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 20^th-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 18^th 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 20^th-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