he knew he was out of his depth.

“I’m Clara,” she said, hinting.

“Um...Kosta. Of Ebnon.”

“Well, Umkosta of Ebnon,” she said, pouring a bucketful into her keg, “you got any baggage other than what’s on them horses?”

“The other horse belongs to my friend, Robe... Robb. Robb of Ebnon.”

Robert was off buying some food and should be back shortly.

“Are you sure it’s alright?” he asked. “We’re fine in the woods.”

“You may be fine, young man, but did you happen to notice Peanna is a little girl? With filthy face, torn tunic, and broken sandal strap? You go get your friend Robb and come see me. That house right over there,” she commanded, pointing to a sod-roofed structure half hidden in the trees. “You get lost just ask for Clara.”

She poured another bucketful into her keg and dropped bucket back in again.

“Ebnon, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Never been there,” she continued. “Hear it’s all swamp and pirates.”

“Nah, the Boorsh Fens are way west of the city, and the pirates even farther.”

She poured one last bucket-full, then set it down next to the well and squatted. With a grunt she hefted the heavy keg up onto her shoulder, grunted again as she shifted it a bit, rose slowly, and walked off.

Kostubh noticed for the first time how thick her arms were, and her legs, and the way she had easily hefted that keg up—it must weigh at least forty kilos, he figured.

“You bring Peanna by once you find Robb, you hear? Umkosta of Ebnon.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he responded automatically, and then stopped in amazement. Why did he unconsciously call her that, and feel like he had to obey?

It never occurred to him not to... she was just the sort of person one doesn’t ignore.

Robert came back shortly with some meat, cheese, and bread, and a jug of fresh goat milk for Peanna.

They walked over to sit under a shady tree and ate together as Kostubh filled Robert in on what had happened.

“Umkosta?”

“I didn’t want to tell her my name and was thinking... and once she started calling me Umkosta I was stuck,” shrugged Kotubh. “I mean, it’s not really a bad name...”

“Robb is fine with me,” said Robert. “A couple people used to call me that back in Zeenar. I hope she doesn’t start asking a lot of questions about Ebnon, though. I’ve never been there!”

“Yeah, I don’t know much about it either... I was only there briefly, years ago, with my father.”

Robert took a bite and looked at Kostubh curiously.

“You always call him your father, not your pa or anything...”

“Habit, I guess,” grinned Kostubh. “He was pretty strict about how to act in public. Mother was too.”

“What are you, some kinda noble of something?”

“Nah, nothing like that,” laughed Kostubh, hoping to change the subject. “Just strict parents. That’s all.

“Pass me that water, would ya?”

“Here you go, Umkosta.

“Thanks, Robb.

Peanna, silent as always, ate a little bread and cheese, washing it down with goat milk, and watched them with enormous brown eyes, rarely blinking.

She was sitting close to Kostubh, not actually touching, but close enough that she could grab hold of arm or leg in a second. She never strayed very far if she could help it, awake or even asleep.

“So, you gonna go?”

“To Clara’s place? Yeah, I think I have to.”

“Got the hots for her?”

“Idiot! She’s like my mother’s age,” snorted Kostubh. “But I don’t know how to take care of Peanna right.”

“Why not give her to Clara?”

Kostubh was silent for a moment.

“I don’t think I can do that,” he said finally. “Her mother entrusted her to me, and I accepted the responsibility. I can’t just hand her off like a cabbage.”

It was Robert’s turn to shrug.

“Whatever. She’s your problem. And if we get dinner out of this, I’m happy.”

“She’s our problem, Robb, as long as we’re together.”

“Yeah, OK.”

Kostubh felt a tug on his tunic.

“What is it, Peanna?”

She tugged again, toward the nearby shrubbery.

“You have to go to the bathroom?”

She nodded and stood waiting for him to stand and take her hand.

“Back in a minute, Robert. Robb.”

He “stood watch” while she squatted, and then they walked back to rejoin the other man.

Peanna didn’t stop there, though, but kept pulling on Kostubh’s hand.

“Where are we... Oh, you want to go see Mistress Clara now?”

Kostubh looked back at Robert.

“I guess we’re going now,” he said. “Gimme my pack, will ya?”

Robert climbed to his feet and snagged Kostubh’s pack with one hand.

“Hope she’s a good cook,” he said, and they led their horses toward the sod-roofed house.

* * *

There were few windows in Clara’s house, which was built half into a slight hill. The hill covered the back of the house, with the turf extending quite naturally onto the roof. A soot-blackened stone chimney broke through the grasses in one spot. The exposed walls were of logs, with mud packed into the cracks, and the weathered door, of thick-hewn boards, looked quite heavy.

“Whadda we do? Knock?”

Kostubh shrugged with one shoulder; his other arm was holding Peanna.

“I guess...”

He tentatively reached out to knock when a woman’s voice called from inside.

“Well, don’t just stand there! Hitch your horses up to the rail there, and come on in!”

The door slammed open, knocking Kostubh’s hand back, and Clara was there with a smile on her face.

“And there’s Peanna, my sweetie!”

She reached out and smoothly snatched the child from Kostubh’s arm, nestling her in one arm. She let the door go to wrap the other around Peanna, squeezing her tight.

“How are you, my little pumpkin? You boys get those horses done, you come right in, sit yourselves down at the table.”

She walked deeper into the house, leaving the two of them to finish up.

When they entered the dim house they could make out a wood table and chairs backlit by a low fire. Clara, Peanna still nestled in one arm, was stirring a pot of something hanging over the fire.

“Be right with you!” she called, and ladled something that smelled delicious into two waiting bowls.

She carried the tray over to where the boys were sitting and set it down. Along with the two bowls of stew the tray held half a loaf of dark bread.

“You get started on that stew, and I’ll be back in a jiffy,” she said, and left again.

They looked at each other in surprise and confusion, but the fragrance won and they began spooning up the stew in huge bites.

Clara was back in a few minutes with a pot of tea and a stack of cups, along with a slab of some bright yellow cheese, all of which she unceremoniously plunked down on the table.

“Help yourselves,” she said, and sat down in an empty chair.

She shifted Peanna from her arm onto the table, sitting with her legs dangling over the edge, and pulled a blue cloth from somewhere which she proceeded to wring out and use to wipe the girl’s face and hands.

“There, that’s better,” she said, cocking her head for a better look at the unusually clean Peanna. “You’re a right beauty, you are.”

She handed the girl a cup.

“Warm milk to get you started, child. And here’s boiled chicken with sesame, and some peas and carrots, and for dessert some grapes and melon. You eat as much as you like, Peanna.”

Clara held out a spoon, but Peanna ignored it, immediately grabbing the chicken with her fingers and cramming it into her mouth.

“My, your ma never taught you to use a spoon!?”

“I think she’s Rom, Mistress,” said Kostubh.

Clara glared at him from under her bushy eyebrows.

“You think? You don’t know?”

“Um, it’s sorta complicated...”

“Maybe you can just tell me the whole story, then,” said the woman as she reached behind her and pulled a set of chopsticks from a nearby shelf.

When Peanna saw the chopsticks she grabbed them at once. Kostubh noticed she didn’t stop chewing while she did, though.

Once she had the chopsticks and a bowl, she really dug in, scraping chicken, rice, and everything else into her mouth as if she hadn’t eaten for days.

Maybe she hadn’t, he realized.

So he told Clara what had happened to Peanna’s family, and why he had her now.

Before he had even finished, Peanna had fallen asleep, her head on her empty plate.

“Is it okay if she rests here for a bit, Mistress?”

“Of course. Let me lay out a mat.”

Kostubh wiped her face clean and laid her down on the sleeping mat, covering her with a light blanket.

Once she was sleeping peacefully, Kostubh continued his story.

“Well, that was quite the story,” she said finally. “I think that calls for some khoormog.”

“What’s khoormog?” asked Robert, who had been largely silent during dinner.

“Same thing as chal,” said Kostubh. “Fermented camel milk.”

“You’ve had chal, Master Umkosta?”

“My father gave me some when an Ibizim trader passed by once.”

“You liked it?”

“Yeah, I thought it was great. Why?”

She grabbed a small wood keg from the floor, and three glasses from the shelf. She filled all three with the milky-white liquid, and handed each of them a glass.

“To safe journeys,” she said, and slugged it down.

“To safe journeys,” they echoed, and raised their glasses.

Kostubh tried to drink it all at once and hurriedly spat half of it back into the glass, puffing out his cheeks and blowing hard.

“That’s... that’s not...” he gasped, “what I drank!”

Robert suspiciously took a very small sip and set his glass back on the tabletop.

Clara laughed, a rich, deep laugh that echoed throughout the room.

“This is the real stuff, Master Umkosta. Drink up!”

He scowled at his own glass and gingerly took another sip, grimaced, and yet another.

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” he said to Robert.

“I’m drinking mine at my own pace, thanks.”

“No hurry, Master Robb,” smiled Clara, then turned back to Kostubh. “Master Umkosta, thank you for sharing that story with me. I hoped that you would, because I’ve already heard much of it. The rest of Peanna’s family were killed, including her mother, and if they’d noticed Peanna they’d’ve killed her too.

“You certainly couldn’t fight them, but you could have run away and left Peanna to die. You didn’t. Now that you know she’s Rom, though, what are your intentions?”

“Uh, I hadn’t really thought about it,” he said slowly, turning the glass on the table. “They’re the same. I don’t care what she is, I couldn’t just leave her to die! And besides, I was bound to care for her, and I will. Be good if we could talk, though... can she talk?”

“Good answer, Master Umkosta, good answer,” nodded Clara. “Yes, I think she’ll start talking again once she recovers a bit. She probably saw her family murdered, and even if she didn’t she’s been ripped from it and entrusted to a total stranger.

“You don’t speak Rom, she doesn’t speak common, but you’re the only thing she has left to hang on to. With time she’ll certainly pick up common. Or whatever you speak to her in. Is it common?”

“Yes,” he said simply, not wanting to reveal that he only knew a few words in Tlungi, the language of Ebnon and most of Tlun. “Too many languages I’d have to speak otherwise.”

“Hah,” she laughed. “You should hear the mix we get around here!”

She poured herself another shot of khoormog and lifted the keg in invitation. Kostubh hurriedly waved his hand to decline, and Robert just shook his head, his hand covering his barely touched glass.

“I’ve had enough, thanks,” said Kostubh. “We need to get off to an early start tomorrow, and I don’t want to drink too much.”

“You’re getting an early start tomorrow, to be sure, but you won’t be ‘off’ to anywhere,” said Clara. “You’re staying with me for a couple weeks until you know more about how to take care of a little girl. It’s obvious she needs you, but she needs a lot more than you know how to give yet.”

“No, we can’t...!”

“Yes, you can, and you will,” she stated firmly. “Your horses have already been stabled and fed, and the bath is waiting. We need to wash Peanna, and from the looks of you, you two could stand a good wash, too.”

“We don’t...”

“Don’t argue with me, Master Umkosta. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.”

She emptied her glass and set it down on the table again.

“Either drink up or not, but you, Master Kostubh, are coming with Peanna and me so I can show you how to bathe her properly.

“Master Robb, will you join us, or bathe later?”

Robb looked to Kostubh for help, surprised by the sudden turn of events, but he just shrugged.

“Uh, later, thanks,” Robb stammered.

“That’s settled, then,” said Clara, standing abruptly. “First thing, Master Umkosta, is how to wake Peanna. Can you do that without starting her crying?”

“Yes, I think so,” he said, and squatted down next to the child without trying to resist Clara’s orders anymore.

He began stroking her hair gently and murmuring to her. Before she even woke up, her hand stretched out, seeking his, and he grasped it to reassure her. It took a few minutes, but shortly Peanna was sitting on his lap back at the table, looking sleepy-eyed at Clara.

“Good job. Off we go, then!”

And Clara led the way to the bath, already steaming with hot water.

* * *

The next morning Clara woke Kostubh and Robert up at the Hour of the Tiger, before sunrise.

“You two, time to get moving! Can’t lie here all day when there’s work to do! Up! Up!”

She rousted them out of bed mercilessly, ignoring their queries and resistance, and dragged them out into the main room, lit by a single lantern on the table.

She stopped to stroke Peanna’s hair and whisper something in her ear, putting her back to sleep again.

“Master Robb, you go with Bincup to check on the swine and fetch clean water,” she said perfunctorily. She used her chin to point to a burly man drinking a cup of something by the front door. He was wearing ragged pants and a beard that almost reached them, and looked like he could lift trees with one hand.

“Master Umkosta, you are going to make breakfast. First thing is getting the fire started.”

Kostubh, still a little lost after his abrupt awakening, shook his head.

“Fire. Yeah, I can do that.”

“You have flint?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, and pulled out his own flint and steel fire-starter. He knelt down in front of the fireplace and built up the dry grass and kindling before arranging a few of the larger logs on top. He sparked the tinder and blew it to life, watching it for a while to be sure it caught properly.

“Very good. You’ve got that much down right, at least.”

He stood and brushed the ash off his knees.

“Next is eggs. The basket’s over there,” she said, pointing. “Grab it and let’s go. After breakfast you have to mend her sandal and her tunic, and I’ll give you a few pieces of cloth to make a few more out of.”

“I don’t know how to sew!”

“You will,” she predicted, refusing to accept his excuses.

The sky outside was still dark enough to see the stars, but over the Hills of Noor it was already lightening, and the highest peaks were brilliant orange.

He was familiar with chickens and eggs, too, earning another grudging compliment, but then failed miserably when told to pick a variety of herbs for breakfast. Clara was behind him at every step, watching and correcting every move he made. He learned how to identify and use half a dozen herbs that morning.

He had no idea at all how to milk a cow, squirting far too much on the straw-covered dirt, and almost getting kicked for his trouble. Clara ended up finishing the job herself.

Later, as he was making breakfast for five people—the four of them plus the new man, Bincup—a man’s silhouette appeared in the doorway, now brighter on the cusp of dawn.

“Mistress?”

Clara turned to greet him at once, wiping her hands on her tunic.

“Oh, good morning to you, Master Gustaf.”

“We caught four of them last night, Mistress. No sign of the fifth one.”

“The four can’t tell us?”

The man chuckled quietly.

“Not anymore, I’m afraid.”

Clara stepped out of the house.

“Hmm, so I see,” she said. “The usual way, then.”

Kostubh moved the eggs off the fire and walked over to see the robbers.

They weren’t there.

At least, not all of them.

Four heads, one missing an ear and a chunk of skull with it, sat on a bloodstained cloth on the dirt.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the new man—Gustaf, she had called him—and picked up the corners of the cloth to hold the heads like a bag. He swung it up and over his shoulder and walked off down the road. “I’ll get it done right away.”

“Get what done, Mistress?”

“You didn’t notice the heads along the road when you came?”

“Oh,” said Kostubh. “Yeah, we noticed. Decided we wanted to avoid causing trouble here...”

“Good idea. A lot of scum seem to think they can get away with all sorts of things in Andersweald.”

“Why did he ask you?”

“You don’t know?” she asked, surprised. “I’m in charge here; have been for many years. Reeve, so to speak.”

Umkosta managed to get the eggs cooked without burning them, herbs and all, and at Clara’s suggestion set them aside.

It was time to wake Peanna.

He quietly walked up to the bed and squatted next to the pillow.

Her eyes were open, watching him.

He smiled and there was a sudden explosion as she burst out from under the covers and latched onto his chest like a burr, knocking him off-balance and onto his ass in the process.

He instinctively stretched one arm out to soften his fall, but the other one was wrapped around the girl to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

They lay on the floor for a moment, and he whispered good morning into her ear.

She gave him another hug and whispered back, “Dat.”

He finally managed to stand, still hugging her to his chest, and walked back toward the kitchen, where Clara was just pouring five cups of tea. The door banged open and Robert walked in, followed closely by Bincup.

He tried to set Peanna down on one of the benches but she refused to let go.

“Peanna, please, set and wait for a minute,” he pleaded, but she ignored him, face buried into this chest.

“Mistress Clara? Can you help?”

She laughed.

“Poor Master Umkosta! You wanted to be responsible for her, now you are! You’ll learn how to do everything with Peanna in your arms or underfoot; might as well start practicing.”

He grimaced, and set the pan full of bacon and eggs in the center of the table, where it joined a plate of bread and cheese and the ever-present pot of hot tea.

Peanna finally relented when he sat on a bench himself, and quite happily devoured an enormous helping of bacon and eggs, and huge slabs of bread and cheese. She sat on his lap, though, and Kostubh found that he didn’t mind it very much after all.

“Mistress? Peanna said something when she woke up just now. Sounded like ‘Dat,’ I think.”

Clara laughed again and reached over to scrunch up Peanna’s hair.

“Is this your dat, Peanna?”

The girl smiled and nodded her head almost imperceptibly.

“Good girl, Peanna!”

She sat back and poured herself another cup of tea.

“Congratulations, Master Umkosta. She just called you Father.”

* * *

A few months later, Kostubh and Peanna left on the next stage of their journey, on horseback.

Robert—now and forever Robb—didn’t accompany them, choosing instead to remain in Andersweald. He’d grown to love the village, nestled in the small patch of woods between mountains and desert, and got along so well with Bincup that he’d moved in with him.

Robb himself was surprised. He’d always wanted to be a trader, sailing the Middle Ocean and the Southern Sea to fabled lands, but it turned out that he just felt at home in Andersweald. And, surprisingly, it turned out that he was remarkably good with animals.

Kostubh understood his responsibilities much better now, and he was much better prepared to handle them. He’d never thought of being a father, but nevertheless he’d become one, and he found that it suited him.

Among other things he now knew how to sew, to fell trees and split them into firewood, to rock a child to sleep, to raise and slaughter swine, to smoke ham, to thatch a roof, to sing lullabies to little girls, to bake bread, to braid pigtails, to drink khoormog, to trim a horse’s hooves, and to kiss a skinned knee.

It turned out that Peanna was actually four, small for her age, and always celebrated her birthday in the summer. When summer came, they decided that they would celebrate her fifth birthday on the first day of Iris Bloom, in the month of Summer Solstice.

Peanna had opened up, and was learning common through some secret osmosis, absorbing words and phrases seemingly from the air, babbling throughout the day. Every so often she’d say something in Rom when she didn’t know the common word for it, but Kostubh suspected she’d forget her birth language completely within months.

He wished he knew Rom so he could talk to her in her own language, but he’d only managed to pick up a few random words here and there... a few of which he must be pronouncing wrong because she always laughed.

The journey from Andersweald across the narrow strip of desert to the shadows of the Mohaggers should take about a day and a half, which meant spending a night in the desert somewhere. They couldn’t move from mid-morning through the evening, when the desert was at its hottest, and would have to use a sunshade and a simmer to wait it out. They would take plenty of water, of course, but hopefully it would be a short, safe trip. He was taking a spare mount as well, to switch off during the ride, and just in case.

She had asked where they were headed, and Kostubh had no good answer. Robert had found a place that felt like home, but he was still searching. Now he had to think for two, not just for himself.

Robb, Clara, and Bincup saw them off.

Robb checked his water one more time, and double-checked the horse’s cinch.

“Water’s OK. Sunshade?”

“In my bag.”

“Shimmer?”

“All ready.”

“And incense?”

“Robb, I’m ready to go. We’ve checked it all already, remember? It’s starting to get dark, and I want to start the desert crossing as soon as it cools.”

Robb stretched out his arm to Kostubh, and they exchanged a wrist-shake.

“Take care. And send a message to let me know where you end up,” he said.

“I will, Robb, I will. You take care of yourself, hear?”

Robb stood back to let Clara approach.

She also stretched out her arm, but instead of grasping Kostubh’s arm in a wrist-shake pulled him sideways, almost off the horse.

She bent forward and spoke quietly so only he could hear.

“You take care of Peanna and raise her right. Anything goes wrong, come back here.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And if I hear that you’ve mistreated her in any way, I will recall just how much you resemble Kostubh of Shiroora Shan, and I will find you. We clear?”

She knew who he was! Who they were!

Before he could compose himself she pushed him back up straight in the saddle and slapped him hard on the thigh.

“Safe journey, Master Umkosta of Ebnon! Safe journey, Peanna!”

“Safe journey!” echoed the other two, and then the horse broke into a trot as she smacked it on the haunch. Both mounts started trotting into the evening.

By the time he thought of something to say Clara and the others were already out of sight in the darkening evening.

He wondered for a moment if he should warn Robert, but decided that it didn’t really matter that much... he hadn’t done anything, and if Clara hadn’t outed them yet, she’d have no reason to suddenly out Robert.

He turned his attention to their journey.

The huge blocks of stone making up the road were clearly visible, kept clean of desert sand by men and animals crossing back and forth. Every so often one of the enigmatic statues rose to mark the route. Eroded by centuries of wind-borne sand it was impossible to tell what they might have been when they were first erected, but it was common knowledge that they were of the Lizard People, who had built the roads and the fabled underground tunnels in the ancient past.

“Snake man!” said Peanna, pointing at one of the statues as they passed.

He guessed she’d seen them before, traveling with her family in that wagon. He wondered again where she had come from, who her parents had been.

The road wasn’t as empty as he’d expected. A number of people were travelling from the Mohagger Mountains toward Andersweald, usually riding alone or a small group of two or three people. Ahead of him a small caravan of half a dozen horses was travelling in the same direction, visible in the silver moonlight over the desert.

He pulled Peanna closer and wrapped the blanket around them both, tying the ends up behind his neck like a sling to hold her tight. The desert was growing cold now that it was dark, but he wanted to ride as far as they could by morning.

Peanna fell asleep in his arms.

He stopped several times during the night to let the horse rest and stretch his legs.

Peanna opened her eyes far enough to make sure he was there, and fell back to sleep again, cozy in the blanket.

It was a long, quiet slog through the night. The wide river of stars was brilliant across the sky, hidden only by the moon and the distant mountain peaks. The dunes to the sides of the trade road were generally low, revealing immense vistas stretching to the horizon, sometimes with black shadows slinking low or racing in pursuit of some prey.

They had no encounters that night, human or otherwise, as Kostubh kept a fixed distance between himself and the caravan ahead of him.

As the dawn approached and the eastern sky over the Hills of Noor began to lighten, he began searching for any hill or tree that might offer the slightest shadow during the day to come.

There was nothing, as he’d been warned.

He kept riding slowly, preserving the horses’ strength, until the sun finally rose above the now-distant mountains, stretching his long shadow in front of him. The temperature would rise sharply, and he had to get the day camp set up soon.

He twitched the rains and guided the horse to the side of the road, next to one of the time-worn statues. It wasn’t big enough to offer much in the way of shadow, but at least it provided a good place to tie the sunshade to.

With the sunshade up and the shimmer working, the heat in the camp would be merely very hot as opposed to fatally hot. He could see that the mountains ahead—the Mohaggers—were considerably closer than the Hills of Noor behind, and he had no doubt they’d reach their safety the coming night. With safety that close he could afford to use water freely, and he left the horses drink their fill. They’d stopped for food and water during the night ride, too, of course, but the night had been cold.

Peanna awoke and looked around curiously.

“Where are we?”

“Right in the middle of nowhere at all. We came from Clara’s house, over that way,” he said, pointing, “and we’re almost to the Mohagger Mountains that way. There’s nothing to see and nothing to do until this evening.

“Hungry?”

She sat up with eyes wide open. “Yes!”

“OK, you get the fire started, and I’ll get the horses fed,” he suggested, and helped her get the firewood down off the horse. They’d only brought a little, for breakfast now and supper later, before they set out on the final leg of the journey.

He helped her dig a small firepit and buried the better half of their money under it as Clara had suggested, just for safety. He watched her arrange the kindling and firewood properly, then use her own flint and steel—his birthday present to her on her fifth birthday, just recently—to light the fire. He felt inanely proud of the way she was growing into a strong, able girl.

She might be small for her age, he thought, but she’s grown up inside fast.

The horses weren’t happy to be in the middle of a hot desert and didn’t seem to like the shade over their heads or the way the shimmer distorted the view, but that didn’t interfere with their appetite or their thirst any. They’d been over this route many times, Clara had said, so he didn’t expect any special problems.

By the time he was done, so was she. The fire was hot and ready, and she’d already put the water on to boil. He didn’t really feel much like hot tea right now, but he could drink it after it cooled a bit, too... if it cooled at all in the heat.

Their breakfast didn’t need fire at all, consisting of hard, thin slabs of oven-baked bread, smoked ham, bean curry, and some sort of spiced pumpkin mash that Bincup had made for them. They just warmed it up a bit and dug in.

As a surprise, Kostubh pulled an orange from his pack and handed it to Peanna, taking another for himself. The sweet, tangy taste was perfect after the spicy breakfast.

Then they settled down to snooze for the day.

Humans and horses alike rested fitfully throughout the day, the heat oppressive and inescapable. There was no wind, not even the tiniest breeze, but at least they had water. Warm water, but water.

At last the sun began to slide down from its seemingly eternal position directly overhead, toward the peaks of the Mohaggers, and the shadows began to grow a millimeter at a time.

Kostubh woke fully up when the air moved: the first breeze of the evening had come.

He struggled to his feet to give the horses more water, and when he turned Peanna was sitting up, stretching.

“Hi, sleepyhead!”

“I want a drink too” she answered, and held out her hands for the waterskin.

He handed it to her carefully, because it was still quite heavy and unwieldy, but she balanced it neatly on her crossed legs to pour out a cupful.

She stoppered the skin and lifted the cup to her lips, and suddenly stopped, eyes staring behind him.

He spun around to see men walking up, through the shimmer, swords drawn.

Robbers.

He dove for his sword, lying next to where he’d been sleeping, grabbing it and rolling back to his feet in the same lithe movement.

Three of them.

Robbers, brigands, maybe murderers... the same sort of scum that had killed Peanna’s family.

He snarled, crouched, sword rising to a defensive position... and froze as he felt a small hand atop his own on the hilt.

It was Peanna.

She looked up at him and shook her head: “Dat, no.”

She had seen all this before!

She had seen her father and brother killed, knew her mother had saved her at the cost of her own life.

And she knew they had no chance against three.

He turned back to the advancing trio.

“There are three of you,” he called. “And the three of you can surely kill me, but I will also take at least one of you with me.

“My daughter is more valuable than my money or my sword... take them, if you will, but leave us be.”

The leader, a man not much older than Kostubh himself, with blue eyes and black hair drawn into a single braid hanging at the side of his head, halted, and stood up straight, his sword dropping down.

“You surrender?”

“If you promise us our lives and freedom, yes. Take anything you like.”

The other man stood silent for a moment, then nodded.

“I do so promise.”

Kostubh grasped Peanna’s hand in his own and dropped his sword onto the sand.

The leader stepped forward, sword point first, until he was almost within reach.

“You are a brave man to trust us so.”

“No, I am a father. Take what you want and leave.”

“Your money.”

Kostubh handed the other his wallet without hesitation.

“We’ll take your sword and your horses, too,” said the robber as he took the wallet and picked up Kostubh’s sword.

“Please, leave us one horse and enough water to reach the Mohaggers,” he pleaded.

“This is not much,” said the other, opening the wallet to see how much money was inside.

“I am not a wealthy man,” Kostubh shrugged, “as you can see from my belongings.”

“But a brave one, I judge,” nodded the robber. “So be it. One horse and water.”

He turned to the other two and waved them into action.

They dumped Kostubh’s pack out on the ground, picked up one or two items that caught their fancy, and were gone again in minutes with one of the horses.

The leader was the last to leave.

“You may need this, too,” he said, and plunged Kostubh’s sword into the sand at his feet. “Good luck.”

And they were gone.

They reached the scraggly trees along the eastern flank of the Mohaggers close to dawn the next day. It had taken quite a bit longer than he had planned: with only one horse they’d walked much more slowly to avoid exhausting it. They stopped to rest in the first acceptable site they found, under a fallen tree well off the road.

Kostubh hadn’t spoken a word since their encounter, and he remained silent as he collected firewood and built the small fire to warm themselves at.

Peanna never left his side, and when he sat to prepare tea, she snuggled up at his side.

“You saved my life back there, Peanna,” he said finally. “Saved both our lives.”

She hugged him.

“I was ready to fight them, and I would have been killed. Sure, I might have killed one of them, maybe injured another, but small consolation. I’d still be dead.

“They just took half my horses and half my money. A cheap price to pay to protect you, Peanna!”

She squeezed harder.

They were both dead-tired after the trek across the desert, but their spirits rose as the sun lit the yet-sparse trees around them. The road continued west through the mountains toward the Lake of Sarnath, which most said would be well to avoid, and farther north toward Mondath and the other cities of the North Mohaggers. If they did cross the range to circle around the lake, the scattered trees would become dense forests.

Still, here between mountain and desert they had trees, and birds, and racing mountain streams to drink from, and birdsong.

They felt they had entered a fresh new world.

It would be another two days or so through the mountains and longer to go around them, even on the trade road, but Kostubh first wanted to find a safe place to rest and catch up on their sleep. They rested for a few hours, ate, and then set off at a leisurely pace north, taking the long way around the Mohaggers to stay well clear of the Lake of Sarnath. They walked, leading the horse behind them as they wended their way toward Tsol.

They continued to follow the trade road, meeting small parties now and again on their way to Andersweald, or farther south to Drinen or Despina. The road was unguarded but Kostubh figured they’d be safe enough—they had almost nothing to steal, and they looked it.

Clara said it would take about two days to reach Tsol, and since they weren’t in a hurry anyway he walked slow enough to enjoy the scenery, play with Peanna, and hunt good food along the way Their leisurely pace also meant they could take time to locate the best spots to spend the night, too. It was more of a vacation than a journey: Kostubh had almost forgotten his fear of being chased and captured by the guard of Eudoxia, and Peanna didn’t cry out in her sleep anymore.

Tsol was a tiny caravanserai built around a tinier oasis, with a dozen mortar-walled houses crowding into the scant shade offered by the palm trees. There were a few goats wandering around, and several small groups of travelers resting up before heading out on the next leg of their journeys.

It wasn’t at the edge of the mountains, but in the desert itself some distance away. The ancient Trade Road from the south, marked by those enigmatic, time-worn statues, passed through Tsol, avoiding the Mohaggers and split into two, one road toward turning eastward to Tsun, and the other due north to the City-not-well-to-enter.

A few veterans of the desert took that route to Tsun, but nobody ever traveled north and nobody ever came from the City-not-well-to-enter, leaving that fork of the Trade Road and its statues lost to the sands.

Kostubh hadn’t planned on spending the night there, preferring a quieter, hidden site deep in the woods somewhere, but once Peanna discovered dates there was no way around it. That night he had a lot of beans and a few dates, and the girl had a few beans and a lot of dates.

He figured they’d be eating dates until they finally reached the North Mohaggers and left the desert, and bought a big bag from one of the villagers to keep Peanna happy on the way.

They left the following morning, returning to the road around the Mohagger Mountains and following it westward. It took them about a week to reach the North Mohaggers, where the range encircling the Lake of Sarnath merged into the mountains surrounding the enormous valley where the cities of Arizim, Toldees, and Mondath stood.

Here as well the ring of mountains was thick, and he expected it would take two days to reach the wooded valley of the interior. The road began to rise from the desert’s edge up, up onto the flanks of the mountains, twisting and turning to allow carts and wagons to navigate the slopes.

Kostubh walked slowly up the foothills, Peanna usually walking at his side and only riding—often strapped to the saddle—when she got tired.

Toward noon—a cooler, enjoyable noon instead of the deadly sunlit noon of the desert crossing—they came upon a small deino-drawn cart. It was a large, sturdy cart, with several heavy rocks in the bed, but there was no sign of the driver.

“Peanna, you stay right there for a bit, and let me have a look around,” Kostubh ordered, leaving her on horseback as he dismounted and drew his sword to investigate.

He cautiously checked around the cart and the nearby trees, finding nothing, and was about to give up when he heard a weak cry for help.

Behind the trees, at the base of a small cliff, a man lay on the ground, his leg trapped by a rockfall. He had been collecting stones, some quite large, from the area, and a few of them showed signs of having been shaped.

Kostubh sheathed his sword and ran to him.

“Thank the Gods!” said the man, reaching up for Kostubh’s hand. “The damned face collapsed on me yesterday, and I can’t move. Can you help me out?”

“Of course... Let me have a look here...” he replied, studying the rock on the man’s leg. “Can you move your leg at all?”

“It hurts, but I can move it,” said the other. “I think it’s trapped but not broken.”

“Be nice if we can move this rock without crushing it, wouldn’t it?” said Kostubh, hand on one of the largest rocks. “Let me clear away some of the small stuff and get a better look.”

He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Peanna! Ride toward my voice!”

As he was pulling off smaller rocks and brushing away gravel and dirt, the horse came riding up, Peanna holding the reins herself.

“You can get down, Peanna. Have to get.... what’s your name?”

“Anselm of Olathoë.”

“Sorry, forgot my manners. Umkosta of Ebnon,” said Kostubh. “Peanna, I have to get him free. Just sit for a few minutes.”

Peanna walked over.

“Can I help?”

“Hi, Peanna. Yes, please help!” said Anselm with a smile.

She started pushing pebbles and dirt away, too, and in a short time they could see Anselm’s leg more clearly. As he’d thought, the biggest rock was atop his leg, but prevented from crushing it directly by smaller rocks. If they could just move the large rock a little, without dropping it on his leg, it should be possible for him to pull it out.

“I think if I get a stiff pole right under here,” said Kostubh, pointing at the base of the largest rock, “I can lever it up a little bit... might be enough.”

“Sorry, I can’t see where you’re pointing,” said Anselm. “I don’t have a lot of options here; try it!”

“OK, let me try to find something. Don’t go anywhere!”

“Ha ha, very funny,” grimaced Anselm.

“You stay here, Sweet Pea. I’ll be right back.”

As Kostubh was searching for a suitable pole, Anselm and Peanna talked.

“Are you Peanna or Sweet Pea?”

“Peanna,” she giggled. “And Sweet Pea.”

“I’m Anselm, Sweet Pea. Can I call you Sweet Pea?”

She nodded.

“Sweet Pea, could you get me some water to drink?”

She nodded again, vigorously, and scampered back to the horse to fetch the canteen. The skin was too heavy for her to handle easily.

She handed the canteen to Anselm.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, pulling out the stopper and taking a long drink. “That was wonderful.”

He rammed the stopper in and handed it back.

“I hope you like old wine, Master Anselm,” said Kostubh was he walked out into the open. “I’ve got some water, too, if you’d prefer.”

“No, no, that was fine. Getting me out of here is more important.”

“Well, I found a pretty good tree, but I’ll need to fell it and lop some of the branches off. It’ll take awhile with the little hatchet I’ve got.”

“On my cart. Don’t have an axe,” said Anselm, “but you’ll find chisels and mallets, for cutting stone. Might be quicker.”

“Might be, might be at that. I’ll go see.”

He left, walking back toward the cart, and in a short while the distant sound of the mallet striking echoed, followed by a muffled curse, and then more mallet strikes.

Eventually Kostubh appeared dragging a long, fairly thin tree trunk behind him.

“It’s a little springy, but should be good enough for this short distance,” he said, and pushed the thick end into the hole under the large rock.

“Peanna, you see that bluish rock right there? By my right foot?”

She nodded and looked up.

“I’m going to lift this big rock up,” he explained, “and when I tell you I want you to push that rock into this hole. Can you do that?”

She smiled, nodded, and squatted down next to the rock, ready to push.

Kostubh moved a large rock into position right under the tree trunk to serve as a fulcrum, then walked a few meters down the trunk to grasp it.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

He pushed down with all his might, shifting most of his body weight onto the trunk. The tree quivered and bent, but the big rock moved upward a little bit.

“Now, Peanna!”

She pushed the rock into the hole as hard as she could, and sat there, her hands still in the hole.

“Get back! Get your hands out of there!” he shouted, and just as she pulled her hands back his strength failed and the trunk flew back up, out of his hands.

Peanna was safe, and the rock pinning Anselm had shifted upward a little bit.

“Can you move it now?”

Anselm pushed his hands against the ground, trying to pull himself out.

“It moved a little bit, but not yet,” he said. “My boot is caught on something, I think, and I can’t bend my foot far enough to pull it out of the boot.”

“I can see your boot...” said Kostubh. “Maybe I can cut it off?”

“More likely you’d cut my foot off!”

“Hmm. Yeah, let’s try that later, then.”

“Oil. Oil sticky things,” announced Peanna.

“Of course!” shouted Kostubh, and leapt to his feet. He ran to the horse and rummaged through his pack, pulling out a small stoppered flask and holding it up proudly. “Neatsfoot oil. Should do the trick.”

He poured the oil onto Anselm’s leg and boot as best he could, and finally Anselm managed to pull his foot out.

He was free. Barefoot on one leg, but free again.

His foot was purple and badly swollen, and he screamed in pain when Kostubh touched it.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” said Kostubh, “but you’d better ride in the cart.”

They helped him hobble over to the cart and clamber up.

“Where are you headed, Master Anselm?”

“Back to Mondath, of course,” replied the mason. “I live there.”

“We’re headed there, too. Perhaps we’ll tag along, keep an eye on the deino for you.”

“That’s wonderful! Thank you, thank you... I was wondering how I’d manage to get home with this foot.”

Kostubh stopped to pick up a chisel and mallet he’d been using and handed them to Anselm.

“That everything?”

“Uh... could you see if you can get my boot out? Good boots are damned expensive.”

Robert laughed and knelt down to look into the gap they’d pulled his foot out of.

He reached in his hand and scrabbled for the boot, fingers touching leather, but the boot was smeared with oil and he couldn’t get a solid grip. He tried wiggling it back and forth while pulling gently... with Anselm’s foot finally out, the boot should be easier to move, he thought.

He gave one last grunt, pulling against the weight of the rock with all his force, and collapsed in defeat.

“Sorry, Master Anselm... It’s jammed in there, and covered with oil, too. I don’t think it’s coming out unless we move that rock, and that’s a very big rock.”

“Damn fine boots, these were,” sighed Anselm. “Still, better to lose a boot than a foot, eh?”

Kostubh sat where he’d fallen, catching his breath for a minute.

Peanna, who’d been squatting next to him, watching intently as he struggled, walked over to the rock and curiously peered into the crevice hiding the boot.

She lay down and stuck her arm in, pulling out a small rock, and then a second. She reached in a third time.

Kostubh turned at the sound of her giggle to see her holding an oil-smeared trophy.

“You did it! Peanna!”

She giggled again and handed it to Kostubh before wiping her hands on her tunic.

“Master Anselm! Peanna got your boot after all!”

* * *

They camped at the side of the road that night, the deino and the horse munching grass together quite happily as the three of them shared a simple stew and the warmth of the campfire.

Anselm’s foot looked no better but he said the pain was ebbing. They’d tied a splint to his leg to help prevent it from moving, because every motion was agony.

Peanna wanted to spend more time with the deino than with them but proved unable to resist the enticement of hot food, even if it did have carrots in it. She ate three bowls and fell asleep at the fire.

Kostubh wrapped her up in the blanket and sat sipping tea with Anselm.

Anselm removed a long pipe and a cloth bag from his wallet, and proceeded to pack the pipe with tobacco, lighting it with an ember from the fire, puffing away until it caught properly.

“You smoke?”

“Uh, no,” said Kostubh, recalling the thagweed he’d had at Lili’s, where all this had started. “I’ve tried it, and thagweed too, but don’t really care for either.”

“You get used to it,” snorted Anselm, teeth clamped on his pipe as he massaged his foot. “And Mondath grows the best tobacco in the Dreamlands.”

“I thought that was Arizim?”

“Arizim? Don’t be ridiculous!” laughed the other. “Mondath Longleaf is better than anything you’d find in Arizim. Their thagweed isn’t bad, but I’m not much of a thagweed man.”

“Pretty foul stuff,” agreed Kostubh.

“Yup, it is that, it is that.”

Anselm puffed in silence for a bit, then “What’s in Mondath for you?”

Kostubh shrugged.

“Don’t know. I wanted to see other places, and Mondath is next, I guess. We’re not in a hurry to get anywhere, me and Peanna.”

“You’re pretty young to have a girl that old...”

“She’s not mine. Not by blood, anyway,” said Kostubh, and explained how she’d been thrust upon him.

“Changed everything for me,” he ended. “I didn’t have any idea what I wanted to do with my life, but I do now.”

“And that is?”

“Her,” he pointed at the sleeping girl. “That’s what I’m doing with my life, and don’t regret a second of it.”

Anselm puffed again.

“You need a place to stay in Mondath?”

Kostubh considered the offer.

“I hadn’t really considered it,” he answered finally. “I figured we’d just take what Fate gives us.”

“Well, I’m not Fate, but I do have plenty of room, and I’d love the company.”

“I... Thank you, Master Anselm, thank you very much! Just as soon as Peanna wakes up I need to check with her, but I think we’d be very happy to accept your kind offer.”

“The young mistress would prefer to sleep with the deinos, I suspect...”

Kostubh laughed.

“No doubt she would, but I think not. Not yet, anyway... perhaps when she’s bigger.”

“You take your responsibilities as a parent very seriously.”

“She has no-one else,” said Kostubh, shrugging.

“That would not be reason enough for many young men.”

The silence stretched for a few minutes until Kostubh stood.

“I’ll check the animals and sleep now, Master Anselm. Safe night.”

“And a safe night to you, Master Umkosta.”

The horse and deino were settled down for the night, so Kostubh pulled the blanket up over Peanna’s shoulders and lay down next to her.

He watched the tree branches gently swaying in the breeze, hiding and revealing the starry heavens, until he slipped away.

After a breakfast of beans, rice, and a few bird eggs that Peanna found around dawn, they set out once again, trudging next to the deino toward Mondath.

They began to encounter scattered farms every so often, and traffic on the road gradually increased as people headed to market, either taking goods to sell there or looking to buy something.

Anselm recognized one older couple and called out.

“Master Torask! Good morning to you!”

Torask turned and squinted at Anselm for a moment, apparently unable to make out who it was. The woman with him elbowed him in the side and whispered something in his ear.

“Oh, Master Anselm! I didn’t recognize you.”

“My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be either,” chuckled Anselm, “but I can still recognize an old friend. And a beautiful woman as well! How are you, Mistress?”

The woman smiled and bobbed her head.

“Much better than you seem to be, Master Anselm. More of your rocks, I see... and riding while this princess walks!?”

“She can outwalk me, I’m afraid,” said Anselm, pointing to his crude splint. “Hurt my foot.”

They guided their cart—a simple affair with two wood wheels and a donkey to pull it—over next to Anselm’s, and the woman insisted on taking a look at it right then and there.

Anselm winced when she touched it, but after a brief examination and a few grunts and murmurs she pronounced it unbroken and said it should heal just fine.

“Thank you, Mistress... I didn’t think it was broken but it’s good to hear you agree.”

“Keep it cold for now, and when the swelling goes down a bit more try warm massage,” she advised, then turned to Kostubh. “Karah of Mondath, and my husband Torask.”

“Torask of Monath,” said the older man.

“Umkosta of Ebnon, and this i—”

“Peanna! Of Kostubh!” she proclaimed proudly.

A frown flickered across Kostubh’s brow for a moment at his real name, but nobody seemed to notice it.

“A very good day to you, Mistress Peanna,” smiled Karah, and curtsied.

Peanna giggled.

The five of them continued toward Mondath together, with Peanna now happily riding atop the donkey and giving it bites of the carrots she shamelessly stole from Torask’s cartload.

At last the forest petered out, to be replaced by vast fields of crops. The farmhouses all had their vegetable fields clustered nearby, with spreads of tobacco, thagweed, and various grains spreading out farther.

Anselm’s home was outside the city ramparts— stone walls half way, earthen dykes topped with a wood palisade the rest —and after making sure Kostubh would be there to help Anselm, the two farmers continued on to the market to sell their produce.

Anselm lived and worked in an old millhouse, built long ago and vacant when he moved in decades earlier. The waterwheel still worked, although it had to be repaired constantly, but Anselm used it to drive grinders and polishers instead of millstones, working stone as he needed. He lived in the adjoining wood-and-mortar house, by himself, and the silo was pretty much unused except by a few friendly owls.

The house was quite small, but ample for a man living alone, and even with Kostubh and Peanna was more than large enough. Kostubh filled the bath, which was quite easy as all he had to do was open the pipe drawing the river water, and lit a fire beneath it to warm it up. Peanna explored the house, popping back every few minutes to be sure Kostubh was still there, and to announce some new and exciting discovery.

She was especially excited to discover a squirrel’s nest, and immediately demanded an apple so she could make friends.

Anselm apologized for the mess, and the lack of food.

“I live alone; hadn’t planned on visitors,” he explained. “There’s plenty of cornmeal—ground it myself—and beans, and there’s a little vegetable patch outside and to the left. The coop’s out there, too... should be eggs.”

“We’re used to roughing it, Master Anselm, don’t worry,” said Kostubh. “Just having a roof over our heads and a fire to warm our toes and tea at will be wonderful.

“I’ve got some of Mistress Clara’s honey ham left, too, which I’ll be happy to donate,” offered Kostubh, and started to rise from his chair when he was interrupted by a piercing scream.

Peanna!

He shot to his feet and raced into the hallway.

“Peanna! Where are you?”

There was another scream from the distance.

He heard her voice from inside one of the rooms adjoining the silo and burst through the doorway, sword in hand. She was standing just inside, eyes huge, mouth trembling, staring at a row of grotesque monsters illuminated by the rays of sunlight pouring in through the high windows, squatting on the floor around her, surrounding her with fanged jaws, bulbous eyes, and webbed feet.

He pulled her back behind himself and advanced, crouching, sword forward.

She grabbed hold of his leg, clutching tight in fear, face buried in his tunic but one eye still watching the horde of beasts in front of them.

Kostubh slowly rose from his crouch, sword point dropping, and patted Peanna on the back.

“They’re just statues, Peanna, look,” he grinned and tapped the closest one on the head with his sword. It rang dully, the sound of steel on stone, and Peanna’s grip loosened.

He grasped her hand and bounced his sword off a few more of the bizarre statues, clanging her fear away.

She slowly walked up to one and gingerly touched it, confirming it was indeed stone, and finally relaxed. She swatted it across the snout with a laugh.

“Sorry, I should have warned her,” came Anselm’s voice from behind. “These are my gargoyles. Lord Barsharva hired me to make all the gargoyles for the city walls, and I’ve been at it for a few years already.”

Kostubh looked around the room.

There were many blocks of stone, some still rough slabs, others showing signs of working and shaping, some almost complete and frightening in their realism. Against the right wall was a single taller statue, hidden in shadow.

Drawn by its height, Kostubh walked closer for a better look.

It was a woman, caught dancing forward gayly, flowers in hands and hair, her pure, delicate face smiling with godly love. Except for the face, the statue was still half-finished, the legs mere rough-cut chunks of rock.

He stopped in awe, mouth open at its beauty.

“The Goddess Agdistis,” explained Anselm.

“She’s beautiful...” breathed Kostubh. “It’s as if she’s alive, frozen in time.”

Anselm hobbled closer and stroked her face.

“I’ve been working on Agdistis for seven years now,” he said quietly. “I expect it’ll take me at least another seven to finish.”

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful...”

“Pretty lady, isn’t she, Dat?”

He knelt, bringing his head down to her level.

“This is Agdistis, the goddess of marriage. And other things,” he explained, leaving out that she was also the goddess of sexuality.

He turned toward Anselm.

“Can you teach me? To do this?”

Anselm laughed.

“Sure, all you need is a few decades of practice!”

He laughed again, then suddenly stopped and looked closer at Kostubh.

“You’re serious.”

“I am,” he replied. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful... even those gargoyles! The stones are alive!”

“You feel the stone calling you?”

“I... Yes, I do,” said Kostubh, running his fingertips over the roughness of the unfinished statue’s base. “It’s almost... I can’t explain it. Sensual? No, more than that... something deeper, in my soul.”

Anselm nodded.

“I can’t describe it either,” he said, “and I’ve been trying for many, many years.”

He sat down heavily on a gargoyle, taking the weight off his foot with a sigh.

“How long does it take to learn?”

“To capture life in stone? For those blessed with talent and determination, a lifetime.”

“And for those without?”

“Longer. You’re young, still a long life ahead of you… You really want to spend it chipping rocks?”

Kostubh stroked the stone once more, admiring its cool power.

“Yes, I think I do,” he said finally.

* * *

Lajita stepped into the drawing room, wondering who had asked to first see Varun—who had died several years earlier—or herself.

A woman of about her age awaited her, maybe fifty or sixty.

The tea and sweets the maid had served sat untouched on the table.

At her entrance both stood, bowing slightly.

“Peanna of Mondath.”

“Lajita Chabra of Shiroora Shan,” she responded, and gestured toward the chairs. “Please, sit.”

They sat back down again as she took her own seat closer to the door.

“How may I help you today?”

“My father—Umkosta of Mondath—charged me on his deathbed to bring you this gift, and a message.”

“Master Umkosta of Mondath...? I don’t believe I’ve ever...”

“He said you would not know him by that name, but that when you saw the sculpture you would understand.”

Lajita tilted her head slightly.

“What is the message?”

“He said that your brother Kostubh died in the desert west of Andersweald, and begs your forgiveness for his crime.”

“So my brother did die, then... we never knew what had happened to him,” said Lajita slowly. “My forgiveness...? What is there to forgive? The dead are dead, and Kostubh and his crime forgotten with them.

“I never stopped loving my brother and wondering what had happened... Gitanshu told us what he knew, little as it was, but we never thought that was the whole story.

“Forgive? No, I cannot forgive him, for I know not what he did. But I would willingly welcome him home again as my beloved brother were he yet alive.”

She straightened up and looked straight at Peanna.

“And where is this sculpture?”

“Right outside, on a cart, Mistress.”

“This is all very strange,...” she said, standing. “But you have tickled my curiosity. I would like to see this sculpture of yours.”

Two horses waited patiently in front of the Main House, under the watchful eyes of four guards, two Chabra and two who must have come with Peanna. The cart was empty but for a fairly small item covered by cloth and lashed in place on the load bed.

Peanna nodded to one of her guards, and he began to untie the ropes.

“Father was a mason by trade, but his love was sculpture, and of all the sculptures he worked on in his life this was his dearest. He never told me who she was.”

Lajita leaned forward to get a better look.

The cloth covering fell away, and the bust burst into golden glory as the sunlight touched the marble, a soft, almost transparent cream with thin streaks of gold running through it like errant threads.

“...Mother!” gasped Lajita, eyes huge, hand over mouth in astonishment. “How...?”

It was a head-and-shoulders bust of the First Lajita, the Seeress, as she looked half a century earlier, in her prime. It was perfect, every strand of hair, every line of her face, the faint dimple in her right cheek.

It was her in every way, in stony flesh.

“You said your father was Master Umkosta of Mondath,” she finally said. “Was he originally of Mondath?”

“No, Mistress. He always said he was from Ebnon, but he spoke of Shiroora Shan often.”

“Umkosta... Kosta... I wonder.... Did he ever mention my name, or House Chabra, to you?”

“House Chabra? I seem to have heard it before, but I cannot recall when or where,” replied Peanna. “Perhaps he passed through here long ago... Why is it so important?”

“It must be he,” whispered Lajita. “After all these years... the artist who carved that bust, the bust of the First Lajita... The First Lajita never said who the sculptor was!”

Lajita turned back to Peanna.

“And you are his daughter. You are a Chabra, my own blood!”

“No,” Peanna shook her head, “I was adopted. He saved me from the brigands who killed my parents and raised me as his own. I am the sculptor of Mondath now.”

“Chabra is more than mere blood; you are one of us,” murmured Lajita. “Come inside, dear Mistress Peanna. We have much to talk about.”

END

Chabra: Agdistis, Goddess of Love

“Tomorrow we’re going to ride down to Cappadarnia, now that the temple to Agdistis is done. Karadi and Atisha are coming with us. Would you like to come, too?”

“Cappadarnia, Mama!? Yeah, let’s go!” nodded Arun enthusiastically. The nine-year old boy loved the sea and leapt at the chance to escape his tutors and ride down the Spine to the Narrows, taking the boats across to the village. They were building a temple to Agdistis, the goddess of family and marriage, in preparation for the big betrothal between his big sister Atisha and Prixadius, the Lord of Ademla.

His father had explained how the marriage would make Ademla an ally, strengthening their position with respect to Eudoxia as far as trade across the Night Ocean. They already controlled a big part of it, of course, with Cappadarnia holding the Narrows and Astarma under Ukos controlling the trade route from the east through the Agnid Mountains to the Ocean.

Once ships passed through the Narrows of Cappadarnia, though, they could head for either Ademla or Eudoxia. Lord Prixadius and Karadi hoped the alliance would help make Ademla the preferred route, to reap more of the profit from the growing trade across the Night Ocean.

They rode over the Seawall, and continued down The Spine toward Cappadarnia. The road was as level as they could make it, considering it had to weave around various mountains along the way, and of course it was patrolled by Shiroora Shan guards—The Spine, the central islands running south of Shiroora Shan down the middle of the Night Ocean, had been safe for years.

It was an easy journey but not a short one. A courier on horseback could make the ride in two hard days, but they were in no hurry and spent four, making camp along the way two nights and staying at the little inn located about halfway for one night.

The inn had no name, and most people just called it Jon’s Place, after the proprietor, a middle-aged man originally from Zaïs who had been running it for a decade or so. It was hardly luxury lodgings, but the food was edible and the room swept clean, at least.

Arun preferred sleeping outdoors, himself, but mother got what mother wanted. She was, after all, the Seeress.

They finally reached the wharf on the near side of the Narrows early in the afternoon on the fourth day. A small flotilla of boats vied for their business, but Karadi ignored them all and headed straight for the waiting Démonique, one of Admiral Ruk’s frigates.

The captain was a thin, nervous woman named Keshala-din.

“Welcome aboard, Lord Karadi, Lady Lajita. My crew will take care of your horses. Watch your step!”

They crossed the gangplank without difficulty, Karadi suppressing a smile at her warning—he’d been on more ships more times than she had, almost certainly, and Lajita had the balance of a mountain goat.

“The wind’s almost behind us today, so we’ll reach Cappadarnia very quickly,” she advised. “Or did you have some other destination?”

“No, Cappadarnia, please,” said Karadi. “But we want to see the new Temple of Agdistis from the sea. I’d appreciate it if you’d give us a chance once it comes into view.”

“Of course, Lord Karadi,” she nodded, and turned away. “Baltric! We’re in no hurry, and the Lord wants to see the temple properly. Furl up a bit.”

“Aye, Captain!” shouted the bare-chested bosun, and began shouting his own orders.

The ship pushed off from the wharf as soon as the horses were aboard, tethered on the deck rather than in the hold.

It was a beautiful day, the sun just beginning to dip down from zenith, and the wind from the northwest, pushing them gently toward Cappadarnia. They could see the far shore of the Narrows easily, although it was hard to make out much detail at this distance.

Arun stood at the prow, almost on the bowsprit itself, one hand on one of the forestays, the other above his eyes to shield them from the sun above. He stared fiercely ahead, tense, legs bending and body swaying in perfect rhythm with the movement of the ship.

Captain Keshala-din watched him nervously... she didn’t want to yell at one of Lord Karadi’s children, but at the same time she feared what would happen if the boy slipped.

“Relax, Captain,” came Lady Lajita’s voice. “The boy’s old enough to take care of himself, and I can assure you he has much left to accomplish before he returns to Nath-Horthath.”

The Captain quickly turned toward her, bowing to hide her unease of the Seeress and her hidden knowledge of the future.

“Are you sure...?”

“Yes, we’re sure, Captain. Leave him be,” came Karadi’s rumble.

“Yes, of course, my Lord,” she said, dipping her head and returning her eyes to scan the sea.

“Watch closely, Karadi,” whispered Lajita, clutching his arm. “Any time now...”

“You sure you want him to do this?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “He has much to do in the coming years, and will bring peace to much discord.”

“But what about Arun?”

“What, exactly, might he lose? Surely he would not begrudge the sacrifice.”

“He is but nine!”

Lajita sighed.

They fell silent, watching Arun standing alone at the prow, the sunlight bright on his hair as it danced in the breeze.

“You should be able to see the Temp—”

“Hush!” commanded Lajita, interrupting the captain with an upraised hand.

The captain fell silent, astonished, and turned to see the two of them raptly watching Arun.

She looked at him standing at the prow, and just at that moment there a golden brilliance shone from the approaching shore: the golden dome of the Temple of Agdistis had captured the fire of the sun, flaring into incandescent beauty.

They watched silently as Arun’s stance gradually changed from rigid eagerness to a softer, yet somehow more powerful stance. He seemed taller, his shoulders broader, the locks blowing in the wind finer and of spun gold.

The prow slipped down a wave crest, and the blinding flare from that distant dome faded to mere sunlit gold. The boy, though, shone, limned in gold as if the rays of the sun still fell upon his form.

“Should we go...?”

“No, let him breathe, my Bear,” replied Lajita. “He’ll need time.”

“So, what, now he’s just Agdistis’s puppet?” asked Karadi, grimacing. “I don’t really understand what you said would happen. Maybe, has happened. I’m not sure I like it…”

“We have little choice when it comes to the Gods, Karadi.”

“Even with your powers?”

“Powers?” laughed Lajita. “I have no powers, only a good memory.”

“You always said you had nothing to do with it.”

“And I still say so. I have no idea why it happened, but in retrospect I’m quite glad I did. After all, I wouldn’t have met you otherwise!”

Karadi fell silent, watching his son with the face of a man who’d just discovered half a worm in the apple he was eating. Lajita, on the other hand, was watching intently, eagerly, eyes afire with curiosity and expectation.

Arun turned, lifted his face toward them, eyes were huge in astonishment, mouth gaping in awe. His skin seemed translucent, as if a tiny sun burned inside, its golden radiance seeping through flesh and bone.

He walked to them as if in a dream, ignoring the creak of the rigging and the sensual motion of the ship.

He walked past a group of sailors working on some crate of cargo on the deck, and one of them happened to stick out an elbow as Arun passed, touching him for the briefest, lightest instant.

The sailor gave a groan, twisted his body in a sudden spasmodic writhe, and staggered, hand outstretched to catch himself on the railing nearby.

He was breathing heavily, eyes closed with open mouth, waving back and forth slightly on wobbly legs.

“Feyon? You OK?”

One of the other sailors, worried, grasped his shoulder, steadying him.

“I’m… fine…” gasped Feyon, and finally opened his eyes, still breathing heavily. “I… I need to rest for a minute…”

He yanked himself free of the other man’s grasp, staggering to the companionway, and down into the hold.

The other sailors looked at each other in bewilderment and stopped when Lajita called to them.

“Master Feyon will be fine, don’t worry. He just had a surprise, that’s all.”

They looked at her and nodded before turning back to their work, but furtive glances made it clear they felt ill at ease around the Seeress of Shiroora Shan.

Lajita looked at Karadi and nodded.

“Well, that part’s come to pass, it seems,” she said.

“Mother… I… I…”

Lajita placed a hand on Arun’s shoulder, looking into his face. The tiny hairs on his cheeks were erect, glinting in the brilliance of some invisible sun.

“We know, Arun. The Goddess Agdistis is with you.”

“How...?”

“I’m the Seeress, remember?” she smiled. “Arun, you will learn to control your power, in time, but until then you must be very careful. Touching someone can release the full power of the Goddess, and that can be too much for many.”

“My power...?” Arun looked at his hands in wonder. “I don’t feel any... What!? Stop!”

He suddenly shouted, shaking his head like a wet dog, thumping his ears with his fists.

He fell to his knees, hands clapped flat over his ears as if to hide from the thunder.

“I am?”

He sat up suddenly, sitting cross-legged on the deck, eyes focused on nothing, talking to nobody.

“Just like that? That simple?”

He stared at his right hand, flexed, raised his index finger and examined it.

“...but why me?

“No! I don’t want it! Go away!” he screamed, hitting his ears with his clenched fists. “Stop it!”

The ship’s crew fell back apprehensively, watching and murmuring.

The golden light surrounding Arun flared, flickered, and Arun gave a short, sharp bleat of pain, then the light dimmed and vanished. His black hair and dark brown irises captured the fading golden radiance, absorbing it and changing to the same regal color.

Arun fell silent, then gave a long, deep sigh as a gentle smile appeared on his lips.

Lajita and Karadi stood watching as Arun swayed gently back and forth. After a moment he opened his golden eyes and looked up at them from under locks that were the color of spun gold.

“I will return to Cappadarnia when I am grown, to the Temple of Agdistis,” he announced, stating a matter of fact rather than asking permission. “The Goddess has directed me.”

He rose lithely to his feet and stood tall in front of them.

“Arun?”

“Yes, father, I’m still Arun. But I’m also Agdistis now.”

He turned to Lajita,

“Who made you, Lajita?” asked Arun, but in a stronger, feminine voice.

“Made me!?” gasped Lajita, eyebrows shooting up. “Made? I wasn’t made, Arun, I was just born, like you.”

Arun’s golden eyes transfixed her.

“You haven’t been born yet... A floating thread.”

“Arun? Is that you, Arun?”

“We are Agdistis,” came that voice again. “You are a float, not part of the pattern, separate from the weave. But you can be woven into the fabric as the shuttle flies.”

“The weave…” breathed Arun in his own voice. “I can’t understand what I’m seeing... a cloth of infinite lives and patterns, stretching as wide as all the peoples of all the races, from the infinite past to the infinite future. But it’s solid, somehow… I can see into it, like through ice, everyone extends deep into its thickness, too. I can see only a small part—I see father’s thread, and my brothers and sisters... I even see Paramjit, suddenly changing to a thread of a different color and pattern. Not dead, but perhaps not Paramjit any more...

“And I see you, a loose strand lying across the pattern as if dropped there, yet woven into place by Karadi’s thread, and my own, and many more.

“There is some greater pattern here, something I’m sure I have seen before, but I cannot pin it down. Like a smell that you know you know but cannot place... it is too huge, too complex, to grasp...”

“I think if the Goddess looks further ahead she will find my thread once again,” suggested Lajita. “I was a snag, torn out of my own pattern and woven back into this world, here and now.”

Suddenly Arun’s hand shot out and touched Lajita on the forehead, a simple tap with a fingertip, then withdrawn again. Suddenly he was merely a nine-year-old boy again.

Lajita shivered, her body twitching and stretching briefly before she dropped to her knees, panting, face flushing red, head hanging down.

Karadi leapt forward, falling to one knee next to Lajita, drawing her close inside the protective circle of his arms.

“Lajita! What happened?”

He turned to Arun.

“What did you do to her?”

Lajita’s hand grasped his arm.

“It’s alright, Karadi,” she said, softly. “It was just too intense to stand; I’m fine. Just hold me. Please.”

“What was too intense?” he demanded, frowning at Arun standing unconcerned nearby.

“Agdistis is the goddess of marriage, and of family. And also of sex. I’ve just had the most powerful orgasm of my life,” she chuckled. “Just like poor Master Feyon just now.

“I knew what was coming, although I didn’t know when. It came on Master Feyon without warning.”

“Arun did that?”

“He’s Arun, but he’s also Agdistis. They are entwined, and until Arun learns self-control he may trigger that in anyone he touches. Or love, he can also instill love.”

She held her arms open wide to reassure Arun, a child suddenly bereft of the golden glow of godhood and childhood innocence.

She gathered him to herself as he began to weep and held him tight against the future.

* * *

Arun groaned and clutched his belly.

It hurt, with a new kind of pain he’d never experienced before.

He could stand it, of course—he was a Chabra—but it hurt nonetheless, a dull ache with occasional spasms that shot through his abdomen.

He rolled over and tried to find a more comfortable position, and froze in shock.

Wet! The mattress was wet!

He’d wet the bed!?

Impossible! He was thirteen now, and hadn’t wet his bed for many, many years.

He touched the wetness, and sniffed his fingertips.

Blood!

Hurriedly he opened the ember box and relit the lantern.

The flickering light revealed several spots of blood and a long streak.

Fresh blood.

He pulled his nightshirt up to see where he was bleeding, and screamed with shock and fear.

It was gone!

His cock, his balls, they were gone!

He reached down, and his fingers found nothing but pubic hair.

His index finger touched something else, though, something that had no business being there… his labia!

His finger glowed golden, and he felt the comforting presence of the Goddess. She had come to him numerous times over the years, although he rarely knew why.

He smiled with relief.

Of course, this was only to be expected. He was still Arun, but he was now a woman. Why had he been so scared a moment ago?

He basked in the warmth of Agdistis’ love.

At the sound of footsteps, he hurriedly pulled his nightshirt down and the blanket up to hide the blood.

It was his sister Hansika, three years his elder.

“Arun? You OK?”

“I, um, yeah,” he stuttered. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just stomach cramps,” he hurriedly explained. “Go on back to bed; I’m fine.”

“Something you ate?” she asked as she sat down next to him on the bed. “Want me to get you some tea or something?”

“No, really, I’m fine,” he protested. “Really.”

She stretched out a hand to pick up his oil lantern and hold it closer.

“What’s this, here?”

She touched the bloody fingerprint on the blanket.

“Blood! You’re bleeding!”

Hansika shot to her feet and was about to shout for Lajita when he grabbed her arm and pulled her down back to the bed.

“No! Shut up!” he whispered fiercely. “Don’t wake them.”

“But you’re bleeding!”

He turned away and she heard his teeth grinding together.

“Hansika… you know about Agdistis, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And that she’s androgynous?”

“Both male and female? Yeah.”

Arun pulled the blanket down and slowly lifted his nightshirt.

Hansika’s eyes widened, and she smothered a gasp with her hand.

“It’s gone! What happ… Oh my! You’re a girl!”

She shrank back suddenly.

“That’s disgusting! What are you, some sort of monster? You’re not a girl!”

Arun reached out and grabbed her hand gently.

His skin glowed, the tiny hairs on his wrist standing erect, a sheen of golden radiance barely visible in the lantern light.

Hansika tried to pull her arm free, once, then suddenly smiled and hugged Arun close.

“How wonderful, Arun! You’re a girl!

“Stop worrying. Or should I call you Aruna? You just had your first period!”

“But the cramps.”

Hansika shook her head dismissively.

“Not a big deal. Sometimes you get cramps, sometimes not. You get used to it.”

“And the blood!”

“Yeah, messy, sometimes. It lasts for a few days and then stops again.”

“I never thought of being a girl,” he complained, wondering why it didn’t bother him. “I’m still me, though…”

“The Gods rarely care about what we want, Aruna,” laughed Hansika. “I thought I was the youngest girl in the family, but now I’ve got a sister!

“You’re quite attractive, you know, with that golden hair and your dimples. If you only had breasts the boys would be knocking on the door.”

She stopped at a sudden thought.

“Do you have breasts?”

Aruna shook her head.

“Of course not! I’m a boy,” he snapped, but even as he said it his hand touched his chest to make sure.

They were small, but definitely breasts, larger and rounder than his frame had ever held.

He gingerly cupped one.

“…I guess I do…”

Hansika clapped her hands in joy, laughing as he bared his chest to stare at himself in wonder.

“Oh, Asha and I will be so happy! A new sister! Don’t worry, we’ll teach you everything you need to know!”

She jumped to her feet and trotted to the doorway.

“Let me get Asha!”

Asha and Hansika, both older than he was, slept in the next room. Usually, he shared this room with Paramjit, but he’d not been feeling well and was sleeping in mother’s room tonight.

“…a good reason for waking me up in the middle of the night!”

It was Asha’s voice, whispered low, and she didn’t sound at all happy.

Hansika came back into the room, pulling Asha after her by the hand. Arun swung to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, stop your whining, Asha,” said Hansika. “I want to introduce you to our new sister, Aruna.”

Asha pulled her hand free and halted, barely inside Arun’s bedroom.

“Keep your jokes for daytime, Hansika. I’m going back to bed.”

Arun rose and reached out to touch her shoulder as she turned to leave. A wave of golden luminescence flowed down his arm, his wrist, his fingertip into her flesh, and she turned.

“Arun! You’re a woman now! Like us! How wonderful!”

“Isn’t it, though?” echoed Hansika, eyes fixed on Arun with adoration.

“A new sister, and such a beautiful woman! Golden hair, golden eyes,” sighed Asha, moving closer. “I could fall in love with you myself.”

“Back off, Asha,” warned Arun, pushing her away. “I’m your brother, remember?”

“Not anymore, Aruna. You’re our sister now,” corrected Hansika. “Men always seem to have trouble saying they love someone, but women are different.”

Barely managing to escape between squeezed between his sisters, Arun changed the subject.

“So what do I do about this blood? Without getting mama and papa all excited?”

Hansika put her palm to her mouth, surprised at the sudden thought.

“Oh, yes… this’ll have to be secret between us. Papa would have a fit!”

“Do you think it’s permanent?”

Arun hesitated before answering.

“No, I don’t think so, not like my golden hair and eyes,” he said slowly. “It all feels, um, unsettled.”

The next day he dressed as always, in Arun’s boyish clothing, but once they were done with their morning chores and studies, he slipped out of the house with his sisters to learn how to walk and talk like a woman. Like a Chabra woman.

* * *

Aruna reined her horse to a halt and looked across the Narrows. The blues and greens of the channel ended at the busy wharves of Cappadarnia, the town half-hidden behind the sailing ships that ferried cargo across the Night Ocean. The hills rose beyond, scattered with homes and fields and a few estates, and behind them soared the mountains, the southern tail-end of the Spine before it sank into the mudflats and marshes of the Low Isles.

And there, halfway up the flank of Mount Pelalarossi, stood the Temple of Agdistis, its broad dome gold and twin minarets blinding white in the sunshine.

Her long reddish-blond hair rippled in the sunshine, as brilliant as if it was indeed crafted of gold. She was dressed in a simple linen tunic and leather harness, but later almost nobody remembered what she was wearing.

Passers-by were left stunned, breathless by her beauty, her grace, an aura that seemed to surround her, setting the very air afire with glory.

After she passed, most came to their senses again, resuming their work or their journeys while shaking their heads. A few wept.

And once in a while, one might abandon their daily life, their family, their friends, and follow her, drawn by a love that overcame all barriers, and all common sense.

They followed their heart, and felt no guilt about those they left behind.

The ferrymen watched her ride down to the wharf—they watched everyone that came, hoping that each traveler would choose their ferry to cross over to town—and laughed amongst themselves. Blond women, and especially women so beautiful, were not common in this part of the world, and even if they had been her shining hair and bearing would draw attention.

“Wouldn’t mind a piece of that,” mused one of the younger crewmen leaning on the ferry rail.

“Letraec, you wouldn’t know what to do with her if you had her in your arms!” laughed another, but sighed nonetheless.

“She’s out of our league… Must be a noble from somewhere, someone visiting Chabra, maybe.”

“But no entourage, no guards, not even a maid-in-waiting!”

“What about those people following her? Half a dozen or so? Don’t look much like guards, though. Or anything.”

“No uniforms, at least… and look, that girl over on the right, she’s got a babe at her breast!”

“Huh… she’s not dressed fancy enough to accompany a noble lady, that’s for sure.”

“That guy—the one in the back, with the red cap—I recognize him. He’s one of the woodcutters up on the Spine; comes through here every couple weeks. What’s he doing in that bunch?”

“Hey, they’re coming this way.”

Aruna rode up to the ferry landing and dismounted, holding the reins out until someone took them. She strode over without even looking back to see who it was.

“Ferry me across the Narrows to Cappadarnia.”

Letraec, a handsome, muscular crewman, stepped forward to block her way.

“The fare’s one laurel for you, another for your horse,” he said, and pointed at the half dozen people standing behind her. “Same for them.”

“I have no money,” she replied, holding her hands up empty. “And no need of it.”

Letraec laughed.

“Well, you can pay the fare with a copper, or in some other way, if you prefer,” he leered. “I’d be happy to pay on your behalf in return for some small favor…”

She smiled and reached out to touch his cheek softly.

“Why, thank you, that is so very sweet of you. As you wish.”

Letraec fell to his knees, head bowed, hands open and raised toward her.

“Forgive me, Mistress!” he pleaded. “I would be honored to pay your fare, and that of your companions, if only I may stay by your side!”

She nodded and waved him back, stepping onto the ferry. Her followers came after, leading her horse, as the other crewmen fell back, afraid at the sudden change in their fellow.

With only whispers to each other they set sail, stealing glances at the beautiful, fearsome stranger as they crossed the Narrows. They watched her mount her horse and ride into the town with her retinue and scratched their heads when they saw Letraec join them, walking with the rest—a smile on his face and no concern about getting his wages for the day.

The town had grown considerably since Arun—now Aruna—had first visited, over a decade earlier.

The docks were larger, there were more warehouses, more shops and inns, and far more people... Cappadarnia was turning into a city, fueled by the trading wealth that passed through the Narrows every day.

Admiral Ruk, now in charge of the Shiroora Shan fleet that dominated most of the Night Ocean, had installed his headquarters here, and the port welcomed his sailors and marines, rowdy but with coin to spend.

The townspeople watched Aruna ride down the street, gazing curiously at her followers. They were an odd selection of people, ranging from perhaps late teens through sixty or seventy years of age. Men, women, dressed as farmers or merchants or beggars, they shared one thing in common: their expressions.

Their eyes were fixed on Aruna, following her every motion with eager interest, walking after her with no notice of the various sweets or drinks offered by shops along the way. They rarely talked, with attention to spare only for Aruna.

Aruna stopped only once.

A group of Ruk’s marines, half a dozen in number, stood watching her pass, admiring her beauty, nudging each other and making lewd comments.

“Trooper Roberto of Despina!” she called out suddenly, and one of the marines straightened to face her. “Trooper Roberto, come here.”

“Why do you know my name?”

“Come to me.”

A bit taken aback but never one to pass up an invitation from a beautiful woman, he adjusted his sword belt, shrugged his shoulders to his friends, and approached with a broad grin on his face.

“You’ve an eye for quality, Mistress! You need a marine like me to ensure your safety, protecting you from unsavory characters like these,” he laughed, pointing back at his friends. They broke out in laughter and egged him on.

Aruna reached out daintily, and the marine—imagining she was some noble lady, no doubt—grasped it as if to help her down from the horse.

“As you wish,” she said.

He froze for a moment, hand outstretched, then his posture subtly changed. He was no longer reaching to help her down but seeking the merest touch of recognition. He fell to his knees, both arms outstretched to her, pleading.

A middle-aged baker, judging by the look of his apron, helped him up, and Roberto joined the group following in Aruna’s wake.

“Hey! Roberto! Where’re ya goin’?” called one of the other marines.

“Sorry, Tachi,” he replied, eyes fixed on Aruna, “Tell Sarge I quit.”

“Quit!? You can’t quit for some damn woman, you idiot!”

“She’s more important to me than Sarge. I cannot deny my love!”

“What the...!” gasped his friend, falling silent in disbelief as Roberto continued walking with the others. “Damned sorceress!”

He spat on the ground and slammed his sword up and down a few times in its sheath as the other marines shuffled nervously, muttering amongst themselves. Once Aruna and her retinue were out of sight they headed for the closest tavern by mutual consent.

The road left the south edge of the town and twisted up the gradually steepening slopes of Mount Pelalarossi toward the Temple of Agdistis.

The Temple had no wall around it, no gate or door to bar, merely an opening in the side of the building wide and tall enough for riders on horseback, four abreast, to pass through. Inside the doorway was the main hall, stretching into the shadows all around save where the windows let the sunlight in. One could see the stairways to the minarets, alabaster masterpieces soaring up hundreds of meters, one on either side of the Temple.

The center of the main hall the floor was of malachite, blue-green stone polished flat and smooth in a perfect circle directly under the center of the dome. The ceiling was a geometric pattern of blue and white tiles, repeating arcs and line that drew the eye toward the zenith, the center, fixing it there until the watcher suddenly realized minutes, or an hour, had passed.

Aruna rode to the central circle and dismounted, ignoring the robed acolytes and Godsworn that were gathering at her insolence of riding a horse inside the Temple. She stretched her arms out and leaned her head back, staring up into the dome, and stood stock-still in silence.

The horse whickered once, quietly.

Ever so slowly one of the sections of the dome began to lose its color, growing lighter bit, by bit, until it was transparent, and the full brilliance of the sun poured in, reflecting off the inside of the dome to bathe that circle of malachite in golden light.

Aruna flared with radiance, as if aflame with the sun itself, and gradually lowered her gaze until she faced the Abbot.

He inclined his head slightly.

“I am Abbot here. You are welcome here, all of you.”

She ignored his comment and spoke softly.

“Troperus de Carna of Tlun. Approach.”

The man, perhaps twice her age, was taken aback by her quiet command, surprised at the insolence of this new worshipper, but secure in his status as Abbot he walked toward her, holding his gold-threaded robes in one hand so he didn’t trip on them.

“Everyone is welcome here,” he said, then continued with the traditional greeting of Cappadarnia. “What is mine, is yours.”

She waited until he was close enough, then simply reached out and touched his cheek.

“As you wish,” she said. He staggered, groaned, and wobbled a bit before recovering and catching his breath.

“You will provide these people with food, proper clothing, and a place to sleep. They are acolytes, as are you, but you will guide and provide for them.”

“Yes, beloved Agdistis,” he replied.

“Remove those robes, de Carna. You are a mere Godsworn.”

“Of course, Agdistis. Thank you for allowing me to remain in your presence.”

He immediately stripped off the ornate robes and gold and orichalc trappings of office, and stood wearing only a simple tunic over his ample belly.

Aruna slowly looked around the gathered acolytes, and raised a hand, pointing.

“Glori of Shiroora Shan. Approach.”

A young woman, dressed in the white tunic and straw sandals of an acolyte, approached hesitantly.

Agdistis held out her hand, palm up, waiting for the other to take it.

Glori slowly reached out, index finger extended, and lightly touched the outstretched palm.

She gave a sharp cry of orgasmic pleasure and collapsed to kneel on the floor, head down, panting.

She slowly lifted her head and looked up at Aruna.

A small line of spittle trickled down her cheek.

“Thank you, beloved Agdistis.”

She struggled to her feet, still breathing heavily, legs trembling, and staggered away.

“Toomay of Nurl. Approach.”

A young man stepped forward, eyes wide in awe, and fell to his knees in turn, tunic suddenly dark as he climaxed again and again, even after she released him.

One after another she called them, and rewarded them for their love and devotion, until she called Framm of Adelma.

The heavy-set, portly man approached, bobbing his head with a grin of supplication.

“O Great Agdistis, I have worshipped you—”

“Framm of Adelma,” she said quietly as she touched him, “you have not worshipped me. You have stolen from the Temple.”

He fell to the floor and pressed his forehead against the malachite.

“My beloved Agdistis! Forgive me! Forgive me!”

He wept and begged for her forgiveness, sobbing with remorse.

“As you wish. And as a sign of my forgiveness I grant you a gift: the creation of new life.”

At her touch his eyes grew huge and he hurriedly reached into his own mouth to pull out a gray, wriggling maggot, writhing and coiling in his fingers. He gave a shriek, or tried to, and shook his hand but it refused to fall, sinking its head into the flesh of his palm and chewing a hole.

He choked, reached for his throat, eyes bulging, staggered and toppled, maggots bursting out of his throat, his nose, his eyes, devouring him until only soiled rags were left.

Within the pile of rags glittered gold coins and gemstones.

“de Carna, return the stolen items to the donation box.”

De Carna, frozen in horror at the scene he had witnessed, shook his head to clear it then leapt to obey, scrabbling through the clothing and maggots, sluggish after their feast, to pick up the coins and gems and carry them off toward the back of the hall.

“Wen Li of Shang. Approach.”

She continued as if nothing had happened, calling them one by one.

None refused her summons, although two more tried, sweating and struggling with themselves, weeping as their bodies walked toward Agdistis even as they turned their heads, pleading for succor.

And the maggots feasted.

At last it was done, and Agdistis waved her hand at the writhing maggots in a swirl. There was a glow of golden light, and a cloud of butterflies erupted, circling up, up into the depths of the ceiling until they vanished, golden wings in the golden sunlight.

“I am Agdistis, she who you call goddess of love and marriage. Let none defile my Temple.

“I am the God and Goddess of creation. I am Agdistis, and Freya, and Aphrodite, and Toci. I am Mawu-Lisa, and Matar Kubileya. I am Kristanotis of Atlantis, and Uluru of Hyperborea.

“I am all of my Aspects, and all of my Aspects are one: fragmentary reflections of the infinite creative force.”

She was afire with the brilliance of the sun, her voice booming and echoing in the vast hall of the Temple, and her worshippers shielded their eyes from her flaming glory.

“But here,” she continued, voice and fire suddenly quenched, a murmur of golden silk that reverberated in their bones, “here I am Agdistis, and this Temple is a place of love and peace.”

She smiled, and the dome began to solidify once more as her light faded.

The Abbess of the Temple of Agdistis had come to Cappadarnia.

* * *

“Another merchant up from Cappadarnia mentioned that the Temple answers prayers for good marriages,” said Karadi, tearing off a hunk of bread. “Health, lots of children, they love each other… everything.”

“But Arun doesn’t bless all marriages, right?”

“Apparently not. I’ve heard of a number of couples that he—or she, whatever—refused to bless. The rumor is that they always end in failure, too, but nobody seems to know if they fell apart because Aruna didn’t bless them, or if he refused to bless them because they were already failing.”

“We haven’t seen him for two—no, three—years, not since he visited us for summerdawn,” mused Lajita, setting her cup of tea down with a muffled clink. “The Temple must be busier than ever with that reputation… why would he invite us so suddenly now?”

“Was it an invitation? It was short and plain; I felt it was more like a summons,” said Karadi, wiping the plate clean with the last of his bread and popping it into his mouth. “Anyway, it’s a short voyage.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“I’ll tell the captain; mid-morning OK with you?”

“That should be fine,” nodded Lajita. “You know, there was no mention of this trip, or meeting Arun, in any of the books. I wonder why not...”

Karadi shrugged.

The next day they boarded the Lady’s Beard, together with one guard, and set sail for Cappadarnia. Cargo ships usually took a day and a half to sail from Shiroora Shan to Cappadarnia or Adelma, but they were sailing in a small, fast ship that served as a seaborne courier.

They reached the bustling town on the Narrows in the late afternoon, coasting up to the wharf to dock.

A trio of guards came jogging over almost at once, looking very officious.

“State your business in Cappadarnia,” ordered the man in front, sounding quite bored. “Your docking fee is one tiara; pay me now. It’ll cost you another tiara to pass through the Narrows.”

“Sergeant, I believe you’ll recognize this ship if you read the name on the bow,” suggested Karadi, making no effort to rise from his seat on the deck rail.

The sergeant glanced at the ship’s prow and stiffened, quickly taking a step back and standing taller.

“Master Karadi, my apologies! I’ll set up a guard on this ship immediately!”

“Thank you, Sergeant… What is your name?”

“Klarsh of Astarma, sir.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Klarsh.”

“Shall I call for a carriage?”

“Yes, that would be very helpful,” nodded Karadi, walking down the gangplank with Lajita.

There was a gasp from one of the sergeant’s men, and a whispered “The Seeress!”

The sergeant cuffed the offending man on the ear and gave him a push toward the town.

“Run and fetch a carriage for Master Karadi!”

Rubbing his ear, the guard trotted off, trying to adjust his sword belt with his other hand as he ran.

“My apologies, Lady Lajita,” began Sergeant Klarsh, but she waved it off.

“No matter, Sergeant. I am indeed the Seeress, and can hardly take offense at being recognized.”

Unsure how to respond, the sergeant gave an awkward bow and ordered the remaining man to stand guard while he fetched more troops to guard the ship.

Karadi and Lajita ignored him until their horse-drawn carriage arrived, then thanked him and climbed in.

“The Temple.”

“Yessir,” mumbled the driver, and snapped the reins.

The horse, a rather tired-looking dappled grey, started off at a trot, carrying them swiftly from the docks into the town proper. The town was constantly changing, with new shops, new buildings, new street stalls and hawkers on every corner.

“I don’t remember Cappadarnia being this busy,” mused Lajita as she looked at the crowds.

“It’s the Temple,” answered the driver as he carefully wheeled past a group of your women squealing in laughter at something. “They’re holding some sort of festival tomorrow, and visitors are pouring in.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” said Karadi. “Something about good marriages, wasn’t it?”

“The Abbess will bless everyone. They say it promises a happy, fertile marriage.”

“What do you think?”

“Well, the Temple’s got quite a reputation in these parts… I know lots of people who were blessed there, and every one of them seems to still be in love like a newlywed. Lots of kids, too.”

“Every one? Really?”

“Yup,” nodded the driver, snapping his whip to warn people out of the way. “Not just me, either. Everyone says the same thing.”

Karadi and Lajita fell silent, absorbing the change in the town.

Karadi could remember when Cappadarnia was less than even a village, just a few fisherman’s shacks on a lonely shore. He had built this town, he and Shiroora Shan, thanks to Lajita’s prophecies. They dominated trade across the Night Ocean, and almost all of it had to pass through either here or his own city.

The town was not very wide or deep, though, built as it was on the bare tip of the island, between the Narrows to the north and Mount Pelalarossi to the south, and shortly the buildings fell away and the road climbed the slope toward the Temple of Agdistis.

The twin minarets of the Temple were bright with the setting sun, tinged orange, and the gold dome gleamed dully from their reflected light.

Two acolytes stood in the center of the gaping entrance, dressed in simple white tunics. They were both carrying poles with lanterns mounted on top.

“Welcome, Master Karadi, Mistress Lajita. The Abbess is awaiting your arrival in her quarters.”

The acolytes escorted Karadi, Lajita and the guard through the cavernous hall to a huge oak door set into the rear wall and pulled it open.

“Master, Mistress, please enter,” they invited, bowing. “The Abbess has instructed us that your guard should wait for you here.”

“Trooper Phontel, we’ll be back shortly,” said Karadi to the guard, who nodded. “Perhaps they can arrange for a chair and some tea?”

The acolytes nodded, and one scuttled off immediately.

The room was lit by the reddish light of the sun as it approached the horizon. It was a spacious room, even more so because it lacked almost all furniture: only a single bench standing near the entrance.

The rest of the room was a garden. Enormous ferns towered high, and the ground was carpeted with moss in a riot of colors and textures, dotted here and there with clumps of flowers. There was even a small pond, lily pads floating in the still water that reflected the lotus flowers.

The air was redolent with the perfume of the flowers, and filled with darting butterflies, small birds, tiny specks of brilliant light that darted back and forth faster than the eye could follow, or catch.

In the center of the room stood Aruna.

“Mother! Father! You’re here!” she smiled, and gestured them to join her. “How do you like my little garden here?”

“It’s beautiful,” said Lajita, stepping onto the moss. “You look older, Aruna.”

“I am older,” she laughed. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

The two women hugged, Karadi standing back a pace to give them room.

“This is a very strange garden to find inside a temple,” he mused.

“It’s more than just a garden,” smiled Aruna. “It’s where I stay.”

“You stay?” repeated Karadi, frowning. “You mean you sleep here?”

“I never leave this room anymore,” replied Aruna. “Even when I’m Arun.”

“Why don’t you leave? Surely you cannot perform your duties here!?”

“The Goddess Agdistis can perform her duties anywhere,” smiled the Abbess. “And She stays here for now.”

“For how long?”

“Oh, for the rest of my life, certainly, and perhaps the next.”

Lajita’s eyes widened.

“You cannot stay in this room for the rest of your life, Arun!”

“I am still Arun to you, aren’t I, mother?

“Of course you are! We raised Arun, not Aruna... We accept that the Goddess changed you and we love you both, but we always think of our son first.”

“I am Arun, and Aruna, and Agdistis. In fact, I am all three at once now. I am a woman, as capable as you were of birthing new life, mother, but also a man, as virile as you, father. I can be either, or both at once.”

“What shall we call you?”

“Arun, Aruna, Agdistis… it matters not,” she replied. “We are shortly to become one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mother, father, sit down, please,” invited Aruna, waving at the bench. “I called you here to explain a few things, and say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Lajita echoed, looking to Karadi for an explanation.

He grasped her arm and guided her toward the bench, sitting next to her.

“Explain yourself, Arun,” he demanded. “What do you mean, ‘goodbye’?”

“You know that the Goddess is in me. Agdistis, the Goddess of marriage, of love. I am a vessel for her here, a gateway she can work through.”

“Yes, we know,” nodded Karadi. “And apparently you’re doing a good job, too. We were told couples who come here—to you, to this Temple—enjoy almost perfect marriages, love, healthy children...”

“Of course. It is my Aspect. I could no more refuse my Aspect than you could refuse to let your heart beat.”

“Your Aspect?”

“I am but one Aspect of the creative impulse, my abilities limited to a narrow scope. Other Aspects include Aphrodite, Matar Kubileya, and Uluru of Hyperborea. All Aspects of the same creative force: Ubbo-Sathla.”

Lajita gasped, her hands flying to cover her face at that name. Karadi put his arm around her as if to protect her from danger, glaring at Aruna.

“Do not speak that name!”

Aruna smiled. “There is nothing to be afraid of, father. Ubbo-Sathla is a force beyond human comprehension; I myself can only grasp tiny fragments of the whole. It knows not who may call upon it, or pray to it, or even curse it, because it merely is, and that simple fact cannot be negated.

“And this is why you called us here?” asked Lajita, raising her face once again.

“No, mother, I called you here to say goodbye,” said Aruna. “Today is my last day in this Temple.”

“You said you would be here until the day you...” Lajita gasped. “Your death!?”

“I am becoming one with my Goddess, mother. Arun, Aruna, all that makes me human, will join Her, and through Her, Ubbo-Sathla.”

“No! I won’t let you do this!” cried Lajita, knocking Karadi’s arm away and springing to her feet to run to Aruna. “Come with us, now!”

She grabbed her child’s arms and shook her, as if trying to snap her out of a trance, and pulled her toward the doorway.

Aruna didn’t move.

“Mother, don’t.”

Lajita pulled again, harder.

“Mother I cannot,” said Aruna, placing one hand atop Lajita’s and lifting her robe with the other.

She had no feet.

Her legs grew thicker and greener toward the floor, finally merging with it in a mound of moss that rippled slightly in the reddish light.

Lajita screamed and shrank back, tripping to stumble into Karadi’s arms.

“Arun! Please, come with us!”

“I cannot, mother, and would not if I could.”

Lajita collapsed to the moss, kneeling, head down, sobbing into her hands.

“We can never breathe a word of this, never tell a soul,” whispered Karadi.”

Aruna reached out to lightly touch her, and Karadi.

“As you wish,” she said, and let go her robe, hiding her legs once again. “It is a beautiful garden, isn’t it?”

Karadi glared at her, horrified and furious, but unable to say a single thing. His mouth worked, lips trying to form words, and there was only silence.

“I love the energy and the beauty of these living things,” said Aruna. “Enough of the Temple and the Goddess, though.

“Sit, and let me have some refreshments brought. Tell me of your lives, and Shiroora Shan.”

Acolytes brought a variety of foods and drinks shortly, seemingly without being summoned. Neither of his parent touched any of them, sitting in silence as Aruna, seemingly oblivious to their discomfort, talked of his garden and their birds and butterflies.

A few minutes later Karadi and Lajita exchanged glances, rose, and departed, sparing not a single glance or word to their son. They left the Temple immediately, preferring the clean air and even the possibility of brigands to the foulness behind them.

After a time darkness came and the butterflies slept, replaced in the garden by huge beetles they flew about with a loud buzz, spreading metallic wings and glowing in phosphorescent green. The acolytes entered and waited silently.

Aruna pointed at once of the acolytes, a young man in his twenties.

His eyes wide, sweat dripping from his brow, arms and legs shaking with fear but unable to refuse the love he felt for his Goddess, he lay down on the moss and screamed as it covered him.

END

Chabra: Dawn in the Athraminaurians

He finished the piece and waited for the last traces of the echo to fade away before lowering the flute and opening his eyes.

It was one of his favorites, something he’d written himself a few years earlier and continued to refine. He referred to it as his Ode to Ifdawn Marest.

He looked out over the city streets.

It was Spatemoon in Karida, and the streets that crisscrossed the city were now canals, swelled by the spring melt from the mountains.

He’d been here many times with the trade caravan, first under Than Bulbuk and more recently under his older brother, Gitanshu. Master Bulbuk had finally retired three or four years earlier, leaving his extensive trading business in the hands of Gitanshu, his son-in-law, who had been pretty much running it for years already by then.

Master Bulbuk was now enjoying the pleasures of his palatial estate in Eudoxia, and although his brother visited him regularly to report on developments and seek counsel, it was clear that he was no longer very interested.

How long had it been, he wondered. Nine? Ten years?

He enjoyed the work, the haggling, searching out new goods and new suppliers, finding ways to get them across half the Dreamlands to sell or trade. He’d made good money at it, too, paid a regular wage plus a range of bonuses for profits earned or new goods or customers developed,

Another boat passed below his balcony, probably a housewife back from the market, he guessed. For a few days, until the rivers subsided and the alleys emerged from the water, boats were the only way to get around. It didn’t happen every year, and it rarely lasted longer than two or three days, but when it did city life ground to a halt.

Karida was situated just upstream of the junction of the Piratta and Jasharra-Navi rivers, and when the spring rains and the snow melt from the Snarp Mountains peaked at the same time, they flooded. The city streets became canals, and the fields surrounding the city walls turned into broad lakes and marshes.

The water was good for the soil, but that didn’t make it any easier for people—or horses—to plod through the muck left behind after it finally drained off.

He lifted his eyes up, over the white-washed walls of the city, over the ramparts of The Citadel, to the ice-crowned peaks of the Greater Snarps to the north, and the Lesser to the east. It was yet morning, and the mountains were displayed in bold relief, patches of sunlit trees and raw stone accented by pitch-black shadow where the morning rays had yet to reach.

Wisps of cloud hovered in the folds and valleys, misty white curtains partially concealing their beauty. It’d all burn off soon enough today, he thought… not a raincloud in the sky, finally.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from their grandeur, and stood there, gazing upon their glory.

“I heard you playing and thought I’d join you,” came a voice from behind him. “What was that?”

“Just a little tune I’ve been playing with.”

“Oh. Well, it sounded pretty nice.”

He looked up at the mountains.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“They are,” agreed Habib as Gitanshu joined him at the railing. “They call me every time I see them; I think stronger every year.”

Gitanshu laughed.

“I think you’re just getting older every year, little brother.”

“I’m still young!” he protested, “What are you now, thirty-one? Two? You should talk!”

“Thirty-two,” confirmed Gitanshu. “I’ve been coming here almost every year for twelve, maybe fifteen years now, first with Master Bulbuk, now with my own caravans.

“Yeah, the mountains are beautiful. But you know, I’d rather back in Shiroora Shan with Talla and the kids. Family is important to me now, not chasing after mountains.”

“You’re pretty much my only family now,” mused Habib. “Dhruv and Atisha are in Ademla, Varun and Lajita are busy running Chabra, Kostubh and Paramjit are gone, Asha, Hansika, and Arun have different lives… and I work for you, shepherding caravans between here and Rinar.”

“But we have new routes, new goods, new challenges every time! That’s what makes it all so interesting!”

“I guess.”

“For someone who’s as good a negotiator as you are, you don’t sound very motivated, Habib.”

Habib finally pulled himself away from the snow-capped peaks lining the horizon to look Gitanshu in the eyes.

“Do you need me on this caravan?”

His brother’s eyebrows rose a fraction, and he cocked his head.

“You mean…?”

“Yes, I’m thinking of journeying east… Some of the traders that come speak of the endless steppes eastward, and beyond them the Athraminaurian Mountains that hold up the sky.

“I can’t face another months-long trip, chivvying obstinate men and beasts over land and sea, through brigands or storm.”

“Habib, I will not stand in your way if that is what you want,” replied Gitanshu. “I would rather have you ride with me, and I will miss your advice and help, but I will not stop you.”

Habib nodded and held out his arm for a wrist shake that melted into a brotherly hug.

“Thanks, Gitanshu. I’m sorry to leave you so suddenly.”

His brother laughed.

“Not a surprise, actually… I knew it was coming, I just didn’t know when. You’ve been moping about for weeks now, your mind somewhere far, far away from the caravan.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Yeah, that obvious. You were going through all the motions but your heart wasn’t in it anymore.”

“Hard to hide from family, isn’t it.”

“Hmm. You know, if you’re heading east why don’t you go with Trader Phuntsho? I’m sure he’s in a very good mood after the price he bargained us down to on that glass and crystal.”

“Hey, I didn’t do too badly on the Gondaran paper and silk he brought!”

“No, you certainly didn’t,” laughed Gitanshu. “What we’ll make on the silk alone will pay for this entire venture twice over.”

“Hmm. Phuntsho has always been a polite, businesslike man. I can’t say I really know him that well, though.”

“I do. He was close friends to Master Bulbuk, and I got to know him when they were drinking together on trading trips years ago.

“He’s got some very strict beliefs and rules that he lives by, but he’s also generous, sympathetic, and believe it or not, family-centered. He’s got a wife and a whole herd of kids back in Lho Mon, you know.”

“Does he really? I mean, I’ve dealt with him for years now, and he’s never mentioned it, or them.”

“Oh, yeah. He keeps them very private, but once you get him to talk about them it’s almost impossible to get him to shut up again.”

“You really don’t mind me leaving?”

“Of course I mind! I need your help, and more importantly I’ll miss you, but if it’s something you’ve gotta do, do it.”

Habib looked at the mountains one more time.

“I think I’ll go have a word with Trader Phuntsho.”

* * *

The steppes stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction.

Habib squinted.

He knew the Snarps were days behind him, and the Athraminaurian mountains days ahead, but he could see nothing but the rolling hills of the steppes, covered with thick grass and dotted with gnarly trees every so often.

They’d left Beavertail, the last tiny village on the road before it entered the wilderness of the steppes. Many of the steppes tribes ventured only that far, bringing their furs and other goods with them to trade for weapons or pots or mirrors and baubles. Phuntsho didn’t even stop there except to refill his water; he considered most of the “traders” who did business there nothing better than thieves, charging exorbitant prices to the tribesmen who came. He believed that dealing fair was better for everyone in the long run, and far safer.

The trade road was one of several winding through the steppes, a hard-packed dirt track marked by countless ruts and old campfire ash. With few landmarks, straying far from the road would mean getting lost in the endless grass, unless you were wise enough to have a compass or lucky enough to wander back across a trade road. Even with a compass it could be hard to find your way back to Beavertail.

The guides said they knew the steppes and could find their way without difficulty even with no road, but Habib had his doubts. They certainly knew the road, its turns and dips and marshy spots, and they knew the diverse animals and plants of the region, but how could they possibly navigate kilometers upon kilometers of featureless grass?

They could walk on the road, and mounted on horseback they could usually see over the top of the grass. Standing up to two meters high the grass made it almost impossible to see anything on foot.

The same dense grass also made it very easy for bandits to lie in wait, which is why Trader Phuntsho not only had a dozen guards but had also hired three trusted guides who had been to the Athraminaurians and back countless times, and worked well with the local tribes.

“You said we’d reach a river ford today, right, Master Bidziil?”

“Another hour or so, I’d say,” nodded the guide, riding alongside. “It’s an old river, wide and relatively shallow, and should be easy to ford this time of year.”

“No crocodiles up this far north, are there.”

“Nope. Lots of bear, though, and they spend a lot of time near the river. When the fish come upstream to spawn and the bears are out there hip-deep in the water all day long.”

“That’s in the fall, though.”

“Another month or so before they start running.”

“How many times have you been over this route?”

“More than I’ve got fingers!” snorted Bidziil. “I’ve been doing this for, oh, about two dozen years now. Took a few years off for the family.”

“Family? You’re married?”

“Wife and five kids. Ohiyesa—my oldest son, he’s almost twenty now—sometimes comes with me. He’s learning the routes now. He’s probably right over there, in fact, heading the other direction.”

“Over there? You can tell where he is?”

“Well, not exactly, of course not, but I know this route and that route and about where he’d be… and it’d be right about that way,” he explained, pointing.

“Which way is home?”

Unerringly, he pointed off to the southeast.

“And Karida?”

He pointed back a little farther north than the way they’d come.

“Pretty handy,” said Habib, impressed. “So you don’t really need that compass after all.”

“Of course I need a compass! It’s not magic!” laughed Bidziil. “I’ve just been through these parts so many times I have a pretty good idea.

“You use your compass a lot?”

“Sure, if we’re in the desert and a sandstorm hides the road, and at sea sometimes, with a sextant.”

“What’s a sextant?”

“It measures the angle between the horizon and the sun or moon.”

“…The angle… why would you want to do such a thing?”

“When you’re at sea that’s the only way to figure out where you are, often. There aren’t any landmarks.”

“No landmarks… you can’t see the shore?”

“Heh, no,” chuckled Habib. “The shore might be a day or two distant. More, depending where you are and what direction you’re trying to go.”

“I can’t imagine that much water,” said Bidziil. “Even the lakes our here in the steppes, you can always see the shore. I mean, unless it’s raining or foggy or something.”

“Shiroora Shan is built on the Night Ocean, and when you’re in the middle of the Eastern Arm—say, between Cappadarnia and Astarma—there’s nothing but water all around.

“Now, it’s hard to get lost there, because all you have to do is head east to reach the coast somewhere near Astarma, or west to reach the Spine and Capadarnia. Or even north to Shiroora Shan, for that matter.

“Out on the Middle Ocean, though… well, that’s big. It makes the Night Ocean look like a little pond.”

“There’s something unnatural about that much water,” said Bidziil, shaking his head. “Endless steppes, endless desert, even the endless Athraminaurian Mountains, that I can understand, but.. water?”

Habib looked up at the eastern horizon again.

“When will be able to see the Athraminaurians?”

It was Bidziil’s turn to chuckle.

“Not for another few days yet, I’m afraid. You really can’t wait, can you?”

“Shiroora Shan stands between the Night Ocean and the Ifdawn Marest, the range stretching north toward Irem and the Pool of Night. I grew up seeing the mountains every day and I never grow tired of their soaring, ice-cold beauty. They’re so majestic, so… so… Godlike.

“I wonder how it must be to look down on the world from that height, down on the clouds.”

Bidziil muttered something unintelligible and made a motion as if to throw something over his shoulder.

“What? What did you…?”

Biziil looked up at the horizon, then, perhaps relieved that he couldn’t see the mountains, back to Habib.

“It wards off evil,” he explained. “I should throw salt over my shoulder, but the best I could do was make the motion.”

“Why? What happened?”

“You sounded like one of the Children,” he said, and leaned closer to Habib. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “The Children of Eitr.”

“The Children of Ei—”

“Quiet! Not so loud! Or better not at all… and certainly not in the mountains!”

Habib nodded, then continued “What are they?

“They live on the tallest peaks of the Athraminaurians, and sometimes, on the very coldest nights, come down to steal the warmth of living things. When the light’s just right you can sometimes see their cities way, way up in the clouds, on ice-crowned mountains.

“It’s not a good idea to call them, especially when you’re in the mountains.”

Habib digested that for a while as they rode on silently.

“So why the Athraminaurians, if you’ve got a mountain range right at home?”

Habib sighed.

“Because they are said to be the highest, coldest, supremely beautiful mountains in all of the Dreamlands.”

“I always thought that was Kadath.”

Habib laughed.

“Maybe it is, I don’t know. But Kadath is a long, long way from here, and you say the Athraminaurians are only a few days ahead of us.”

“That they are, Master Habib. You’ll see them soon enough.”

They continued their conversation as they rode, until Bidziil stood up in the saddle and looked ahead, shading his eyes and breathing deeply.

“We’re almost at the river,” he said as he sat down again. He raised his voice and continued. “Watch out, everyone. The ground might get soft suddenly, and there’ll be more animals around. Watch out for snakes in particular.”

Within a few minutes Habib noticed that the horse’s hoofprints were growing deeper, and the wagons were beginning to leave ruts behind instead of just rumbling along over hard-packed dirt.

The road topped a small hill and suddenly they were on the riverbank.

Bidziil had said it was wide, and it certainly was… Habib thought it must be well over a kilometer of pools and streams, and at least two wide channels that he could see. There was a lot of scrub but almost no trees. Probably because of flooding, he guessed.

“The river is usually shallow here because there’s a rock bottom in most places,” explained Bidziil. “You have to check the depth anyway, though, because the channels move around every year and there are sometimes surprises.

“Excuse me; I’ve got to talk to Trader Phuntsho.”

He twitched his reins and cantered toward the front of the caravan.

There were five horse-drawn wagons, each carrying two riders, while Phuntsho, a woman named Dechen who was his second in command, and himself rode their own horses. The three guides and the dozen guards were mounted, too.

Phuntsho and Bidziil halted on the riverbank, looking out over the expanse of water, mud, and low grasses. After a few minutes Bidziil nodded and rode ahead, signaling to the other two guides with his arm raised to join him.

They cautiously walked ahead, riding or leading their horses on foot as they scouted out a path, and as they worked their way across the river the wagons followed them in single file interspersed with guards.

Habib was in about the middle, behind one of the wagons with one of the guards. They’d hitched their horses to the wagon and were walking.

They walked through a number of streams and small ponds, all but one under waist-deep, but one stream got unexpectedly chest-deep for about a meter.

The sun was out and the weather warm, but the spring water felt freezing. Habib had thought it delightfully cool when he first stepped in, but after an hour of being exposed to the wind dripping wet it was just cold.

He trudged on, pushing the wagon as needed when it got stuck in the mud in spite of the two horses pulling it.

They finally reached a river island big enough to hold the whole caravan, and Phuntsho called a rest. There wasn’t much point in washing the mud off, but at least everyone could sit down out of the wind, light up a fire, maybe even eat a bite or two. The horses didn’t mind the cold wind, but they definitely appreciated the lush green grass covering the island.

Habib spent his time checking his body for leeches. He found only two, one on his ankle and one on his belly, and both came off easily when he held a hot ember close. He noticed a few of the guards doing the same thing, but none of the guides.

“Mistress Ghigau, can I ask you a question?”

Ghigau was one of the guides, a weather-worn white-haired woman who could have been anywhere between thirty and a hundred.

She looked up from where she was sitting, her back to one of the wagon wheels, and raised her eyebrow.

“You didn’t have any leeches. Neither did Master Bidziil, I looked,” he said. “You didn’t even look for leeches.”

She bared her teeth in a grin—several were missing—and pulled out a small skin bag.

“Rub this into your skin,” she urged, holding it out. “You don’t need much, just take a little dab and rub it over your hands or legs or somewhere until it’s gone. Your body will absorb it, and within an hour or so you’ll start smelling bad to the leeches.”

The bag was squishy, heavy.

He pulled out the wooden plug and gently squeezed out a dollop of dirty brown paste.

“That’s plenty,” she said, holding out her hand for the bag. “Just rub it in.”

He rubbed his hands together, smearing the paste about until it vanished. It felt gritty, and his skin tingled a little bit, but it didn’t hurt, and it didn’t smell.

“Huh… Pretty handy! How do you make it?”

“Only the shaman knows,” she said. “You’re welcome to ask her, though!”

“That would be a waste of everyone’s time,” snorted Habib. “Shamans don’t reveal their secrets.

“Thanks for letting me use it, though!”

“Sure. Nobody likes leeches.”

Phuntsho let the men and horses—especially the horses—rest for about an hour, then got everyone ready to finish the ford.

Habib was in the same place as before, alongside the same guard, a man about his age from Zeenar named Diraxus. They stood by waiting for the horses and wagons ahead of them to head off into the water and fell into place in line.

They both walked with one hand on the wagon so they’d have something to hang onto if they lost their balance.

It was the same slog as before, and they were both drenched chest-high in no time.

The sun was past zenith and beginning to slip down toward the horizon behind them when they began to cross one of the widest channels, almost wide enough to be a river in its own right. The riverbed was covered with small rocks and sand, and they walked carefully.

Suddenly the wagon slipped sideways, swinging off at a diagonal in the river current and knocking Diraxus off his feet. He was washed downstream, leaving Habib holding onto the rear of the wagon by himself.

The wagon was relatively watertight to protect the cargo from river fords for exactly that reason, but it wouldn’t be of any use if the whole thing tipped over. Once the wheels began slipping on the riverbed the current scooped up under the wagon and began to tilt it up.

Habib pulled himself hand-over-hand to the high side of the wagon, and shifted as much of his weight onto it as he could to stop it from rising. The current caught his legs, dragging them downstream and turning the wagon: they acted as a rudder, pulling the whole wagon parallel with the flow.

The horses bucked and snorted, frightened at the way the wagon suddenly yanked them backwards and to the side.

Habib heaved, trying to pull the side of the wagon down a little more, and then Bidziil and one of the mounted guards were there, steadying the wagon and helping the horses pull it back up to safety.

Habib dragged himself up onto the wagon, wheezing and coughing to get the river water out of his lungs.

By the time he caught his breath the wagon was on drier ground, and Phuntsho was checking the wagon’s cargo. He walked over to join Habib shortly.

“Thank you, Master Habib. Quick thinking. You saved the cargo from getting wet. There’s a lot of cloth in there, and while it’s packed in watertight bags, they don’t always work… especially if they go floating off downstream to gods know where!”

“I try to pay my way, Trader Phuntsho.” He looked around. “Is Diraxus alright?”

“He’s fine, fine. Just a little wet.”

Habib coughed once again and used his palm to wipe the hair back out of his eyes. He was about to jump down off the wagon when a sharp whistle sounded.

The alarm!

He looked up at the riverbank rising a few meters ahead of them.

It was lined with armed figures on horseback.

* * *

The Iraqono had an extensive camp set up about ten minutes away.

Phuntsho explained that he’d been friends with the tribe for many years, first with a few hunters he’d met by accident, and later with the chief and the shaman. He always bartered a variety of pelts from them, giving in return swords and daggers, pots, mirrors, and woven textiles from the west. He’d also brought some gifts especially for them.

“It’s a big deal to them,” he continued. “Having a caravan pass through, I mean… they relocate their camp every year or so and it can be hard to find them when they don’t want to be found. We’ve been coming through here for years now, though, and we hand out all sorts of presents to everyone. They love us.”

“No doubt that translates into better deals on the pelts, too,” suggested Habib.

“Oh, absolutely. It’s a long-term investment, and it’s more than repaid what it costs. In fact, I’ve heard that they actually trade with other tribes to get blue wolf pelts for us. And a few other exotic items.”

“Blue wolves?” I asked, confused. I hadn’t heard the term before.

“The steppes wolves with the blue eyes,” he explained. “Oh, right, you’ve never seen their eyes, have you? Only the pelts.”

“Blue eyes? Huh, never knew. Sorry.”

“They’re still pretty rare, so the pelts fetch high prices,” he commented, then looked away. “Excuse me; I see Chief Yawanta.”

Phuntsho kicked his steed and galloped off to meet a small group of horsemen riding up. The man in the center, probably in his forties or fifties, wore a gold circlet on his head.

Phuntsho rode up next to the chief, joined shortly by Bidziil. The three of them exchanged a wrist-shake and talked for a while. Suddenly the chief wheeled his horse and rode away again, and Phuntsho came trotting back to the caravan. Bidziil made a hand signal to the other guards, then returned to his usual position at the head of the caravan.

“It’s all set,” Phuntsho explained. “We’ll stay with the Iraqono tonight, and maybe spend another day or two here before heading on. Chief Yawanta says he has a stack of furs he’s been saving for us.”

There was a cheer from the caravaneers, and Habib broke into a grin. Staying in the Iraqono camp meant they wouldn’t have to worry about keeping watch, and there’d be a feast to boot.

The Iraqono generally moved camp twice a year, following the great bison herds. Consummate riders, everything they owned could be packed up and ready to move on horseback within a few hours. They would use wagons if necessary, but prioritized the mobility their horses brought.

The caravan moved up the riverbank to the steppe, but instead of returning to the trade road, turned the other direction to follow a mounted Iraqono boy who would lead them to the camp.

About two hours later they arrived at the Iraqono camp, dead tired. The horses didn’t have much difficulty with the tall steppes grass, but the wagons got stuck often. They swapped positions every so often because the lead wagon had the toughest job, forcing a way through virgin growth. The other wagons could follow in its tracks with far less effort.

The campsite had been largely cleared of grass, leaving either bare dirt or short-cut stubble. It was surrounded by a wall of thorn bush branches. It was not high enough or strong enough to defend against an attack, but very few wild animals would try to force their way through the wall of six-centimeter thorns.

Thorn bushes grew in scattered clumps throughout the steppes, and it was a simple matter to build a new barrier when they moved to a different location.

The gate—a strong vine festooned with thorn bush branches—was pulled open, and the caravan rode inside. The camp really wasn’t big enough to hold the tribe and the caravan both, but it’d do for a day or two. The Iraqono would take the horses out to graze during the day, freeing up considerable space.

For now, the wagons stood between the scattered round ger of the Iraqono. Made of leather on a wood frame, the ger were decorated in a multicolored designs of living things, including not only the bison and horses so essential to their lives, but also bears, wolves (especially the dire wolves found farther north), birds, fish, even insects. Each ger had been handed down for generations, repaired as needed, and new decorations added to new leather.

Six to eight meters in diameter, the ger were more than spacious enough for even large families, and the Iraqono quickly erected three more for the caravan to use.

The whole camp was bustling with excitement as people helped get the wagons moved to where they’d cause the least disturbance and get the horses tended to. The children were especially excited because they knew a feast was on the way.

A group of Iraqono returned to the camp shortly, driving about half a dozen sheep in front of them. That many sheep meant the feast would be for everyone, not just the caravan. They began preparations immediately, quickly slaughtering the sheep, skinning them, and then dismembering them on their own hides.

They saved every organ, even the blood, carefully cleaning the hooves, ears, colon, and a few other parts. Habib asked Dechen, Phuntsho’s second-in-command, about it, and she explained that they used every bit of the sheep, most of it as food.

That evening they feasted on sheep, roasted, broiled, boiled, and raw. It was Habib’s first time to eat some of these foods, and he was especially surprised when they brought out a sheep stomach, stretched taut, full of something quite firm and brown. They cut off a thick slice and handed it to him. He accepted it with thanks and took a big bite, prepared to find it disgusting but confident in his ability to eat and praise it nonetheless—a necessary ability built up through years as a trader.

It was the sheep’s blood, and although it hadn’t been seasoned or even salted, just cooked in the sheep’s natural juices, it struck him as surprisingly good. He had no difficulty finishing it and enjoyed almost all of the food they brought, although after the tenth or twentieth serving he began to slow down.

He pulled out his flute, blew a few quick notes to make sure his lips still worked properly in spite of the drink, and began to play. The Iraqono had their own instruments, of course, but of wood, not metal, and the clear sounds of his flute delighted them.

The hubbub quieted as they listened to his music, and suddenly a softer, earthier note joined in—the wooden flute of the Iraqono! It was followed shortly by the drumming of fingers on a taut buckskin drum, and the rattle of hollow gourds, and finally a growing roar of snapping fingers as everyone joined in, and the musicians took off in a liquor-fueled improvisation that went on until his lips were numb.

The tsegee being passed around was considerably stronger than the usual drink made from mare’s milk. Habib didn’t get drunk but he was thankful he wouldn’t have to walk far to reach the ger and sleep later that night.

The next morning everyone was up with the sun, the Iraqono busy with their daily chores as if nothing had happened. Habib had few chores, fortunately, because his head felt like a stonemason was working on it with hammer and chisel. Looking at the other caravaneers, though, he realized most of them were in even worse shape.

Apparently Iraqono tsegee was a heck of a lot stronger than it tasted.

Good thing he’d had lots of practice he chuckled, then winced.

With the greeting feast out of the way, Phuntsho and Chief Yawanta would sit down and dicker over terms. They had known each other for a long time and were close friends, but that wouldn’t get in the way of driving the hardest bargain possible.

Phuntsho had a variety of swords and daggers to offer, along with copper pots, Mondath tobacco, cotton cloth from Zeenar and Karida, even a few iridescent textiles of Hatheg. Chief Yawanta had the usual stack of buffalo hides, beaver, fox, a few bear, and half a dozen wolf pelts, and something that nobody had ever seen before

It was the pelt of a large cat, the size of a large leopard or lion, fangs almost identical and easily as long. The fur coat was decorated with broad stripes of red and white, running the length of the body, and along the spine ran a short, bristly mane.

Chief Yawanta explained that he’d traded it from another tribe, who’d called it a “tharban”.

Phuntsho agreed it was a rarity indeed but suggested it might only be worth a few tiaras because the fur was too stiff and the red-and-white coloring too bizarre.

The Chief immediately protested, well aware of the fact that its rarity meant it would command a high price from some noble or rich merchant who collected the unusual.

The argument went back and forth half a dozen times as they worked their way toward a mutually agreeable figure, and finally it was done. Dechen, sitting next to and slightly behind Phuntsho, never said a word, but followed the negotiation very closely indeed. Habib, listening in from a distance since he wasn’t involved in any way, nodded—she’d make a good trader one day.

Once the tharban pelt was taken care of everything else went quite rapidly. They had dealt in the same goods countless times over the years, everything was a known quantity. The whole thing was done well before the day had started to get hot, and the traded goods were moved around shortly thereafter.

Phuntsho’s caravan would split here. One of the wagons, now loaded with pelts, would head back to Karida with its two drivers and two guards, accompanied by three of Chief Yawanta’s men who had their own business in Beavertail. The other four wagons, with the remaining trade goods from the west plus the single tharban pelt, would continue on toward the Athraminaurian Mountains and Gondara.

Chief Yawanta invited them to go fishing.

Rivers and lakes were common throughout the steppes, teeming with fish and all the diverse wildlife that lived near or in the water.

It was a fairly small party, consisting of the Chief and three other Iraqonos, Trader Phuntsho, Bidziil, and Habib, who was curious about the “floating islands” they described.

They rode for about an hour and a half from camp, first through the steppes back to the river, and then upstream a bit to where the river meandered through the grassland in countless broad, leisurely loops.

Chief Yawanta dismounted at the river’s edge, handed the reins to one of the Iraqonos who had come with them, and led the way into the water. The others followed suit, leaving a lone warrior behind to keep watch on their horses.

They trudged through the shallows and over occasional grassy islands until they reached a wide expanse of water.

“Lake Odobeh,” said Bidziil. “It changes size depending on the rain and the melt from up north, but it’s usually here year-round. Mostly too shallow for anything very big, and the maze of channels and islands changes so often anyone who tried to navigate it would be lost in minutes.”

The Chief had stopped and was using his spear to prod a roundish island only a hop away from where he was standing.

Habib watched closely.

The Chief was using the blunt end of the spear, prodding and pushing. It looked like he was testing the strength of the island, thought Habib. But why?

Chief Yawanta suddenly stepped onto the island.

It shuddered, the grass and moss flashing in a ripple that spread slowly across the island and dissipated.

The Chief smiled and gave a little jump, creating an even bigger ripple, the ground rising and falling like a giant beast breathing, though silent but for the mild squelching noise his feet made when they landed.

“Come! This is one of our floating islands!” he called.

The rest of the party followed, stepping over the narrow gap of river water onto the island. It bounced slightly under Habib’s feet, and he could feel the vibrations of the others as they walked, rippling underneath.

“What is it?” he wondered aloud.

“It’s just moss, pretty much” explained Bidziil. “The same stuff all around you… it just builds up and eventually gets big enough to form a floating patch like this one.”

“Is it really safe?”

“Sure, sure,” chuckled Bidziil. “Your foot might break through into a little water but you’re not gonna get sucked underwater or anything.”

Habib tried a few little jumps, getting the feel of the island. It was soft to walk on, and even fun, actually, feeling it slowly rise and fall under his feet.

They walked toward the center of the island where the Chief was already cutting a hole with his sword with the two other Iraqonos who had come along. The moss was not very tough, but it was clumped together very thickly, and was heavy with water.

They cut moss free and scooped it out with their hands to make a relatively clear opening.

The Chief took little bits of sheep meat from a bag he carried and squatted down to sprinkle them into the water. He waited, peering deep until he gave a grunt of satisfaction and readied his spear.

He slowly lifted it, tense, attention focused on the opening, and suddenly thrust hard.

There was a furious splashing, and Habib caught a glimpse of something finned and scaled, a meter or two in length and as thick as his arm, struggling to escape the spear through its midsection.

“Master Habib! Help pull it ashore!” called the Chief, and Habib sprang to assist. It didn’t occur to him until later to wonder why the Chief had called only him, and nobody else helped…

Chief Yawanta dragged the eel, as it was revealed to be, halfway up out of the water, writhing and thrashing furiously.

Habib leapt on it, grabbing it around the body close to the head—he could see the fangs and didn’t want to let it bite him—and screamed with intense pain, falling to the ground.

He blacked out for a moment, and as he pulled himself back together in spite of the pain running up his arms and the spots dancing in front of his eyes, he saw the others killing the thing carefully until it was very, very dead.

Phuntsho helped him sit up and offered him a drink of water.

“You alright?” he asked concernedly. “The lightning eels pack quite a punch.”

“Wha…. What was that?”

“Just an eel,” explained Phuntsho. “They shock their prey to eat, or to escape danger.”

“My hands still ache,” said Habib, flexing his fingers. “My arms…”

“We all went through it, Master Habib. It’s the Iraqono initiation.”

Chief Yawanta walked over and stretched out his hand. When Habib took it, the Chief pulled him up and hugged him.

“Welcome, Habib, to the Iraqono. You are my cousin.”

“Uh… thank you, Chief Yawanta,” he replied, unsure of how to react.

“When he says cousin, he just means you’re a close friend, and under his protection,” explained Phuntsho. “You’re not really an Iraqono, but you’re no longer an outsider, either.

“I think he likes you.”

Habib, still shaken by the electrical shock, smiled and did his best to look happy in spite of the throbbing pain in his hands and arms. He noticed that his hangover had disappeared, though, which helped.

The group, without much help from Habib, picked up the dead eel, and they proceeded to the next floating island to repeat the process. At the third island Habib, feeling much better and eager to take revenge, delivered the killing blow himself.

When they made their way back to camp later they carried with them the carcasses of four enormous lightning eels.

As it turned out, eel was delicious. Habib hadn’t been looking forward to another dinner of sheep, sheep, and sheep.

They set forth on the next leg of their journey the following morning.

* * *

The steppes slowly began to change, sloping ever so gradually upwards toward the yet-distant mountains. The clumps of trees grew in size, becoming woods filled with deer rather than bison, and large cats instead of wolves.

At dawn they could make out a dark shadow on the horizon, black shapes blurred in front of the sun as it rose. The Athraminaurians, at last.

They encountered two more tribes along the way, both of whom already knew Phuntsho and welcomed his goods, although not with the same enthusiasm as the Iraqono had shown.

One of the guards was attacked by a bear he stumbled upon unexpectedly, and while they did what they could, he died a day later. The bear escaped unharmed.

One of the wagon drivers vanished one night. No trace was found, search as they might, and none of her tentmates reported hearing or seeing anything unusual… just an empty blanket in the morning.

The caravan no longer accepted bison hides, instead collecting fox, mink, beaver, and other valuable furs. These would travel with them as far as Lho Mon.

Habib was determined to travel with them, although Phuntsho’s caravan would end its journey in Lho Mon, his birthplace and home. The trader said he would arrange for Habib to accompany another trader on the difficult journey over the mountains, and while he trusted the other as an honest man, he advised against attempting to cross the Athraminaurians, warning that death was far too common a fate on that treacherous path.

Habib promised to consider his words carefully, but as the distant mountains grew higher and clearer with each passing day, his desire to finally reach them, scale their heights, feel their wonder first-hand, only grew more intense.

He bothered Phuntsho and Bidziil constantly, asking about the mountains, and about Gondara beyond. Bidziil was a man of the steppes, and vastly preferred the distant horizon to icy peaks, but Phuntsho was from Lho Mon, well up into the mountains, and he shared tales of steep mountain paths, of goats clambering up sheer walls that would try to most skillful climber, of hundreds of tiny fields laboriously cut into the slopes, of avalanches of ice and rock that swept people and homes away in an instant, and of the Children of Eitr.

“I’ve seen their cities glittering cold and blue on the highest peaks,” he said, eyes wistful. “Beautiful, and terrifying.

“They come to those lost in the mountains, seeking the warmth of man and beast, but unable to withstand the heat of the fire, or the warmth of the summer sun. Cursed, trapped in bodies of ice, forever cold, and warm only at death.

“I have never seen one,” he murmured, making that same gesture of throwing salt over his shoulder, “but I have seen the bodies of those who have. Ice to the core, with smiles and tears frozen on their faces.”

He shuddered at some memory.

“I urge you to stay with me in Lho Mon, Master Habib, and return with me to Karida,” he pled. “Please. It is far too dangerous.”

“Karida, Shiroora Shan, the Night Ocean… they hold me no longer. I hunger for the Athraminaurians that hold up the sky, to see the splendor of Gondara, to look over The Edge…”

The road left the steppes, winding upwards as fields and houses began to appear around them. Ahead soared the immensity of the Athraminaurian Mountains, grey and black against the bright sky, their apexes shining white, half-concealed by distance and wisps of cloud.

The horses struggled now, pulling their loads up ever-steeper roads, until finally they entered the domain of Lho Mon, a broad, shallow valley carved into the mountains by an ice-fed river that raced through the land and plunged to the steppes below.

Traditional Lho Mon houses were two or three stories tall, with the first level—generally used for storage and farm animals—of stone, and wood-and-mortar living areas above. The stone and mortar were whitewashed, presenting a striking contrast with the dark colors of the exposed wood, natural or stained a reddish-brown.

All the houses were extensively decorated inside and out, usually over the course of generations, and were handed down from mother to daughter, with new husbands welcomed into the home in each generation. Some of the oldest had stood for grand dozens of years, lovingly repaired and renovated as needed after disaster or to welcome new family.

Phuntsho walked at the head of the trade caravan, smiling and greeting people left and right. He seemed to know everyone, calling them by name, and always welcomed with smiles.

The caravan followed behind as he led them up the main street to a central plaza, then left up yet another slope. The houses here were considerably larger and the colors brighter. New, Habib figured, or at least newly painted.

He waved Dechen, his second-in-command, to guide the caravan into a clearing at the side of the house while he walked over to greet his family. They must have heard the ruckus earlier because they were all waiting in front of the house to welcome him.

It was quite a crowd. Habib found out later that it included his wife’s parents, his own mother, three of his wife’s siblings, his own six children, including the husband and two children of one of his daughters, and over a dozen neighbors and friends. There was also a small group of onlookers on the street itself, presumably passers-by.

“Trader Phuntsho should be back in an hour or so. He always brings little gifts for the children, and he has to give thanks at the family altar for his safe return,” said Bidziil. “We’ll be setting up camp here, but most of us will stay down in the city. More people, more booze, more, um, entertainment.”

Habib smiled and was about to make some snappy response when he heard a distant roar, a groaning of the earth that quivered up his bones and rattled his soul. The roar of the mountain.

Bidziil noticed his sudden introspection and chuckled.

“You felt it, too? A landslide somewhere… the sound echoes for kilometers through the mountains. Sometimes they get quakes up here, too, bring the whole mountain down on top of you.”

“A landslide…?” murmured Habib, shaken. “Is that all it was? It felt… I don’t know… like a God speaking. Or something...”

Bidziil shook his head.

“Just felt like a landslide to me. Can’t imagine why anyone would want to live in the shadow of these mountains, landslides and earthquakes and ice-spawn.

“Can’t get back to the steppes soon enough for me.”

“Ice-spawn? You mean the Children of—?”

“Don’t say it! Yeah, same thing,” he said, clapping his hand over Habib’s mouth. “Never seen one, never want to, but they’re evil, evil as death.”

Habib fell silent, eyes fixed on those fabled mountains that surely touched the stars, streamers of icy white blowing from their stern peaks in the wind.

The next day Phuntsho introduced him to Chophel of Kungmai, who would take the trade goods on the next leg of the perilous journey, across the Athraminaurians.

Chophel was a small, wiry man, face weathered by sun and ice until it was impossible to tell if he was fifty years old or five hundred. He spoke common poorly, but with Phuntsho it was possible to arrange things quickly.

“He’s not very happy taking you along, since you’re unfamiliar with travel on these icy mountain paths, but he’s done it before. Just listen to him before you do anything silly.”

Phuntsho explained that the horses could go as far as Kungmai, the village Chophel came from, but from there it would be yaks. Yaks, while somewhat smaller than horses, could carry almost as much cargo. They could tread the treacherous mountain paths and thin air of the mountains where horses could not survive.

“We leave the morning,” said Chopel. “When Matachamgoro is bright.”

“Matachamgoro?”

“That one, there,” explained Phuntsho, pointing at the tallest mountain visible. It had three peaks linked together by knife-thin ridges, ice and rock glinting silver and black. “Matachamgoro is the first to catch the rising sun, and the last the setting.”

He made that gesture again, of throwing salt over his shoulder.

“Is that where… they… live?”

“In their city of ice and death,” he whispered quietly. “And may they stay there!”

He shook his head, took a breath, and turned his eyes away from the soaring mountain.

“I’m off to the market; come with me, if you will.”

“With pleasure,” smiled Habib, and they walked toward the market in the lower part of town, where the wagons and many of the caravaneers were already waiting.

The marketplace was basically a muddy field, with half a dozen haphazard buildings scattered around to keep the snow off and block the wind. Today there was neither and the sun was delightfully warm.

Phuntsho sold or traded most of his good here, the furs, pots and pans, and various weapons going briskly. He unloaded about half of the Zeenar cotton cloth from Zeenar and Karida but kept almost all of the Mondath tobacco and the Hatheg iridescent textiles. A few close friends or important personages received special pouches of tobacco or some other special gift, of course, that he had kept separate from the trade goods.

Habib noticed that Phuntsho presented one impeccably dressed older man with a parcel obviously containing some sort of fabric. He couldn’t tell for sure, but from the careful way they handled it, he guessed it was Moung spider silk. If so, it would be worth its weight in silver… he wondered who it was for. Probably not the man, he thought, who must work for someone higher up. Some local lord? Phuntsho’s lover?

He shrugged. He'd probably never know, especially as he’d be leaving in the morning.

He wandered out of the market toward the edge of the village. Built in the river-carved valley there was no convenient overlook, but he was content to look up at the mountains surrounding him. He sat down on a nearby rock and took out his flute, playing quietly to himself, eyes and heart lost in the scene before him.

He lost track of how long he’d been playing or even what he’d been playing, until a voice snapped him out of it.

“Master Habib! There you are! I heard your music, and finally I’ve found you!”

It was Phuntsho.

He lowered the flute, noticing that the sun was already low on the horizon and turned.

“I was just admiring the view,” he said.

The trader glanced at the mountains and shrugged.

“I grew up with that view; it’s as cold and hard as it’s ever been.

“But what were you playing?”

“…I have no idea…,” said Habib. “It just happened.”

“Well, it was a beautiful piece, whatever it was.

“Will you take your supper with us tonight, Master Habib? We would welcome you, and I know my family would love your music as much as I do.”

“Thank you, Trader Phuntsho. I would be honored.”

They walked back to his home, and Phuntsho gestured to Habib to walk up the narrow stairs to the second floor. They were cut from a single tree trunk, worn smooth by years of use, but with no handrail.

The room looked like it occupied about half of the second floor; Habib could see a doorway on the far wall. To his left was a simple kitchen with adobe stove, while the rest of the room held a large table surrounded by cushions. The walls were mortared, the dark wood of the beams and columns left exposed, and the mortar had been painted in intricate designs that were difficult to make out clear in spite of the numerous oil lamps hanging throughout.

Habib noticed a few wall sections that had obviously been decorated by very young artists, featuring stick figures of people and cows. Or yaks?

Four or five women were bustling about in the kitchen part of the room, the noises of pots and knives and voices surprisingly loud after the silence of the mountains.

There was already a number of people around the table: Phuntsho’s mother and father-in-law, two of his sons and one son-in-law, a number of grandchildren always in motion and impossible to count accurately, Bidziil, and Dechen.

Bidziil waved him over and forced a cup into his hand, filling it with a steaming, whitish drink.

“It’s ara, you’ll love it,” he said, and pushed a dollop of butter off his knife into the cup. “They distill it from corn, usually. Got quite a kick!”

Habib watched the butter melt with a dubious expression, then gathered his courage—as a trader, this was not the first time he’d been handed something unknown to eat or drink—and took a slug.

It was pretty good, in fact, but his mouth burned from the alcohol.

He took another slug, then hurriedly set the cup down as a large plate of brilliant red chilis buried in orange and yellow cheese was set on the table in front of him.

It was quickly joined by huge wooden tubs of hot rice, and plates of potatoes (also with chilis), strips of some meat fried up with radishes (and chilis), pyramids of round dumplings spitting steam and bubbles, and more.

More people crowded into the room from somewhere; Habib figured they were probably more relatives because there seemed to be a lot more children running around. He never had the chance to ask, though, because new plates of food kept appearing, and people kept on asking to refill his cup.

He suddenly noticed that the latest person offering to refill his cup was Phuntsho, who looked like he’d had almost as much to drink as Habib himself.

Instead of holding out his cup in the customary gesture, he took the jug with one hand and pushed his cup into Phuntsho’s hand with the other.

“No, no, let me thank you, Trader! You have brought me safely across the steppes to Lho Mon, and I am eternally in your debt!”

They tussled over the jug for a moment, each trying to be the first to pour for the other, until finally Bidziil held up his own cup.

“Use this, you two, and both drink up! Stop hogging the jug!”

There was general laughter and the two of them clinked their cups together before slugging down their ara in unison.

“Play for us, Master Habib,” pressed Phuntsho. “If you’re not too drunk…”

“Drunk!? Nonsense!” snorted Habib, although he knew he was lying. He pushed back from the table a bit to make space and picked up his flute.

“My city, Shiroora Shan, stands between the Night Ocean and the mountains. They are tiny mountains compared to your soaring peaks, the Athraminaurians, but they are mountains nonetheless, and noble in their stern beauty.

“I have been trying to capture their essence in music for many years now, and fail every time. Poor as it is, here is my Ode to Ifdawn Marest.”

He closed his eyes and recalled, for a moment, the mountains of his childhood, rising up behind Shiroora Shan, their gentle foothills green with forests and alive with streams, teeming with wildlife. He lifted the flute to his lips and began to play.

He had no need of a score, he had composed and re-composed and discarded and made anew countless times. He knew it by heart and had listened to it in his dreams.

His eyes closed, he saw the mountains, Ifdawn Marest, verdant slopes that he knew so well. His fingers played, his lips breathing musical fire into his flute, tones that resonated, filling the room like moonlight.

He played on and on, past the end of his work, past his knowledge of the world, and spoke of the eternal Athraminaurians, soaring far, far above the puny peaks of his childhood, cloaked in ice and snow and mystery that never felt the spring breeze.

His music grew colder, higher, notes no longer full of the warmth of humanity. They were hard, sharp, unyielding, unknowing and uncaring of humanity, eternal in their immensity.

A hand slowly pulled the flute away from his lips, and the music stopped.

The room was silent, still, dozens of pairs of eyes fixed on the musician.

Habib realized his lips hurt terribly. He held the flute in one hand and raised his other to touch his mouth. His fingertips were red… with blood?

He let Phuntsho pry the flute away, and looked more closely at his hands. Bloody. Both of them.

How long had he been playing!?

“Enough, Habib,” said Phuntsho. “Your music has brought the mountains into my home. It is time for human warmth now, lest we turn to stone ourselves.”

All of a sudden the room was full of sound, as people breathed and moved and whispered, the sounds of life.

Most of the listeners left quietly, walking down the stairs to return to their own homes, or into the back room, or upstairs to the sleeping level. Phuntsho and Bidziil stayed sitting next to Habib.

The trader softly placed Habib’s flute on the table as Bidziil poured another cupful of ara.

“No, no more ara,” said Phuntsho. “Tea, I think. Strong tea.”

He looked around for someone to bring tea, but the room was empty save for the three of them.

He grunted, rose, and prepared the tea himself, with boiling water from the pot over the stove and black tea leaves from a small jar on one of the innumerable shelves. He filled the teapot, swirled the water, poured out three cups, carefully pouring a little at a time into each cup until all were full, and handed cups to Habib and Bidziil.

They drank and silence reigned until Phuntsho spoke again.

“I have never heard music so beautiful, or so terrifying.”

Bidziil nodded.

“That was not the music of the steppes, or of the Ifdawn Marest, I wager. That was the Athraminaurian Mountains themselves, speaking through your music.”

“I wonder if it was my music,” murmured Habib. “I can recall only fragments of what I played, and I never wrote, or even dreamt, those phrases…”

“Let me get some salve for your fingers,” said Phuntsho as Habib slowly brought the cup to his lips.

* * *

They left before dawn the next morning, the very top of Matachamgoro lit orange by the rays of the rising sun. The valley of Lho Mon was still heavy with shadow, but the grey pre-dawn light was enough to make their preparations by.

Chopel’s caravan was much different from Phuntsho’s. The amount of cargo was smaller, of course, as they’d disposed of the majority in Lho Mon to leave only goods that were relatively rare (and therefore expensive) in Gondara, on the other side of the Athraminaurians. Neither horses nor wagons could make it over the mountain paths, and so everything had been adjusted so it could be carried by the yaks.

Chopel was leading a caravan of a dozen and a half yaks, carrying goods not only for Phuntsho but for three other traders as well, including one Gondaran who had arrived in Lho Mon months earlier and had been waiting for the mountain snows to clear enough to return to his homeland.

Phuntsho and Dechen were there, of course, making sure their goods—including the rare red-and-white tharban pelt—were properly packed. Bidziil came as well, to bid Habib a safe journey, and hand him a jug of ara “to keep you warm in the mountains.”

The yaks grunted and complained as they set forth, wiggling their hindquarters every so often to settle the load. They were obviously unhappy to be loaded up and rousted out of their slumbers so early, but they sulkily complied.

The people walked.

Everyone was dressed in heavy furs, mostly open in the warmer air of the Lho Mon valley. As they climbed up into the mountains the temperature would drop rapidly, and they’d all button up. Everyone walked with a staff in one hand for balance and the occasional yak-thumping.

Habib had never seen a yak before. He was familiar with cows, of course, but unsure just how different their furrier cousins might be. Over the course of the day he had ample opportunity to get to know them very well, walking right next to a male yak named Dawa.

Dawa was absolutely filthy, but Habib thought he was probably a light brown. He stank, he had little flies zipping around all the time, and he loved radishes and getting scratched between the eyes. After walking next to each other for most of the day, they became good friends.

The path was clear of ice and snow, winding up out of the valley through a long series of switchbacks. It was possible to take a shorter path, cutting across most of the switchbacks, but the heavily loaded yaks might slip on scree and lose their balance, and Chopel decided they’d take the longer way up.

They reached the lip of the valley in the late afternoon.

From this lofty viewpoint the valley was a welcoming green, dotted with tiny houses that looked far warmer than the broken rock and sheer stone faces ahead of them.

They pressed on for another hour or so until Chopel finally stopped next to a sturdy lean-to standing next to the path. A massive wall of large rocks faced the constant wind, providing welcome shelter.

It had snowed recently, leaving a light dusting that covered everything in a slippery coat, and the cold wind kept it swirling about. They’d all closed their fur coats and pulled their hats and gloves tighter some time ago.

The lean-to was full of dry yak dung for use as fuel, along with dried meat and rice. Chopel explained in halting common that it was for emergencies, kept stocked by the villagers.

“Me too,” he said. “Me too.”

Habib was unsure of what he meant but smiled and nodded in agreement.

He slept poorly that night, everyone crowded together in the lean-to for warmth, with the wind whistling and yaks snorting. They rose at first light and, after a quick meal, set forth once again.

The snow was deeper in spite of the constant wind, and Chopel rubbed yak fat on Habib’s exposed cheeks to help protect them.

There were fewer switchbacks that day, as the path twisted around the flanks of the mountains and traversed steep slopes, both up and down. The snow continued to fall, making it harder to see the path, or the mountains around them.

Chopel, who had been over this route many times, said he could walk it safely even in a blizzard, but the caravaneers and even the yaks began to slow as the cold wind battered at them.

They finally reached the next lean-to after it was quite dark.

Habib had no choice but to trust Dawa to follow the yak in front of them, walking next to him with one hand on Dawa’s pack and the other holding his staff. Several times he slipped in the snow, barely managing to hold himself upright.

That night, exhausted, he slept in spite of the howls of the wind, the grumbling yaks, and the crush of the other men in the shelter.

They woke in the pre-dawn gloom once again, the highest peaks of Matachamgoro a pale pink, and began trudging their way toward distant Gondara.

One day blended into the next, and Habib could no longer recall how many days it had been, or when he had had his last bath. He and Dawa were old friends now, and he spoke more to the yak than to most of the other caravaneers—few of them could understand him, and they were rarely within easy speaking distance. During the day the ever-constant wind ripped speech away before it could reach anyone not standing next to you, and the night was for eating and sleeping.

He wore several layers of fur, making it difficult to move easily, but the only movement he had to make was to place one foot in front of the other, again and again and again, until Chopel called a rest after a particularly steep slope, or a stop for the night. It snowed often, but unless it was impossible to see the path or the ground was even more slippery than usual, he kept on going.

Habib walked with his hand on Dawa’s haunch, his mind mostly blank, random thoughts of Shiroora Shan or green trees flitting by every so often. His eyes, tired of rock and ice, studied the colors and textures of Dawa’s fur, or the various fabrics of the cargo; he could no longer see the soaring mountain peaks.

Suddenly the ground flexed and he lost his balance, almost falling.

Shouts, yaks hooting in alarm, a roar that he felt in his bones... the mountain!

He caught the barest glimpse of something immense and white coming down the mountain from the heights above, something ferocious that screamed with all the fury of ice and stone, and he was swept away into unconsciousness.

* * *

It was dark, and something furry smelled.

His head hurt, and as soon as he realized that, he realized everything hurt.

That fur... his head was lying against a yak!

He tried to see more clearly, but the stars above were too cold to shed much light, and it looked like both he and the yak were covered in a light dusting of snow anyway.

The yak—he thought it might be Dawa, but it was impossible to tell—wasn’t breathing, but when the avalanche swept them off the mountain, he ended up on top of the dead yak, and that much warm yak, even dead, had been enough to keep him alive this long.

Unless he could find shelter, though, it wouldn’t last much longer.

He gingerly tried moving his hands and feet. Everything seemed to work, but his body was battered and every movement brought pain.

He could live with pain, but he couldn’t live without shelter, and heat.

He struggled to his feet and looked about.

Too dark; he couldn’t see anything.

“Hello! Anyone!”

His voice echoed off into the night, leaving him more alone than before in the silence.

Shelter, and heat, and food... he pulled out his dagger and laboriously hacked out two huge slabs of yak meat. They steamed in the night air, beginning to frost over before his eyes.

His sword was gone, as was his staff. He still wore his pack, and it felt heavy enough that he doubted much, if anything, had been lost.

He put the meat in the pack and tried to make out his surroundings.

It was still too dark, but he could see black exposed rock scattered here and there, pitch black against the fractionally lighter snow and ice. With luck, he thought, he might find a cave.

He gingerly started out toward the nearest outcropping and grimaced in pain and almost falling as he lost his balance for a moment. His knee was badly twisted, maybe worse.

He could hop or he could crawl, but he couldn’t walk.

He tried hopping but the shock of jumping and landing made everything else hurt too much. He didn’t feel much like crawling through the snow either, even though he did have fur clothing and gloves.

Maybe it would be better to just sit down and keep poor Dawa company, and wait for dawn. The yak’s body was still slightly warmer than anywhere else.

Raw yak meat wasn’t his favorite meal, but he had few other choices right now… with dawn, maybe he could see some fallen cargo, maybe even locate another survivor.

He shouted into the darkness again, hearing only the gentle sighing of the wind and fading echoes chasing each other through the peaks and valleys.

He choked down some meat and ate a few handfuls of snow to wash it down with.

Alone. In the middle of what were probably the harshest, deadliest mountains in the Dreamlands.

He pulled out his flute to keep himself company. The music sounded thin and forlorn in the darkness, notes vanishing into the night as if swallowed whole.

He played on anyway, forgetting his predicament for a moment in the beauty of the music.

The Ode to Ifdawn Marest seemed more apt than ever, here in the icy depths of the Athraminaurian Mountains, and his fingers played on well beyond the notes he had composed, bring new depths and heights, capturing the delicate beauty of the stark black-and-white world around him.

Exhausted, he finally lowered the flute and listened to the last notes reverberate into the distance.

He waited in silence until the sky began to grow grey with dawn.

He could see a little more of his surroundings now. He seemed to have fallen into a fairly small valley, with very steep sides almost all around. It looked like there might be an exit at the lower end, though.

He examined the dead yak. It wasn’t Dawa after all, but one of the others. It was wearing its harness, of course, and parts of the wagon it had been pulling were still attached, but most of the wagon was gone. He looked but couldn’t see any of the cargo it had been carrying anywhere. It could be buried under the snow, he thought, but there was an awful lot of snow after the avalanche.

He could see where they’d slid down the mountainside… it was a long way up, and he was astonished he’d come through it with only a twisted knee.

He chuckled in grim realization that it might have better to have died in the fall rather than starve to death here.

He gradually worked his way down the valley toward the open end, hopping or sliding as necessary until he was close enough to see where it led.

It led to a sheer drop of at least a hundred meters, maybe two or three times that. With rope it would not be an obstacle, but for him it meant death to try.

So he was stuck here.

He shouted again, and again heard nothing but dying echoes in return.

It was much harder to move uphill, returning to the dead yak, but he’d need that meat.

Next was shelter.

He couldn’t see any caves, but scree and boulders lay along the foot of the wall. He checked them out, and there were a few nooks between boulders that would be better than nothing.

He picked one that was about right for a single man and sealed up any holes with hard-packed snow until it was snug.

Fire.

He collected all the pieces of the wagon he could find and carried them back to his fortress. There were not many. Plenty of meat but he’d have to think twice about cooking it, because he only had enough wood for a few fires. Small ones at that.

His furs would keep him warm enough, especially now that he could stay out of the wind, and he really didn’t have to worry about food—that yak wouldn’t spoil very quickly at these temperatures, and he’d probably die of boredom before he ran out of meat.

Or just jump off that cliff.

He spent that day watching the beams of sunlight shift across the icy mountain stone, or snow so white it hurt his eyes to look at. He could feel the mountains around him, feel the slow deep pulse of their majestic hearts. And as the mood took him he played his flute, sometimes from memory, sometimes improvisation as his fingers danced almost of their own volition.

And the next day.

And the next.

Once he saw an eagle soaring overhead, heard the scream of its passage echo in his prison, and stood, dumbstruck, at the sheer beauty of that flight.

When he woke one morning there was a small stack of wood in front of his makeshift home.

Pieces of the broken wagons!

But how…? Who?

He shouted, calling for someone, anyone, to answer.

Silence.

That afternoon, as the valley began to slip into darkness, he wept as his played his flute, and finally stopped.

“Do not stop, please,” came a voice from above.

He leapt to his feet, ignoring the pain from his knee, searching feverishly for whomever had spoken.

There! Sitting nonchalantly on the mountainside so steep a mountain goat would think twice about attempting it, was a woman of ice, diamond catching the dimming light in rainbow glints.

“Who…? You’re real! I haven’t gone crazy?”

She laughed, a crystalline chime that was as beautiful as it was cold.

“Quite real, I assure you,” she said. “I have never heard anything as beautiful as your music… it speaks to me of the winds whipping around the summit of Matachamgoro, ice cracking in the first light of dawn, the victorious roar of ice and snow loosed onto the smaller lands below, eagles soaring above, pitiless stars on high.

“Play, I beg of you!”

Awed by her voice her presence, he obeyed, and played.

His fingers were as possessed, coaxing notes from his flute that he had never heard before, filling the valley with a crescendo of music that captured the eternal majesty of the mountains, their terror and beauty.

He played until he could no more, and stopped, and looked up.

She was gone.

Had it merely been a dream, a hallucination?

He shivered as he recalled her beauty, her voice, frozen silver and crystal.

He slept fretfully that night, awakened countless times by his own dreams, wondering if he’d heard her voice once more.

She was back the next day, sitting on the mountainside, listening raptly to his music.

Her name was Drifa, she told him.

She came every day, sometimes bringing wood, once a rabbit—frozen solid, of course.

She was entranced by his descriptions of forests, the steppes, the sea... she had never dipped her hand into running water, or imagined the endless waters of the sea.

Like all of the Children of Eitr she craved warmth, and could suck the warmth from a traveler in seconds to assuage her hunger. At the same time, however, too much heat would kill her. A journey to the green steppes or the Night Ocean would be fatal.

She had seen frozen grass, and trees, and flowers, but never fresh, gently waving in the breeze.

Habib listened to her stories of the mountain heights, the delicate, wind-carved sculptures of ice and snow that graced the peaks; the soaring crystal towers of the Eitr high above; the way clouds would gather like a carpet of wool below, hiding all the world except a few peaks under billowing white; how the air itself was different, rarified and pure.

He longed to see those sights and more, even as she longed to feel a flower, or see the ocean.

Every day she came a little closer, until they were only meters apart, sitting facing each other like friends. Or lovers.

He reached out a hand to grasp her, slowly.

Drifa recoiled, leaping to her bare feet to dance away over the snow he would sink into.

“You cannot!” she cried. “I am a Child of Eitr, and I long for your warmth, for the fire of your life to warm my heart, but to touch you would be to kill you, and that I cannot do.”

“I would die happy if I but could embrace you, kiss your lips even once.”

“No!” she cried, and fled, racing up the wall of his valley and into the snowy darkness.

She was back the next day, standing like a statue of diamond before his home, waiting for him to wake.

“I cannot live without you, Habib,” she said. “But were I to embrace you as I wish I would suck the life from your body. I cannot.”

“I will die here anyway,” he countered. “At least that way I would die happy.”

She fell silent, and then spoke slowly.

“Legend says there is a way…”

“Tell me!”

“There is a legend that a man, such as yourself, once fell in love with a Child of Eitr. Unable to restrain themselves they made love, and as the flame of his manhood burned the woman, so did the cold of her embrace freeze the man. And he became a Child of Eitr himself, his flesh and blood transformed.

“But it is a mere legend…”

“I love you, Drifa,” said Habib, unlacing his furs. “Come to me.”

“But you will…”

“I will be reborn, to be with you forever! But it would be worth it even so, to be with you.”

She came to him then in the shadows, and took his fire into her as he writhed with the pain of the cold, and the pleasure of his love, until they collapsed, sated.

He slept, his arm around her in an embrace, until the lightening sky stirred him to wake.

She didn’t feel cold, he thought to himself.

He didn’t feel cold, either!

He lifted a hand and stared at the delicate tracery of veins running under his translucent skin, a wonder of silver and diamond that flexed and glinted in the sunlight.

It worked!

“Drifa! Drifa! It worked! Look!”

He shook her, and stopped in shock and realization.

As her cold had transformed him into a Child of Eitr, his fire had transformed her into a human woman.

And she had frozen to death.

END

MENU