looking at me curiously. I forget sometimes that I am supposed to be an old woman and my stride lengthens, my fists clench. It makes me feel better the coldness of steel on my back. It feels like a part of you is with me, making me safe.

*******

Another day has passed. I smile at Marie as she wipes the sweat from her brow. She is looking more like you every day. The heavy work agrees with her. She looks tired but something of the darkness in her eyes has lifted. At least until she hears something about the manhunt. I can see the darkness swirling in her eyes then. Tshao looks tired too as he hugs the children. His eyes are haunted. He feels responsible and he worries, I know it even if he says nothing. The city is full of rumours about the manhunt but we have heard nothing about our people. I can only hope that the Destroyer ignored them as soon as we were gone. I can only hope.

*******

The day has started dark. My heart beats erratically as I go about my errands. I take deep breaths. I don't know what has gotten into me this morning. If I didn't know better I'd say you are near. The back of my neck itches as if you are watching me. I could always feel you watching me. I blink and shake my head to chase the memories away. That is all they are, memories, just memories. As I near the construction site, I shiver. In my heart, I know something is wrong. Yet everything seems normal. My heart jumps as I see Marie and Tshao coming up the hill in the masses of workers. I thank the old man that has watched the children while I was away. Tshao's voice sounds happy as he hugs the children.

A wave of ice hits my chest and I turn around. Without thought, my hand finds the hilt of the sword. Beside me, Marie is alert, her fists clenching. Tshao's gasp is almost more than I can handle. The faces of the soldiers are closed as they appear out of the crowd. I draw my sword out and it glints in the fading sunlight. I can barely recognise my voice as I order them to save the children. It was too good to be true. I should have known better. At least I will get my wish. I'll die with a sword in my hand.


Tim's frantic cries assault my ears but his words make no sense. The guard captain laughs as he pushes Tim away. The guards' swords glint and I finally let my laughter burst from my lips. This is it. The end is here. I can only laugh. They move forward in a rush and I run to meet them. The order stops all movement but my own. I can hear the madness in my laughter as my sword descends in its deadly arc. I will go down but I won't go down alone. The blade that meets mine comes as a real surprise but these little guards have yet to see true fury. I am already turning to attack again but my blade is met once again. This little soldier of the Destroyer is good. I have to wonder why the others are standing still. If they attacked, I know I could last only so long. I dismiss the thought from my mind.

If they want to toy with the White, let them. The more I take with me the better. This

little guard is good; every movement of my blade is met surely, competently. I wish I could see his face but all I can see is the sun glinting off his helmet. His movement takes me by surprise; it is brute strength that throws me a few steps back. I smile as I start slowly towards him again. I see his movement and slow my steps even more. His sword dips in acknowledgment and I nod at him. One-handed he lifts the helmet from his head and lets it fall to the ground. I have stopped, waiting for him to raise his head. I can almost hear you scolding me for not attacking immediately. I cannot help it truly and I know you understand even if you would have never done it yourself.

The soldier raises his head slowly and I want to scream. The sword falls from my nerveless fingers. Your voice, deep and full of gravel, comes to me, "Hey, angel". You move forward slowly, deliberately. You are giving me time, I can see it in your eyes. Time for what? Time to recognise your face, the creases around your eyes that were not there before? Time to take in the changes, the new scar that adorns your chin, the hair that is not black any more? Time to bend down and take my sword up again? I don't know what you are expecting from me. From the corner of my eye, I can see the soldiers stiffening. They stand tall as if at attention. It takes me a second to realise that they are truly standing at attention. It hits me like a fist in the stomach. They do not see you. All they see is their leader, the Destroyer.

Just like that, you are standing in front of me. There is fire in your eyes and it burns me. I should speak but my throat has become a burning knot, I can only look at you. Your sudden stiffness alerts me before I see the movement from the corner of my eye. The tip of the sword that touches your throat I know better than anyone except you. Marie's voice sounds different, "Step away, you bastard. Step the fuck away". I can see the smirk that appears on your lips and it sends shivers down my spine. Still the words of warning do not come.

I can barely follow your movement. You have not lost it in spite of the grey in your hair. For a moment, you become a blur and like everyone else, I can only see the consequences of your actions. The thud of Marie's body as it hits the ground, the hiss of her breath as it leaves her lungs. I turn slowly; my heart has stopped. There is no blood on the ground, your sword glints silver no dark stains marring its shine as it rests on Marie's throat. I don't need to look at you to see the darkness in your eyes. I feel it coming off you in waves. Something in your stance loosens my throat. I have seen you standing like this so many times I cannot even count them. You never did take prisoners after all.

The croak that escapes my lips I can barely recognise as mine, "Don't". Your flinch makes something twitch inside of me. I can only breathe again when you slowly move back, step after careful step. When you turn to me, the breath that I was trying to take chokes me. Your voice is low unreadable, "Marie?". I can only nod for an answer; words have deserted me once again. Your chuckle is short and harsh but there is a glint in your eyes. Like a moth to the flame, I step towards you. The minute shake of your head stops me in my tracks. Your voice takes a different timbre as you order your guards. I watch them carefully as they step forward. They sneak glances at you, their faces sweaty and I can see the fear in their eyes. Your orders are short, curt, leaving no room for doubt.

The guard that steps up to me is hesitant. I watch his hand slowly extending to grasp my shoulder. Your growl makes sweat pop on his brow. He is young; I see it in his face. I turn my back to him as I step towards the children. Tshao is at their side, his eyes moving from soldier to soldier, his fists clenching, his nostrils flaring. I pat his arm wordlessly as I slowly pick up Chrissy in my arms. I turn back to the soldier that has been following me slowly. I look at him and motion him to lead on. The relief that floods his face almost makes me laugh. I can feel Tshao following and Marie's heavy steps echo in my ears. Chrissy is frightened too much even to fuss and I can only hold her close to my heart.

As we are led away from the construction site, I cannot stop myself. I look back beyond Tshao's pale face and Marie's glare, beyond the ring of guards surrounding us. You stand motionless, your eyes closed, the glint of steel in your hands. I almost stop and turn back. Your eyes snap open and lock with mine. A flush creeps up my face as you warn me with your eyes. As always, you read me too well. I turn from you and walk on.

*******

I sit silently in the middle of the large room. You have surprised me once again. I was expecting a cell, a nice cell maybe but a cell nonetheless. The suite of rooms the guards have brought us to is a surprise. There were no words as they led us inside. I waited patiently for the sound of the door locking but the door merely closed behind us. I don't have to open the door to know there are guards outside. I sit silently as Tshao fusses over the children. Marie is looking at me, the hurt in her eyes is almost too much for me to face. The knock on the door makes them tense. They stand quickly, their eyes travelling between me and the door. I stand slowly. It takes such effort to walk. I can hear my sigh as I open the door. I can feel my eyes growing wide as I take in the man standing there. I don't know how long I stand there looking at him. His careful clearing of the throat reminds me where I am, who I am. Slowly I step back motioning him to enter.

He steps in carefully. I cannot stop the sadness from flooding my face as I take in his limp and the black walking stick he leans on heavily. He smiles sadly at me and I know he has seen my sadness. I whisper his name and he bows his head. His eyes search my face as we stand a few feet apart. He turns slowly to look at the others; his smile warms as he takes in the children playing on the couch. He shakes his head before turning back to me. His voice is a whisper, "And would your door be open this evening, Anj?".

I know what he is asking but the question takes me by surprise. What games are you playing? My answer jumps from my lips before I can stop it, "This is not my door to bar it, Baron". His face falls and I regret my harsh words. His sigh is sad as he looks at me. As always he picks his words carefully, "This place is yours, Anj. This house. This city. Everything you can see to edge of the horizon is yours". I shake my head at his words. I can feel Tshao and Marie looking at me with horror in their eyes. They don't understand. I am not certain I understand either. Baron turns back to the door, he walks slowly, his limp pronounced. He stands at the door and turns back to me, "I need an answer, Anj", he says regret clear in his voice. I can only nod in acquiescence. What other answer can I

give you? Relief floods his face and I can see the tears in his eyes before he turns and walks out the door.

*******

The night is silent as I sit and watch the fire burn. The children are long asleep. Tshao snores softly from the couch. He is tired, drained. Marie paces in front of the fireplace as she has done since Baron left. She does not speak to me and I can give no answer to the questions in her eyes. I sit hearing the fire crackle and the steps of the guards outside the door. The knock on the door is almost too soft to hear. My heart races at the sound. Marie is looking at me, the questions blazing in her eyes. I cannot answer her.

I stand slowly, my feet drag as I walk to the door. I open it trying to still my trembling hand. I cannot raise my eyes, I can feel your eyes on me and they burn. I step back willing you not to speak. I can hear the soft steps you take as you come in. You do not walk further as I close the door. And I cannot move another step. My body stands still as my heart bursts in my chest. Your hand is warm when you touch my cheek and my body betrays me as it has always done and I lean into your caress. I lose the feeling of time and the floor beneath my feet as I feel your fingers tugging a lock of hair away from my face.

I shiver when you gently raise my chin until I look into your eyes. You are intense as always, your eyes blazing. But it is the sheen of wetness in them that breaks my heart. My hands have a will of their own as they touch your face. My heart skips a beat as a tear falls upon my fingers. I cannot stop the tears that I have been holding for hours and a sob racks through me. Your arms come around me fast and hard and I want to wail but only a whimper escapes through my tears. I break down when I feel the heart thudding in your chest and my knees become jelly. I can only hang on to you and you hold me hard against you, your chest heaving. It takes me a moment to realise that the small tremors that run through your body are the sobs that you try to keep inaudible. I don't know what to do, I can only cry harder. If this is another dream, I don't think I will be able to go on breathing when I wake up.

I don't know how much time has passed. I feel drained, empty. Your arms are all that keep me upright. Your hand gently massages the small of my back; your forehead rests on the top of my head. I swallow hard trying to find words but your whisper stops me, "Shh… Don't speak, angel". I nod silently against your chest. You carry me like a babe in your arms and I bury my face in your shirt. The clearing of a throat reminds me that we are not alone and I can feel the stiffness in your arms immediately. I stiffen too but you don't let me go, your arms tightening around me. You turn slowly and I have to turn my head when I feel the growl that starts deep in your throat. Marie's eyes blaze with anger, her mouth is working soundlessly.

For the first time since the guards appeared in the construction site, fear paralyses me. I know our girl, she is headstrong, quick to anger and her tongue can flay you to the quick. Worse, I know you. Anger courses through your veins in lieu of blood. I try to speak but not even a whisper can escape the knot that chokes me. You feel my effort and your arms

tighten even more around me. Would you protect me even from my own daughter? I know you would. I know you will even if it destroys you. I swallow convulsively but finally I manage to push the words from my lips. "Marie, not now please. Tomorrow. I promise, tomorrow", I am begging and I know it. You know it too and you growl your anger, your eyes darkening with fury. I sigh in relief when Marie turns away abruptly.

Now all I have to do is hold you back. My palm finds the centre of your chest; I feel your heartbeat racing beneath my splayed fingers. You don't look down upon me but I can see your curt nod in the shadows cast by the flames. Slowly you turn once more and walk on. As you deposit me on the middle of the bed gently, I look up. There should be words but I can find none. Your eyes search my face even as your fists clench. My body again takes the step my mind refuses to take. My hand opens as my heart wills you to bend this once. I can only watch as the hard lines of your face soften and you sit on the bed carefully.

My hand trembles as I touch your arm, I know I cannot press you, I never should have pressed you in the first place. But I know you know what I am asking. You always could even when rage made you deaf to my words. I can see your pulse fluttering at your throat as you lie down slowly. We lie there for long moments. You looking at the ceiling, your breathing erratic. Me on my side, trembling so hard I think I will never stop. I can hear your soft sigh and it feels like my heart will burst when you turn to me. You do not speak as you put your arms around me gathering me in. I let my head fall on your chest; your breath caresses my hair. I am afraid to close my eyes, afraid that when I open them again in the light of day you will be no more than a fancy brought on by the night's shadows. Your whisper is so soft I almost don't hear it, "Sleep now, angel. Sleep. I'm here". My eyes close of their own accord. I fall asleep listening to your breathing.

*******

I'm afraid to open my eyes. I can feel the warmth of your arms around me and I'm afraid. Are you merely the lingering essence of a dream? I sit, eyes closed, heart thudding in my chest. I have almost convinced myself that none of this is real when your soft caress surprises me. My eyes open involuntarily only to find yours. A small smile plays on your lips and your eyes shine, my lips smile reflexively. You move so fast your mouth swallows my surprised yelp as you kiss me. You burn your mark on me and I return it with every ounce of pain and regret I have suffered all these years. When you move away, I gasp for breath and you bow your head as you gulp in air. My treacherous hands touch your bowed head ruffling hair that shines silver instead of lustrous black. For some reason I cannot fathom, you allow my caress for long moments before you retreat away from me.

I watch you as you shake your head and stand up. My breath hisses in surprise when you offer me your hand. I take it even if I cannot disguise my trembling. What do you want?
I am on my feet at your side but you have not let my hand go. You turn with precision and move on but slowly enough for me to follow your movement with ease. I see where you are headed and my breath catches. They are all still asleep, Tshao on the couch, Marie on the rug in front of the fire, the children on the large bed. You stop at the foot of

the bed and I don't need you to speak to know your question. I whisper the names you crave and my hand is crushed between your fingers.

You hiss in surprise at the end and your eyes drill into me. I bow my head; I cannot answer your unspoken question. You already know the answer or you would not have asked. "Thank you", you whisper leaning towards me. I shrug even as my cheeks flame. I had insisted and neither Tshao nor Sarah dared tell me no even if they could not understand. You move away slowly turning to look at our children. Your face becomes unreadable and I wonder what you are thinking. I open my mouth to speak but you shake your head before I make a sound. I clamp my lips shut immediately, I fear you right now.

You used to love them once but I am certain you did not even recognise them yesterday. Do you see them as you did once or merely as enemies, as leaders of the rebels? You squeeze my hand once, your question leaves me trembling, "Do they treat you well?". I know what you are asking. I can hear the rage bubbling just underneath the surface. I fear your reaction, your anger but I need to find the words, the words that will destroy us both. I become forceful; I turn you towards me abruptly. Anger flashes in your eyes but you do not fight me.

Here we are. Not you and me but the White and the Destroyer. In a way I cannot mind. This drama could play out in no other way. I have what I wanted, what I wished for more years than I want to remember. A night in your arms. My voice deepens, becomes cold, the voice of command that sounds so much like yours, "I led them. They followed the White. Do not dare think I am not who I am". The rage plays in your face and your body stiffens. Laughter bubbles inside of me but I force it down. I do not want to laugh but you have taught me too well. I am used now to laughing my fear away. Even if it does not leave my lips, I can see you hear it. You close your eyes and my breath catches in surprise. I expected your hands around my throat not this. I never thought you would try to control your anger. Why? Why?

When you open your eyes, they shine. You nod at me as if in understanding. What game are you playing? I know you don't understand. You never did. If you did, you would not be who you are and I would not have become who I am. Your words hit me like a fist in the gut, "We will talk about this". Talk about what? I do not understand. You should be angry right now. Angry enough to kill me. But you merely stand, your eyes searching my face. You turn abruptly and I wonder whether this is it. But you merely walk toward Tshao as he sleeps still.

My heart leaps to my throat. I run to you ready to fight. This is your son even if you do not feel him. I will not let you hurt him no matter what. Your whisper stops me in my tracks, my mind takes long moments to process your words, "He seemed weak to me". I look at you trying to fathom your meaning. I spy your hand as it rubs at your throat. Finally I understand. I need to explain but what words will make you understand? Maybe the truth will serve us better. Maybe you will understand the truth. Maybe.

I speak slowly willing you to listen. "He feels guilty. He did not want us to fight". I can

feel your sneer even if I cannot see it. I try again, "He is a good leader. He believes in peace". You motion your disdain, "He could have fought me". I shake my head but I try once more, "His children come first. Especially since Sarah…". I stop just in time. I don't want to antagonise you. Not over this. It is your fault as much as mine but I can bear this burden for both of us. You turn slowly, so slowly that I blink wondering if I am imagining things again.

"What about Sarah?", your whisper takes me by surprise, there is something in your voice I cannot recognise. I cannot stop the sigh from escaping my lips. I had so wished to spare you this. I rush the words out, "Sarah is…was his wife. She died last year". I don't need to tell you where or how. I can spare you that much at least. Your eyes turn unreadable once again and you turn away from me.

I walk slowly until I stand next to you. I want to touch you but I fear you will not accept my touch. So I simply stand next to you. I look at where you are looking. She is a beautiful girl our daughter. I look up at you trying to gauge your reaction. There is a glint in your eyes, the same as yesterday, and finally I recognise it for what it is. I cannot help but smile, words are easier this time, "She is brave and strong. Smart too". A half-smile appears on your lips and you nod at my words. Your touch makes me jump in surprise.

Your grip on my hand is strong, strong enough to bruise. You look down at me and I can feel your eyes. I wish I could stop myself but I can't, I raise my eyes until I can look into yours. As you slowly lean toward me, my heart hammers in my chest. Your kiss is not gentle, your kisses never are. The moan I hear makes me flush, it takes me a moment to realise it's me not you. You step back after that, a familiar glint in your eyes. It does something to me, something I thought I would never feel again. I bow my head; I don't want you to witness the desire in my eyes. Your whisper carries promise, "We'll talk later". I don't look up until I hear the door closing behind you.

*******

The hours pass slowly. Dawn has come and gone. The children have woken and like last night your guards bring us food. I stand in front of the window with Chrissy in my arms. I smile taking in the details. The window is larger than anything I've seen since the world ended and I can recognise Baron's ingenious work.

I can hear them fuming behind me even if they do not speak. They have not uttered a single word this morning. I do not blame them. How could I? I think they would have accepted anything but you. This house of yours has a fine view of the city. I drink in the sight. It looks beautiful in so many ways. Unfinished but beautiful still. The soft knock on the door makes me turn. For a moment I wonder but my heart tells me no. I motion at Marie to open as I turn back to the window and the vista outside. Probably another one of your guards bringing us lunch or something.

The sound of wood against wood makes me turn. Baron is standing tall just inside the door. His uniform of blue and gold contrasting sharply with his ebony skin makes my

hackles rise. I nod at him in greeting and turn back to the window. I do not want to look at him; he is not Baron, merely another one of the Destroyer's cronies. I can hear his steps as he walks to me. His bulk seems threatening as he stands next to me. Long moments pass in silence. His words are hesitant and I wonder why, "Would you like a closer look?". I shake my head negatively, "I've been there already".

I can feel his smile, "Just the lower fields you've seen, Anj. There is more than just the construction". I shift through his words and my hackles rise. I cannot keep the harshness out of my voice, "How long?". He sighs quietly, regret and something unfathomable in his voice, "Ever since you came". My heart feels like ice in my chest but I nod nonetheless. I should have known. His voice is gentle, soothing, "Please, Anj. Just have a look around. You and the kids. I have arranged for the children". My eyes blaze as I turn to him. What games are you playing? You should know better than trying to take me away from the children.

As always Baron tries to convince with his mellow voice, "Come on, Anj. With the children if you want. Just come". He is begging, cajoling; that is the Baron I know. But beneath his words I can hear your voice. Your orders. I nod even if anger chokes me. Baron will not disobey you. Part of me feels betrayed. Another as always finds the good in you. You could have sent your guards, you sent Baron instead.

Tshao looks ready to protest when I turn; a muscle twitches in Marie's jaw. I leave them no choice. My words are short and harsh and once more they do not dare disobey me. The harshness in my voice frightens Chrissy but she quietens down almost immediately. I follow Baron out of the room the others following in our wake. Guards fall around us as soon as we exit the door. Baron tries to put a gentler face on it all but I can recognise chains when I see them.

*******

I keep my eyes closed. Tshao and Marie are arguing in low tones; I can only try to ignore them. Tshao is angry, he feels deceived, betrayed. Marie, so much like you, remains unconvinced. It looks like a ruse to her. A noose in the Destroyer's hand, a noose of silk and velvet but a noose nonetheless. They are both right, they are both wrong. I cannot find the strength to tell them.

The images play on the inside of my eyelids. Who would have believed it? I certainly wouldn't, not if I had not seen it with my own eyes. The books, thousands upon thousands of them, were almost too much to bear. And it was only the beginning. The day replays in my mind and for the thousandth time my breath catches. And over it all the memory haunts me.

I can almost hear my own voice trying to convince them. The dream of a new world built on the burnt out remains of the old. That knowledge not technology was the great legacy of the world that had collapsed around us. I so wanted to convince them, to make them take a chance. You had stood there silent, your support known. Had it been too early back

then? Had it been too late already? I never could figure it out. Your words given in the privacy of the tiny room we shared had made me angry. We had fought once again.

My eyes snap open. Your words come back to me as if you are right here now, "What will hospitals and schools do? Are you so blind? The Marauders are real. You can't build anything if they come to burn it down!". The Marauders. I have not thought of them for years. Back then, they were the stuff of nightmares. We all thought it could not get worse than that. But then we had not yet seen the Raiders, the Lord's Glorious Army, the Soulsearchers.

I stand so quickly the blood leaves my head and I have to fight the dizziness. With drunken steps, I go to the window. I can recognise the buildings now. The two hospitals, one of them with a school for doctors and nurses. The school and the library. Baron says teachers have already been trained and sent out. The grey building of the station where the power of the small river that flows at the edges of the city provides enough electricity for the few salvaged machines. The small building next to it. The school for mechanics. I blink tears from my eyes. A city. A dream city. My dream city.

Tshao's voice intrudes in my thoughts. He is almost shouting now. I can hear the hurt in his voice. The guilt he cannot disguise in his anger. He had never wanted us to fight. He is a diplomat more than anything else our boy. But still he fought the Destroyer with all he could give. The Destroyer that takes no prisoners, that burns and slashes, that conquers without thought or compassion. The Destroyer that builds hospitals and schools, that tries to find a civilisation we all thought lost forever. Marie's voice is ice. Ever the strategist, the soldier, she can see what I know and Tshao simply will never be able to see. Doctors and nurses and teachers, the carrot even as your legions are the stick.

I have to hear my voice to realise I am speaking. I am curt and harsh. I want them to stop. They can only see so much and I am too tired, too drained to tell them any better. The Destroyer's carrot. Your gift to me.

*******

I look at the food in my plate. In another time, another age, I would push it around, make out that I have eaten. In this world, I can't; food has been scarce as long as I remember. The others are eating; they know better than to refuse food. I look at the mash; the children love it. I am not certain I even want to know where you found butter when milk is so scarce.

The knock on the door is soft. They look at it and then at me before continuing with their meal. They think it is the guards again or maybe Baron, I know better. I stand slowly, my knees tremble as I come to answer your knock. I open the door and keep my head down. I am not certain I even want to see you right now. You do not come in even when I step away from the door. Finally I raise my head, I know your games. My eyes narrow as I take you in. You look resplendent in blue and gold. Every inch the Destroyer. The hilt of a sword peaks from behind your shoulder and I gape at the pistol in your belt. I wonder if

it works still or is merely a trapping. I laugh at myself silently. Knowing you, it works to perfection.

Still you do not move although your eyes burn holes in me. I capitulate to your unspoken wish. Part of me does not want me to. But I know better. "Come in", I whisper. You nod your thanks and step in, your boots loud on the wooden floor. Every eye is on you and I can see you stiffen. I am not certain what to do. "Have you eaten yet?", I ask quietly. Your negative nod is curt. Are you nervous? No, of course you are not. You wouldn't know what nervous means. I walk to the table putting my seat out for you. You follow slowly and sit carefully. I take the seat next to you. It has been left empty, I think the others did not really notice but I knew the moment your guards put the table together.

Marie's eyes shoot daggers at you. Tshao is looking at his half-empty plate. The children are looking at you, wonder in their faces. Your eyes rake over all of them, your face a sculpture made of flesh and blood. Finally you take up the fork. I watch, my heart leaping to my throat, as you carefully make portions of the food on your plate. You eat slowly, deliberately. Everyone is watching but you seem unconcerned. You finish quickly.

You do not look at anyone but me as you move slowly putting the plate in front of me. I swallow, my throat dry, my eyes never leaving your face. I do not move and your eyes narrow. I take the fork, my hand trembles as I bring a morsel of food to my mouth. Your hand on my knee makes me shiver; your caress is soft. My heart thuds but my stomach settles a bit. I start eating slowly as you watch me. I know what you are doing but still it affects me.

How many times have we shared our meals exactly like that? I don't need to look to know you have left more than you have eaten. You always did, even if it makes no sense, you are bigger than me. When I finish the plate is clean and a half-smile plays on your lips. You squeeze my knee once. As you turn to the others, the smile leaves your face. You stand abruptly. Your boots thud on the floor as you walk away to stand in front of the window.

*******

I watch you silently as you look at the lights of the city. You have stood there immobile for so long. The guards have come in, cleared the table, taken the leftovers away. You stood there immobile as Tshao put the children to sleep. In the other room, the one we had not dared use last night. You stand there still. I am sure you can feel the tension behind you. Marie's eyes are so dark to be almost black and Tshao is sitting with his eyes closed, his laboured breathing sounds harsh in the silence.

As I come to stand beside you, I will you to turn, to look at me. But you don't. Your eyes do not leave the city's lights. I stand beside you feeling the heat coming off you. I want to touch you but I fear your rebuff. Your voice comes as a surprise, it is almost too low to be heard by anyone than me. "Open the door. There is someone you would like to see". There has been no knock, so whoever it is must have been waiting for a good long time

outside. I wonder who it could be. Many left when you left. Only some came back. The others followed you, as you became the Destroyer. Old friends, old enemies. I don't acknowledge you as I leave your side.

I open the door willing my face to stillness. I had prepared myself for any face but the one I see. I cannot stop the gasp that escapes my lips. I take a step back holding on the door to keep from falling. As she comes in, I blink thinking I am imagining things again. Marie's gasp echoes mine but Tshao makes no sound. His eyes are wide, his mouth working soundlessly. It is like a dance as they meet. I turn away trying to hide the tears in my eyes. The happiness, the wonder in Tshao's face is almost too much to bear. I look at you; you still have not turned. I walk slowly to your side trying to find words. A myriad questions churn in my mind but I can ask none of them. I merely take your hand in mine. I need to feel you right now. You don't deny my touch, gripping my hand tightly.

*******

We are alone for the first time in more time than I can remember. Tshao did not even speak when you ordered them both out of the room. I think my heart stopped beating when Sarah saluted you like your guards salute you. Only then did I take in her blue and gold uniform. Tshao has not yet noticed I am certain. There are questions for you to answer but now is not the time. Marie was not that easy but who would dare the ice in your eyes. I am afraid for her in a way. I don't want her to be alone. I know you have guards stationed with her but it makes me fear even more. They are protectors but they are jailers too. I know what Marie will see when she feels them around her.

Your words pull me out of my thoughts, "She'll be fine. Between them Nono and Liz can take care of anything". There is something in your tone that scares me. The question must be clear on my face because you chuckle immediately and nod at me. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Just like you to arrange something like this. So unlike you to not get your hackles up at the thought of anyone sleeping with your daughter. I sigh in resignation.

We need to talk but as I study your face, I can see the tiredness in your eyes. It is late already. Still I can't stop, sitting in a limbo has never been my thing. "What now?", I whisper gaining your attention once more. Your eyes shine in the half-light of the fire. The voice that answers me I have not heard for more years than I can count. I can count the times you have spoken to me in this voice; they are that few. That day as the world collapsed around us. The first time we saw our little valley. The dawn after the children were born. The day you left. This voice I crave. This voice I dread.

It takes me long moments to comprehend your words and it feels like my heart will simply stop beating. I don't know why but you think that I have not heard and you repeat yourself slowly, "I was thinking. Maybe you'd want to stay here. You…and the kids". I finally manage to look at you. What I see makes me blink. I cannot be seeing what my eyes show me. You are waiting for me and I can see the sheen of sweat on your face. For the first time in my life, I see you nervous. You fidget, you never fidget but you are

fidgeting now, playing with the buttons of your jacket. What can I tell you? What are you asking? The question leaves my lips before I can stop it, "Why?". You don't look at me for a moment and I feel ice in my heart. Have you been playing with me?

The thought comes into my mind and I shatter. Has your father's legacy caught up with you now? I want to die. I blurt it out without thought. What else can I do? "Is it your heart?". You look at me finally and there are flames in your eyes. You bite your words off, anger chilling your voice, "Must I be dying to want my family with me?". Your anger soothes me. I know your anger. The fire that burns in you. Still your words stun me. Why this elaborate rouse if all you wanted was this? Why send us a request we could not accept? Why now, after all these years? Why? Why?

It is not until I hear your words that I realise that I have spoken aloud. Your anger is such that it makes me tremble. The only thing that keeps me breathing is that it's not with me. "The bastard that sent you that idiotic order rotted away a year ago. Too many knew of your answer. I couldn't back down. The borders are secure but there is too much resentment. There is no place for weakness among the ruins, angel". I look at you wonder on my face. You are explaining to me. These are not empty words; I can see the glint of truth in your eyes. I can only nod at your words. You know I can't agree with you. But I can't deny your reasons either.

It surprises you my acquiescence and you search my face with narrowed eyes. How can I explain to you the years? It has been so long since you left. I have grown, my love. You were not there to shield me from the hard decisions. I could not be the light to your darkness any more. They call me the White, none would think of calling me Angel any more. I take your hand in mine feeling your warmth. We both have grown. In our separate ways. Who would have thought I would be leading soldiers into battle? Who would have thought you would be building hospitals and schools? I learnt to cry only at night and show a face of ice to the world. You learnt to control your anger and say the words you mean not merely those you want others to hear.

I can only sigh. Again words desert me. I know you better now than I did then. Words never left me then. Now I know what it is like to not find the words. I act as you would act now. I lean into you trying to tell you with my body what my lips cannot express. Your arm comes around my shoulders drawing me in. Your kiss on my bowed head is so soft I almost don't feel it. I breathe deep taking your scent in. We still need to talk but I can't find it in me to speak now. There are things you need to know. There are things I need to hear from you. A waste of time. A waste of breath truly. But necessary still.

We need to talk. You and me. The Destroyer and the White. But for now I can give you my decision. I don't want to think about it. I am too old, too hurt, too tired to think about it. For once I will let my heart speak for me and let the world go to hell. Inside of me laughter bubbles, bitter and scorching. The world has already gone to hell and we live in it. "I'll stay. I don't know about the kids". Your arms tighten around me. Your whisper is the voice of the cloudless night, "Thank you".

*******

I stand against the window listening to your words. Your voice is even, cold, businesslike. You outline your plan with clear, concise words. They are listening to you silently. We are all listening to you. Tshao sits on the couch, his hand never leaving Sarah. Marie stands in front of the fireplace, leaning against the rough bricks. My eyes find Baron as he stands next to the door. You finish as you started with a look around the room. You lean back, arrogance exudes out of you. My eyes rake over you and I know what they cannot see. Your heartbeat betrays you as it pulses on the veins of your neck. You really want this. And what you want, you get. You are waiting for their answer but I know you, you won't wait for long. Or will you? Have you changed that much?

Tshao clears his throat but does not speak. He is thinking it over but I think I know his decision. I think you know it too. You could always read people well. The problem stands in front of the fireplace. I look at Marie and I fear. Her anger burns hot still. There are answers she wants. And by your speech I know you have no desire to give them. Marie's voice is cold, "Why should we trust you?". I see you stiffen imperceptibly and I can barely contain my wince. You breathe deep and once more, you surprise me as you try to contain your anger.

Your voice has no expression, "Why should you trust me? Why should I trust you? There are no givens in this life. I'm taking a chance with your brother and you. You are taking a chance with me". I expected orders or derision. Some underhanded threat. Not this. Surely not this.

Marie is opening her mouth to speak but you don't let her. Your hand rises in unspoken command and then you continue, your voice a thin sliver of ice. "You did well with your little company of bandits. You can go back there if you wish. It'll take you a bit of time to get back into the game. Eventually you'll do me some damage. And then my legions will come once again. And they will hunt you down and destroy you. No requests this time. No mistakes. In a couple of years we will be standing like this again but then all I will offer you is death. Or you can take me up on this offer. In a couple of years we will be standing like this again but instead of a noose, I'll be offering you a district. Your choice". Your words wash over me. I can't breathe. This cannot be true. It cannot be true.

I step forward without thought. My eyes are looking desperately for the denial that I need. It cannot be true. There must be some mistake. My daughter's eyes slid over my own falling to the ground. It is true. It is true. How did you know? How did I not even suspect? I catch Baron's eye as my eyes look for a way out and he nods, sadness etched on his face. The rustle of cloth and iron as you stand drags my attention back to you. Your steps are slow, deliberate as you walk to the fireplace. Marie is not looking at you, her gaze is fixed on some unimaginable point. How many times have I seen her exactly like this in the last year? I have wondered again and again what she is seeing. Now I know. She is seeing carnage and battle. The frozen expression on her face is not sadness but guilt. How could I not see it? How could I let this happen?

The room is still and your low words carry. Your voice holds a harshness that makes my heart clench. What you are saying is important in some way I cannot understand. I can hear the pain in your voice. "They were deserters. They were caught on the other side of Nought's Luck. They were dealt with. Accordingly. So were the idiots that let them through Three Bridges". You stop and I can read the hesitation in the bunching of your shoulders. Something plucks at my thoughts and I know I am missing something. Something important.

Marie tosses her head. Her eyes flash with anger as she looks at you, defiant. Her words drip with venom. "Don't you dare". You stiffen and my mind shrieks in fear. You surprise me again when you take a slow step backwards. The tiny inclination of your head makes me gasp. I have never seen you retreat before and it rocks my being. Your words are low. I am surprised you are even making the effort. "I wouldn't. What blame is to cast is mine. But bandits on the road won't bring me down. You'll need legions for that".

The challenge in your voice is clear. I shiver. I can hear the odd tone underneath your arrogance. Despair. Resignation. Our daughter's eyes look at you smouldering. Her nod is curt, one enemy to another. You nod back. The deal is made and I want to scream. What are you doing? I want to trust you. That you know best in this. But I can't. I fear for you too much.

You turn your back to Marie and I shiver. Power exudes from your very being but as I search your face, I see sadness. You walk towards the door and Baron. He straightens immediately, a barely suppressed twitch of his lips tells me he knows more than I. Tshao's question stops you. "Who are you?". You turn slowly, so slowly. You do not look at him, your eyes are on me and for once they don't burn. The question is clear on your face. My decision is made in a split second. I don't have time to think about it. I don't want time to think about it. I step towards you and immediately you shake your head. I don't miss the flash of relief that transforms your face. I want to laugh. I ignore your silent order and walk to your side.

The widening of your eyes is too slight for anyone but me to notice. I stand beside you. As I open my mouth to speak your curt gesture stops me. All eyes are on us. Let me take this burden, it is mine after all. I can bear it; I have born it all these years. I plead you with my eyes. But you don't let me take this fall. Deep inside I think I knew you wouldn't. "Once they called me Fire".

Tshao's breath hisses in surprise. Sarah is on her feet, her eyes wide, incredulity written on her beautiful face. Marie is stepping back as if hit. Tears glisten in Baron's eyes. They know you now. They have spent their lives listening about you. Not from me. Never from me.

You are a legend still in the valleys. How could you not be? Our children have grown up listening about you. Along with the memory of the world that was once, they have known your legend. Your journey through the ruins of a world gone mad. The journey that gave you your name and spread the seeds of your fame. The journey that made people call you

a hero. A dark hero, a hero of blood, a hero of the broken, the mad, the lost. A hero of our world, this new world, a broken world, a mad world, a lost world.

They know about the dawn that you stood on the rise atop Nought's Luck and saw the valleys for the first time. They know how you stood there and saw a chance, a chance for a haven. They know how you started building that haven with your own bare hands. You could have gone on. You could have done what so many others had done. You could have become another warlord, another warmonger among the many. But you didn't.

They know the haven you built was a tiny place. They know how others came to that haven. Some came to be saved. You welcomed them with no question. Others came to destroy. Those you destroyed with no hesitation, no compunction, no mercy. They have heard all about the Marauders. How in fear everyone bowed down to terror. How you alone stood your ground and started a war. A war you won. A victory that proved that the valleys were a true haven.

And they know too how when the Raiders poured through the eastern passes, you left. You left alone but others followed. And you stood at the passes and the Raiders fell back, defeated. They know that you never came back. They believe that somewhere on the icy passes you lie still, another body among the many.

There are so many things they don't know. So many things they don't even suspect. I have never spoken of you in all these years. My silence was never questioned. They think they know why. It is part of your legend. The legend of Fire. Angel's Fire. They think I have mourned you all these years. And now they know. There is no body frozen still in the passes. Fire died in the Eastern Passes. In the same passes that the Destroyer was born. The Destroyer that pursued the Raiders deep into their own territory. That conquered them. That destroyed them. The Destroyer. You.

Your eyes have never left me. You don't look at them. You look at me with the same eyes that looked at me so long ago. They are cold, cold as ice. But there is the same tiny glint in them, the glint of fear. I turned my back to you then thinking you would try. Thinking you would stay. Stay with me and our children. Your footsteps as you turned and left echo still in my memory. Left to fight. Fight for me and our children. I know what you fear. You fear I will turn from you once again. But I have grown, my love. I have grown. I am no angel anymore. I have fallen. I don't let my eyes leave yours as I step forward. Long seconds pass before you breathe and I take the tiny step that will bring me to touch you. Your arms come to hold me and I relax into your embrace.

I feel you leaning down until I can feel your breath on my face. You whisper my name and I can feel your lips moving against my skin. I raise my head in sudden trepidation, I need to see you. All of you. My eyes search frantically without thought the harsh planes of your face. The weather-beaten cheeks. The full mouth. The scars that mar your beautiful face. Your eyes, the colour of the summer sky. You look at me and I can feel you stiffen. You are here. I can see you. All of you. All your names are written on your face. In another world, a world long gone, they called you Player. Half admiration half

envy. You had an edge, something that brought forth both fear and lust. You still have it. I can feel it in my speeding heart and the weakness that assaults my knees.

But we were naïve then. Our world was a small world, a world of peace and small concerns. Your Player's edge is still here but it's tempered in ways none would have ever imagined. I can see the fire in you. The burning anger. Your mind teetering at the edges of destruction. They called you Fire those that we met on the long road. The world burned around us and your eyes reflected the flames. Even when the flames petered out and the smoke cleared to reveal a changed earth, the fire never left your eyes. It still burns as you look at me.

Now they call you by another name. They call you the Destroyer. There is a harshness in you now that had not been there before. There are shadows in your eyes. Hard decisions darken your soul and your will closes like an iron fist over the territories.

I see you, all of you. And beneath the faces of the names of others, I see you. It is still there. That you have always hidden from the eyes of others. Carefully I put my arms around your waist. You stiffen for a moment and then relax. Your head bows till your forehead touches me. You are still here. Bedraggled and shy. Hiding behind the faces you show to the world. Blue eyes the colour of darkened seas peak behind broad shoulders. I bury my face in your chest. Finally I am home. And so are you. I breathe your name; no one will hear me but you. "Christine".

The end

*******

Tales of the Kirgeur


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Ancient legend tells that ten or eleven generations ago, our families faced extinction. Slavers to our north and conquerors to the west almost caused our destruction. We fled as a people from our homeland. Our city and civilization burned to rubble. The fortunate few who survived took only what little they could carry. All else was lost to the ravages of war and the winds of time.

The priest and shamans searched diligently and desperately for a way to salvage our tribe. The gods responded in ways none could have predicted. The new Decrees were set down and made universal. No questions were asked. Questions and complaints would have driven the favor of the gods from us. We depended on them then, as we depend on them now, for our survival.

We shall not be overtaken.

The First Decree of the Refugees as it became termed assured our forefathers that the land does not make the people and that the gods would provide for our continued prosperity. For two seasons what remained of our tribe wandered the orb in search of a place to call our own. Weary with travel, their scouts finally reported a large area; leagues of land clear of occupants. It was mostly flat save for a few rises of earth twice again as tall as the largest of our houses to break the horizon. We irrigated, built homes, farms, schools, and defenses and made it ours. The First Decree was a success. We flourished and soon grew again to our former numbers. Our culture was changed, but we adapted. We had no choice.

We shall not be overtaken.

The Second Decree brought forth a measure of protection. No longer would the gods allow us to isolate ourselves from our neighbors and hide behind battlements, nor did they wish us to shelter all together. Armies were formed, treaties were signed and families were splintered. What was one tribe, one city, became a nation of villages. Settlements were built leagues from one another. We became a nation instead of a city, traders, breeders and merchants as well as farmers. A nation of targets divided armies. Divided armies could be easily defeated. Strong neighbors under peace treaties made us less targets, and more of a force to be reckoned with. So went the reasoning of the priest who delivered the Second Decree.

We shall not be overtaken.

The Third and final Decree was met with a measure of resistance. Solisiric, in her infinite wisdom, challenged tradition by declaring maidens could bear steel. That ancient council, despite her promised wrath, tempered this decree. From that time, all children were taught the sword at an early age. The men of our tribe already played at war, but Solisiric demanded all of her people to defend themselves. Girls now learn the art of steel with their brothers and cousins. It is the choice of the girl's father as to her future, which has not changed; however, the options are more than a suitable husband. The fortunate few are allowed to become kirgeurs.

At the age of seven, all children learn the simpler arts of war with their other schooling. At the age of twelve, the male children are apprenticed, schooled as soldiers, or granted land from their fathers to be held in trust. Female children receive either steel or silk for the twelfth anniversary of their first breath. Very few receive steel.

We shall not be overtaken.

It surprised none who knew me that my father, proud of his oldest daughter and my mother's eldest child, gifted me with steel that day. Like my mother and grandmother before me, I was destined to be a kirgeur, a female warrior and instructor. It was a decision I gladly embraced. Only kirgeurs had rank equal to our men. Only kirgeurs, regardless of their cloth, could inherit or own land. Solisiric desired her warriors to depend on her and themselves only. The kirgeurs were accepted, but young girls were not encouraged to add to our ranks despite the Third Decree.

Since the inception of a new class, kirgeurs have fought along side the male soldiers. Often the best would lead small armies or raids, but most stayed shoulder to shoulder with their fathers, brothers, and sons. Sex no longer had meaning on the field of war. Like the winged beast of fire they were named for, the first kirgeurs were violently victorious. Their brilliance at battle outshone their gender. They were accepted as equals, but still girls were not encouraged to join those honored ranks. Those first few blazed a trail for others behind them. Without them, we would be but a page in history.

We shall not be overtaken.

On the eve of my fourteenth year, I was sent to study with Kayla, my mother's sister. It is the way of the kirgeurs to learn one from another. It is the way of our people to learn at the feet of our elders and hold that knowledge in trust for those who come after. It is the way we survive.

For five long summers and five longer winters, I learned the art of my calling at Kayla's school. My mother's sister was an enlightened kirgeur. She could read and write in more than just the tongue of our tribe. She taught me all of the languages she knew. She could dance with boneless beauty, compose the most eloquent of speeches, and discuss several forms of philosophical thought. Those lessons were hammered into me. I was taught art, poetry, literature, music, the history of all the surrounding peoples and combat with and without weaponry. I excelled at combat.

We shall not be overtaken.

As I grew older, the lessons grew harder. Once a language was learned so well I spoke it in the realm of dreams, I was taught another. Lest I or one of the other girls forget the previous, we spoke them all. Our native tongue was spoken only in the village. We were rarely allowed in the village.

I learned the ways of the sword, the bow, the daggers, the horse and the fist. I had learned the art of training and riding horses from my kin, but it was not for war. These lessons were all for combat. We were taught more domestic things, healing, sewing for patching armor and repairing leather, tanning leather to make armor, and the art of cooking for survival. Most of us would never survive for long on our cooking skills. Regardless, we were taught to hunt, to track, to cleanse and to prepare whatever beast had fallen to our skills. Nothing was ever wasted.

We were in turn ambushed singly or in groups. This was to drive home our lessons in weaponry. I was attacked several times by Kayla, Chelstea, and the other instructors in groups or not. With varying but growing degrees of skill I literally survived each encounter. Sometimes I was "killed" quickly in the attack, dying with various levels of humor and humility. Those times were bad, but the times I "lived" were worse. Lessons would be harder lest I grew complacent. It was a hard school but fair.

Like most kirgeurs, I learned an instrument. Unlike most instructors, Kayla made us learn several. She was a thorough taskmaster. As a result, we were taught the art of passion, in spite of our personal desires. A good kirgeur was taught that a battle could be won on any front. A bedroom assault posed as a lover was just as effective as a well-placed arrow on the field of war. That was the hardest lesson I learned.

We shall not be overtaken.

It was on the third anniversary of my arrival at the school when I learned the true art of passion. Kayla had one of the village "girls" teach those of us old enough to learn and with the desire to do so. It was a lesson I enjoyed. It was one I excelled at, for I practiced the art whenever I had the opportunity to do so. My mother's sister found this amusing. Traditionally, most kirgeurs are cylinge, they prefer their own as the best shamans often do. In this I was no different. It was already well known that I would never marry before I left the village. It was part of my father's reasoning when he gifted me with steel. Outside the circle of kirgeurs or shamans, life is not easy for the cylingic members of our tribe.

Others at the school shared my preferences. We were divided by skill, not age. I took several classes in history, language and literature with girls near my years. I took weaponry and other lessons of war with those who had been there longer than I. We were only allowed to leave when we were proficient enough to please all of our instructors in all our tasks. Only then were we tested and given our brand and our colored cloth. Red was reserved for the healer, blue for the huntress, green for the priestess, black for the assassin, and white for the scholar. All are warriors, but blue is awarded to most. I was gifted with the rare black tunic and the honor of being the second in my family to wear it. Kayla was the first. It was a high honor with a heavy responsibility. No kirgeur balks at duty.

We shall not be overtaken.

I was allowed to return home five years after I had arrived. Those who started with me were required to stay at the most another two seasons. In truth, my last two seasons there had been spent teaching younger girls the art of the sword. That was my last time to see most of them. I learned more that summer and winter than I had in my other years there. It is not easy to teach.

I returned home older in years, wiser in theory and practiced in mock battles. I returned to my village welcomed and missed to find that life had not changed though my friends and family had. My father's first wife had moved her mother into the room I shared with my sisters. My youngest sister, a babe when I had left, was eager to follow my example. She had just started her training with the sword. The sister under me in years was beginning her betrothal. My eldest brother was married and had babes of his own. My childhood friend and companion was betrothed to another of my brothers. I was sickened at the thought of my brother's fortune and her betrayal.

For days after my return, I showed off my mark, the permanent reminder of my status in life. The great kirgeur holding the sun burned into my arm was exactly as my mother's had been. It was an emblem that was hard to miss in battle clothes. I was immensely proud of it. To keep my true calling hidden as required, I wore the common blue of the kirgeur huntress. Those granted the black are forbidden to tell of it until needed. Regardless of the color of my tunic, I was respected as a trained warrior. Only my mother knew my true calling, as she knew of her sister's also. She was proud but apprehensive. However, she encouraged my continued practice and training.

We shall not be overtaken.

Sadly, all life does not stay theoretical. Shortly after my return, I was asked to join the war council. It was a great honor. Kayla had reported my progress favorably. My father was proud of me though I was untested. I was shortly about to get real experience. This is that story.

We shall not be overtaken.

A season after I received my brand, we had word that slavers were in the area. The council decided to meet them in open combat. We had the advantage in that we knew the area. Our outriders had informed us that the slaver army was amassing not far from the outlying territories we claimed for our own. We rode out at dawn to meet them.

I knelt down in the dusty sand. The scorching wind was blowing it in our faces, and all of us wanted nothing more than an inch of shade. Sweat and dirt was running down my leather brigand, my pants were sticking to places unknown. Even my boots felt heavy with more than leather. The sword at my side felt like stone, weighing me down more than my heart. My stomach felt as if I had eaten rocks at the morning meal.

The sun was boiling us where we stood or sat. The oldsters kept gazing around looking for the enemy, while those of us uninitiated soldiers tried to make light of our nervousness. Even the horses had picked up on the general air of anxiety surrounding us.

After rubbing sand in my palms, I hastened to reassure my horse. Today would be her first battle as well. I kept wondering if I would ever see my home again, my family, my mother and sisters. My father and eldest brothers were already here. They were keeping watch on the small rise behind me.

I offered my thoughts in prayer. I prayed to every god I knew. I double-checked my equipment, making sure all was securely tied. I did light sword exercises to loosen my wrist and help calm the anxiety I was feeling. I triple checked the fastenings on my saddle, making sure I would not fall off easily if the beast panicked.

"It is time." My father laid his hand on my shoulder. "Prepare for the attack. Good luck, my child."

"My gratitude, father." I bowed my head in a gesture of respect.

"May the gods bless your steel, Tor." He gave me the traditional blessing of warriors.

"And yours, father." I watched him turn and mount his horse. He looked regal in the bright sun.

I mounted my own steed. She was a gift from my father several seasons ago. A messenger had brought her to me while I was studying at Kayla's school. We had trained for four seasons together. The motions I made were familiar, and calmed both our nerves. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend this was another lesson. I chanted our motto to myself to ease the transition from untried youngster to fully-fledged kirgeur.

We shall not be overtaken.

The slaver army advanced and we were there to meet them. They greatly out numbered us, but we held firm. The ringing of steel and the smell of blood and sweat filled the air. As the lines met and clashed, I lost my anxiety. I lost everything but what Kayla called the battle sense. The innate instinct to kill and avoid death flooded my veins. I was an observer inside my own skin. My body reacted without conscious direction. My horse and I were one as we cut a path through the enemy.

I saw my eldest brother fall from his horse, but did not stop to check on him. A slaver was heading toward me. He met his death quickly at my sword. His body landed at my horse's hooves as his head landed on his commander. It was a gruesome death, but almost painless. Perhaps it was more than he deserved, perhaps less. I had no time to contemplate it.

I lost track of everyone as I let the battle sense consume me. I could not distinguish the beating of my heart from the beating of my horse's hooves. The enemy met and fell beneath my sword. I ran out of victims before I ran out of energy.

I heard a horn sound in the distance. The remaining slavers broke off battle and headed back the way they came. I was relieved to see that only a small fraction of them were left to retreat. The field was ours.

My father's horn called us back to the hill. There were fewer of us by far than when we started that morning. I recognized several men I knew laying on the ground. One of them was my brother, Luiciak. His betrothed would be heartbroken, but I could not find it in myself to grieve at the moment. There were wounded to attend to.

With a quiet sense of victory, we used blankets and saplings as stretchers. The shaman who had come with us saved a few from Necimius's arms that afternoon. One of those was my eldest brother, Jaridic. His wife would be pleased. Life is hard on widows.

We carried our dead and our wounded back to the village. We were unprepared for what awaited us. Our village lay in smoking ruins.

We had been overtaken.

The survivors, those few who were coherent, told us of the double-edged attack. While we were fighting what we thought was the army, another army of the slavers had attacked the village. They had chosen their prey with care. Missing were the girls of an age for training, unmarried women of the attractive look, and those who could fetch a handsome price.

The slavers had ridden through the village, setting fire to all in their path. Men, women and mere babes were slashed by swords or shoved aside by horses. Several women and girls were herded into wagons like horses into a paddock. Archers rained arrows of fire upon the village. The guards had not a chance to assemble before it was over. There had been no escape available.

Those who we had left as guards were killed. The priest and shamans who had remained behind were wounded. We lost several wounded amidst the ruins of burnt out houses. Among the missing were Luiciak's betrothed, Kierian, three of my sisters and several cousins. We almost lost my father when he was able to see the husk of our house. We found my mother's remains. She had died trying to rally the villagers against the slavers. It was an honorable death for a true kirgeur. The thought did not appease the grief I had no time to feel.

My heart was too sore to grieve had I the time. All I could let myself feel was righteous anger. There were not many of us left in a condition to follow. The slavers had been thorough in the execution of their plan. It was a sickening sight. The energy the battle sense provided was near to exhausted. All were ready to fall where we stood. There was no time for such a luxury.

Fully one fourth of our village had been taken. Half of it was wounded, and another quarter was dead. All told, only four of us were untouched by the slightest wound. I was the least affected. I had no wife or children to grieve, though the loss of my mother, friends and sisters tore at my heart. My father was too heart sore to do more than rail at the gods. Several people joined him.

We tended to our wounded and put out what fires we could. The wreckage awed me. We would be seasons recovering from this without outside help. One of the mildly wounded young men was sent to the nearest village for aid. I was doubtful of the outcome. None would arrive in time to find the slavers and rescue our missing.

Regardless of my doubts and ideas, I lent a hand to whatever task needed it. I helped the fire brigade, mixed potions for the shamans and helped set up temporary shelters. By dusk, I had tired myself so greatly I almost fell asleep midstride. I pulled my bedroll from my saddle and walked the path of dreams beneath the stars.

At the school, we had been trained to rise before dawn. The lesson was so ingrained that I was awake an hour or more before sunrise. Quietly, I found my saddlebags. They were still packed. Another habit Kayla had burned into our minds was to always keep fully packed saddlebags at the ready.

I double-checked the contents. I was lacking food and water, but all else was in readiness. I did not wish to take food from the village. Too much had already been lost, so I made sure I had coinage. Silver was welcomed anywhere. Water could be gathered at the stream in any container I could find. It was, of course, more important than food at the time.

I took two other things before I left the village that morning. The first was my mother's sword. It had been handed down to her from her grandmother. Solisiric herself was said to have blessed it. The second thing I took was my mother's amulet, a hard lump of clay in the image of her chosen goddess. It had been promised to me long ago, and I felt anything that might help my cause would be good to carry.

I dressed that morning in the outfit of the kirgeur. I chose the outfit I had worn at school instead of the finer one my mother had commissioned for me. The black pants, black tunic, bracers and muslin shirt were universally recognized. It was the half sleeved shirt's color that differentiated the skill of the kirgeur. I wore blue for the huntress, instead of the black one in my saddlebags. The sleeves stopped inches before the bracers to show off the mark of the kirgeur.

I left a note for my father and his first wife. It felt strange to write in my own tongue, the words seemed misshapen and unwieldy. Fortunately, my father was highly literate. The note told him all he would need to know. I had gone to track down my sisters.

I saddled my horse and rode out of the village. After making a stop at the stream, I began to track my prey. I followed their trail through the morning, stopping only to rest my horse at midday. I took the opportunity to gather those plants I knew were edible. Those I did not eat were put in my saddlebags for later use.

It was late afternoon when I realized the tracks I had been following split into two groups. I followed the longer but less laden trail. I had no way of knowing how the slavers had divided their goods, but I reasoned the younger girls would be in the train I was following. There was always a call for young girls in the east, and that is where the tracks led.

I followed them at a distance not even their outriders would mark. I was holding to the theory that they would not expect someone after them so soon. Their decimation of our village had been too great. I was planning on using their confidence to my advantage.

At sundown, I stopped my horse and set up a cold camp. It was still too warm for a fire, and I had nothing to cook. I settled on eating the plants I had gathered earlier raw, and let my horse browse for her dinner. The area we were in offered plenty of opportunity for us both.

Knowing the slavers would be most vulnerable when the moon was at its highest, I rested. I fell into a light sleep after making the horse my one and only guard. She would warn me of any danger. She was as battle trained as I.

I woke when a hand touched my shoulder. I had my sword drawn and was on my feet before I was able to ascertain I was in no jeopardy. The horse would have warned me otherwise. She would only allow those she knew to approach me as I walked in dreams.

"Peace, Tor. We are here to help." Chelstea spoke in hushed tones. The night was too still for loud voices.

"What brings you here?" I asked. It was something out of a tale, rescuers for the rescuer.

"We were in the village your boy was sent to for help." She told me. All throughout our training, we had visited various villages. It kept us aware of whom we were to help. Each season Kayla had chosen a different one to assist. I did not think they could have been so close.

"Where is Kayla?" I asked. My mother's sister was nowhere in sight.

"My shehala is tending to the wounded of your village. Her heart is sore at the death of your mother." Chelstea said. Her tone held no recriminations. "We few are here to help. The younger girls with us remained to help the villagers."

"Gladdened am I to see you." I spoke the truth. "The slavers are a league away. They splintered into two groups this afternoon, and I chose to follow this one. I am hoping my sisters are there."

"You show the strength of your training, little sister." Chelstea let her pride show through. "We must now get closer and see what we can do to put this right."

Chelstea set two of the students as guard. They were to protect the camp and go for help if needed. It was a procedure we hoped we would not be required to use. The other four of us, Chelstea, Mir, Sal and I were to be the attackers.

The brush was plentiful but not completely covering. We alternately crouched, slithered and ducked behind what we could find. Three sentries were posted. We were able to silence them all. The more fools them for not believing someone would follow.

We were able to ascertain that the younger girls were in wagons. They were caged in like animals. It raised all our angers to a killing pitch.

We chose a site a little above the encampment. We took turns firing arrows into the rows of sleeping rolls. When the slavers were awakened and organizing themselves to fight back, Chelstea and I left the other two and crept into the encampment.

The arrows kept them confused. That was our advantage. All we had to do was avoid being marked by our own surprise. We managed easily. The slavers were not so fortunate. By the time we were through, there were not many of them left.

Chelstea tied up the survivors as I searched the fallen for keys. The girls were in various states of shock and hysterics. I could not find it in myself to blame them. None of us could.

We piled all the useable items into the area by the fire before we let the girls out of the wagons. We wanted them to calm down a bit; they might have hurt themselves otherwise. Mir and Sal climbed down to assist. The four of us let the girls free and corralled them into groups by the fire. I had not realized just how many female children our village contained until I waded through the throng looking for my sisters.

"Tor." I heard a small voice cry into the darkness right before I felt tiny legs wrap themselves around my waist. "They killed mama."

"I know, El, I know. Are you hurt?" My baby sister was sobbing into my shoulder. I felt her shake her head in negation.

I tried to set her down so I could ascertain if she had been harmed in anyway. Her thin arms were like steel, and as a slippery as a reptile, she avoided my attempts. I held her close as I searched among the others for the rest of my family.

"They are unharmed, physically." Chelstea informed me as she tried to remove El's arms from my neck. El screamed and held me tighter.

"She will be fine, give her a few moments." I informed my instructor. "What are we going to do about the others?" I nodded in the slavers direction. They were still threatening us under their breaths.

"Find out where the others were going, then offer them to Necimius." A kirgeur is often ruthless. Chelstea was no different. "We need to cleanse some of this and feed the girls. We shall stay close by here tonight."

"El, you have to get down. We need to find the others and get you some food." I reasoned with my sister. She slowly released me and slid to the ground. "Stay close though."

She was my shadow as I shifted through the other village children. I managed to locate another sister and four cousins. Kierian, one of my sisters, two of my cousins and several of the older villagers were still missing. They must have been with the other group of slavers.

Mir had retraced our steps to bring the horses and the other two students. They helped us calm the girls. After we got them sorted into a coherent group, we put them to work going through the supplies and making dinner. These slavers were picky eaters; they apparently liked having their comfort foods close at hand. As a result, the village girls were able to put a decent meal together.

As they were looking for the makings of a meal, we questioned the remaining slavers. We were told that they had split into three groups. The women were in one, and several girls were in the other. I had a suspicion that Kierian, my sister and my cousins were in the second group. They were to be presents to the Jilhsaed and his court.

We had every reason to believe the slavers. They were a cowardly lot and believed we would let them live in exchange for information. They believed wrong. The students who had been left at our camp made their first kills that night. There were twenty slavers and six of us. It was over right after it began.

We dragged the bodies of the slavers away from the camp. We burned them as an offering to Necimius. We hoped the god of earth and hell was pleased with our offerings. We stood a better chance of rescuing the others if he were pleased.

That job done, we made the camp ours. We ate then laid down for sleep. We could not return the girls safely in the dark.

Dawn found Chelstea shaking me awake. We went through the slavers' belongings in the light of the sun. Most of it we set aside to send back to the village. The swords we had not claimed, saddles, horses, utensils and jewelry would fetch good prices. It would help in the rebuilding of my village.

We made a plan then, when all of us but the villagers had awakened. Sal and I would continue after the small caravan. Chelstea, Mir and the other two would return to the village with the girls. They would enlist Kayla and the students remaining there before heading out after the larger caravan. Sal and I were encouraged to take what we wanted from the slavers. It was not hard to convince us. If it were useful, it was regulated to our pile of supplies.

We raided their food supplies and packed the edible and usable. Several of the slavers were carrying coinage; we raided as much of that as we felt comfortable and sent the rest to the village. Sal claimed a new sword and a pair of gloves, but I found something better. Since my swords were in excellent condition, and nothing would convince me to part with my mother's, I claimed a few daggers.

I kept a dagger under each bracer, and one on my belt opposite my sword, but I did not have one for my boot. One of the slavers had graciously donated one. I fell in love with it immediately. It was small, from the tip of my longest finger to the middle of my wrist, thin but sharp with a blood groove and curled silver guards. It was perfect.

My sisters were not happy with the arrangement. They did not wish for me to leave them. Although they trusted Chelstea, they knew not her well. It took some doing to make them calm and follow her orders. They had been through enough that separation from me, their sister and rescuer, almost broke their last remaining defenses.

Sal and I watched as those girls who could ride were presented with horses. It had been my idea. I believed it would help them overcome their tragedy if they had something to look after. There were plenty of horses for them all, as most of them were small enough to ride two or even three to a beast.

"Why are you volunteering for this?" I asked Sal as the last of the horses left the encampment.

"I am recently branded. There is nothing else for me at the moment." Sal proudly showed me her mark. I noticed for the first time that she had changed into her uniform. She too wore a blue shirt.

"So, two huntresses on their track then?" I asked. I knew not if I should tell her of my true color.

"What more? Huntresses of men is what we are, is that not truth?" She shrugged at my nod. "Let us ride."

We mounted our horses and retraced the track to catch the trail of the caravan we had chosen to follow. It was a small caravan and we hoped to catch it before it completely left our territory. It would have been easier that way.

Around midday we caught their trail. The slavers had told the truth. They headed south towards the realm of the Jilhsaed. We followed all day. Both of us were too intent in reading the trail to converse. The only noises made were the beats of our horses' hooves and the sounds of our own breathing. The trail was clear. The slavers did not bother to hide it. It indicated they were hurried. That did not bode well for our success.

"It is late, Tor. We need rest." Sal called a halt to our progress. Truthfully, we had not made any time. We were still at the least half a day behind according to the trail.

"Aight." Reluctantly I climbed off my horse. I was stiff from spending so much time on the horse right after two major battles. "Can you cook?"

"Little. We should not be required since we have rations from the slavers."

"Let us not use that. I will kill it if you cook it." I got my bow from its place on my saddle. I had left it strung just in case we had caught up with the slavers. I was not as accurate with the bow on horseback as I was on the ground, but arbitrarily aiming and raining arrows on them from behind would have been effective.

"Agreed." Sal climbed from her horse and began preparing the camp.

I did not go far before I flushed two small brush squirrels. I was able to get both and keep at least one arrow intact. The other broke when the squirrel ran through a shrub. I took both animals back to camp. They would suffice despite their size.

"The gods have provided our meal." I handed Sal the squirrels. "It is still light, we should have browse for us and the horses."

"I agree." Sal took the squirrels and began skinning them. She buried the skins in the dirt several paces from camp. She used branches and set both squirrels above the fire on spits. "I shall rotate those in a few minutes. I have no desire to eat raw squirrel."

"Neither do I." I had stomached too much raw squirrel during my training. "Do you wish to gather for us or for the horses?"

"The horses." Sal gathered both by the reins and moved them closer to browse.

I searched the surrounding area thoroughly. I managed to find several edible plants and roots. I took those and laid them by the fire. The majority were better roasted or at the least parched. Sal returned soon after I finished.

"What is her name?"

"Who?" She had me confused.

"Your horse. She is a lovely animal. I have rarely seen her equal."

"My father breeds horses, she is one of his cross breeding attempts." Growing up, I had helped in the raising and training of the horses when I was not studying. In truth, it was what I planned for my life.

"Does she have a name?" She persisted.

"Kier." I finally told her when it was obvious she would not rest until I had.

"Oh." She reached over and turned the squirrels. "That is Lylien. My father's brother gave her me last season. She is named for my mother. They, my father and mother both, were killed repelling slavers when I was in my fifth season. That, in truth is why I am with you."

"I appreciate the assistance." I moved some of the roots closer to the fire. They were cooking well.

"You rescued two of your sisters and several of your cousins. You are already a hero, why continue?" Sal seemed a talkative warrior.

"I have one sister and two cousins somewhere. I wish them not for slaves." It was all I could say. I could not bring myself to think of the other reason I was following the trail.

"Squirrel?" She handed over one of the spits. We both jumped when several of the roots popped. "I reckon those are finished."

"Sounds as if they are." I agreed.

We ate the squirrels hot. They were cooked through fortunately. The skin crunched at the first bite, but the meat was juicy. It was flavored more by hunger than anything. We had not taken time for much of a meal at midday. We finished the squirrel to the bones, burying the remains for scavengers to unearth.

What roots and plants we did not eat were saved for the next day. We had figured on two more days of trailing the slavers. We hoped they camped regularly. There may have been more of them than we two, but we could move faster. We had no prisoners to slow us. We hoped it would make a difference.

"I shall take first watch." I volunteered. My mind was on the hunt and I knew I would be unable to dream.

"Agreed. Wake me when you are tired." Sal lay down in her bedroll.

We could have set the horses to watch. They were as battle trained as we. However, I was not tired and saw no sense in laying in an useless bedroll. I had too much to think on, but my mind was not on the missing members of my family.

Sal's comments had started my own round of questioning. Rescuing Kierian and the others were someone else's right. I had done my duty by making the first rescue. Had I rescued all my family, I would not have been required to continue the attempt. If Kierian had been the only one missing, I knew by custom it was not my responsibility to rescue her. My brother was dead; her fate should have been left to her family. However, she had been my friend. We had grown up as companions, and almost became more.

I was kirgeur, I was charged with this task. It was my duty. I could not quit. I had to see it through to the end. The question was moot. My sister and my cousins were still missing. I had a duty to my family as well as my village and my heart.

My heart, sore already at the loss of my mother and my brother, could not accept the loss of another. I could not let a friend be sold into slavery, no more than I could let my sisters. Kirgeurs are taught to use logic, and my reasoning was logical. Though I would not admit otherwise.

I watched the moon rise over the plains. The animal chorus was pleasing to my ears, and I let it calm me. It distracted me from my thoughts. As the moon grew larger and closer, I offered my thoughts in prayer to Solisiric. Though my prayers were wordless and scattered, it was my belief the great goddess of the moon heard them. She always heard the devoted.

After my prayers, I shook Sal awake. I waited until she was coherent before allowing her second watch. I noticed she had slept with her sword by her pillow. I followed her example. Not long after I lay down, I was walking in dreams.

Sal shook me awake before sunrise. We packed and took a few moments for nourishment before finding the trail. It was clear and we followed quickly. We were in haste to complete our quest. We knew this land still. We had no great knowledge of land beyond our borders.

"Notice you anything odd about the attack on your village?" Sal broke the silence.

"It was well thought out." I answered. I was too caught up in the chase to give it much thought. I had been awed over the general destruction. I had not noted more than the obvious.

"They did not take any male children. It struck me as odd last night." Sal explained.

I examined the truth of her statement. She was correct. All the male children had been accounted for, including my youngest brother. Even my brother's son, a babe not yet toddling, had been left with his mother.

"It is odd. They must have been looking for women." I responded. "Perhaps the Jilhsaed hired them for a purpose. Kierian and my sister Tre are more than beautiful enough for any prince's harem." Only the wishes of one such as the Jilhsaed could make the destruction of my village logical. He was a man and more. The Jilhsaed was a god to his people.

"It is likely. It is why our village was attacked several seasons ago. I think they took my elder sister for a prince's entertainment." Her voice did not cover her pain.

"Dagthen." I cursed. "This trail leads straight to a village." I had almost forgotten Houcense was the first settlement of others beyond our borders.

"Let us hope we can catch them there or right after." Sal echoed my thoughts. The border of the Jilhsaed's territory was several days hard ride from Houcense.

"Agreed." We hastened our pace to reach the village.

Houcense was a large village on the outskirts of two territories, ours and that of a people called the Poulantie. The Poulantie were peaceful and traded regularly with us. Otherwise, they kept to themselves. They catered to travelers in a reserved but polite manner.

Our one disadvantage was that we knew not how the slavers were transporting the abducted women. We had not seen wagon trails. We were left to assume horses were transporting the women. The villagers surely would have noticed wagons. Women on horseback would be more difficult to remember, unless they were bound.

"Since we are here, we should check the tavern for news and food that will not kill us." Sal suggested as we turned the horses onto the village's only road.

"Good plan. Someone had to see or hear something." I agreed.

We tied the horse up to a post outside the tavern. I had only been there once, several seasons ago when my father allowed me to join him. We delivered a horse to one of the local traders. Sal had never been to Houcense.

The tavern was dark and smoky. It smelled of unwashed farmers and stale port. We chose a table, though neither of us would have called it that, near the back of the establishment. We were hard pressed to sit both of us facing the crowd. Sal took the seat facing me, leaving her back exposed to the small crowd.

Slaver coinage bought us a round of port and what we believed was lamb stew. The most I can say about the substance they served us was it was edible. My grandfather's stew was much better. I could not wait to taste it again.

When the tavern wench returned for the used utensils, we inquired of the one man I knew in the village. He had a stall in the beast market and was known to me by my father. The wench knew of him, and informed us of his whereabouts.

We left the horses at the tavern. No beasts except those for sale were allowed inside the market. The market was really rows of tents and stalls. Everything from clothing to fresh food was sold in those stalls nearest the entrance. We located the rows of beasts mainly by smell. The man we were looking for was the proprietor of the last stall in the market.

"Can I interest you in a fine beast?" The man at the stall asked.

"We are looking for Thaneel." I could not ascertain which of the men around the stall was the man for which we were searching. Several seasons had passed since I saw him last.

"I am Thaneel. Would you like to see a very special beast?" A dusky man separated himself from the crowd at the stall.

"We have heard your beast are without equal." Sal told him. The older man grinned and waved us to a pasture behind the market. We walked with one hand near our sword hilts. Though we did not expect trouble, it was a habit deeply ingrained.

The old man took us inside the corral. He whistled and several horses came to him. I was impressed with their training. They were beautiful beasts.

"This one is fit for a prince." Thaneel choose a horse the near equal of my own. "But I think that is not what brought two kirgeurs here to market. Especially not one with a renowned breeder for a father."

"You are correct, misayla." I used the term of respect common amongst our people. "We seek information, not beasts."

"And what information do you need?" He lifted the horse's foreleg to show us the hooves.

"Slavers attacked my village two days ago. We have reason to believe that some of them passed through here on their way to the Jilhsaed's court. We must know if it is true. They were carrying women from my village."

"Family?" Thaneel set the hoof down and let us examine the horse's mouth. It was a well-kept beast.

"We are all family in our tribes." Sal answered for me. "It is our duty as kirgeurs."

"Granted. Then I shall tell you what I know under the guise of bargaining for this horse." He kept us away from the others at the market. "Slavers were here last night. They rented a room at the inn and with them were several young maidens. They left at dawn this morning after buying supplies here at market. One bought a pack beast from my neighbor."

"What direction were they heading?" I was grateful to this man. So grateful, I was tempted to buy the horse.

"South toward the Jilhsaed." He whispered. "Would you like the beast? A bargain at the price."

"No misayla, but have you saddles? My beast is old and weary, but I have not the coinage for one such as yours." I told the man under pretense. However, I was serious about the saddle. Mine was not fashioned for long journeys or hunting. The one I had for those occasions had been trapped in our house when it burned.

"Saddles I have and plenty. Come this way, and I shall show you all I have." He seemed grateful for the custom. It was a small price to pay for his confirmation of our assumption.

The saddles were well made. I found one quickly to my liking. It was a deep reddish brown that would contrast Kier's coat nicely. It looked comfortable and had plenty of snaps and other places I could store my accouterments. We haggled on a price; he gave me a deal in lieu of my father. He added a nice pair of saddlebags. It sweetened the deal. Slaver gold paid for it.

Sal and I made our way back to the tavern. The horses were glad to see us. I decided to change Kier's saddle on the outskirts of the village. We did not need tarry long, but riding holding one saddle was not easy.

The new saddle looked as good on Kier as I had imagined. She was a dark brown, almost black mare, and the reddish tint of the new saddle looked poetical. The new saddlebags had more room than the old as well. Everything I carried fit into both with room to spare. Sal did not begrudge the expense. We left my old saddle for whoever could put it to use.

"If they were at the village last night, we have no hopes of catching them." Sal echoed what I had been thinking. "What do you plan?"

"Let us keep following for now. We can formulate a plan at camp." I was not eager to stop and talk.

She followed my suggestion. We rode until dusk when we found a stream. It made for a good campsite and we were able to replenish our store of water. The horses also enjoyed the advantages the stream offered us. After we took off their saddles, they rolled in the shallow part. It felt good to laugh at their antics.

"They have the right idea of it, I think." Sal nodded to our beasts. "I wish food first. What they passed off as stew did not last long as fuel."

"Agreed. Shall I hunt or shall we see what the rations will bring us?" I was reluctant to do either. We still had four days of travel ahead of us, and I could not predict what we might need in the land of the Jilhsaed.

"I shall hunt if you tend the fire." Sal strung her bow.

"Agreed." I foraged for plants as soon as she had left. I found several edible varieties and laid them by the fire I had started.

The stream kept this area rich in vegetation. I did not have to gather browse for the horses, they were able to find plenty on their own. All I was required to do was tether them in reach of the small bushes and grass. They were content with the arrangement.

"The gods have smiled again." Sal came back into camp carrying three small rabbits. She sat by the fire and began skinning them. I took one and assisted.

We placed the rabbits on stakes as we had done the previous night with squirrels. As they cooked, we laid out our bedrolls and attended to numerous other small tasks; basically, sharpening swords and checking equipment. We soon learned that life on the trail was not exciting.

"I for a swim, a bath and while I am at it I am going to cleanse my clothes." Sal announced as she finished her meal.

"Mind if I join you?" Even among the kirgeurs, some women were body shy.

"It is large for a stream." She said in answer. "Think you to bring or borrow cleanser?"

"I did not. I did not count on being on trail long." I excused my oversight.

"We can use rocks and sand if there is any." Sal began to take off her boots. She waited until she was at the streambed before removing her apparel.

The moon was at the peak of its brilliance. We had no trouble finding our way to the water. I sat on the shore and removed my boots, leaving them and my sword on the beach. It was practice to keep a weapon always within reach.

I was in the water before Sal. As a result, I was blessed with the sight of her dive into the deeper part of the stream. It was deeper than we had guessed, and her dive was a vision. I attempted to shake the thoughts away. Common sense dictated that two active kirgeurs made bad lovers. We had a duty. Kierian and the others had to be rescued.

Sal swam back to the shore and collected her clothing. We used what sand we could find to work the sweat out of the fabric. Neither of us wanted to cleanse the leathers. Those would wait until we encountered a village with a laundress. I think we both hoped we would find the slavers before it came to that.

I had been taught as a child to swim, but I must confess I was not very skilled at the act. I could keep myself from meeting a watery death, but that was the extent of my abilities. Sal was very talented. She moved through the water with the grace of clouds chasing the sun after a storm. The moon tracked her movements and I was left breathless by the sight of her slim form gliding through the darkened water.

"I should be able to dream easily now." Sal smiled and walked to the shore. The moon's light illuminated the drops of water running from her breast, shoulders and the rest of her.

"I will sit first watch." I volunteered. Suddenly I was not tired.

I dressed in the clothes my mother had commissioned for me upon my return to the village. It was the first time I had worn them, though I left the black shirt at the bottom of my saddlebag. I added fuel to the fire and checked on the horses. It seemed as if I were filled with a restless energy.

Before I had left for Kayla's school, my mother's father had taught me an art. He carved intricate designs into the smallest pieces of wood. It was something I had not time for during my study. It felt good to be involved in such a homely task. It allowed my mind to concentrate on the carving and my surroundings. My thoughts did not drift far. I kept them close by my task. The quest was heavy on my thoughts and my heart. I needed relief from it.

By the time I woke Sal, I had finished most of my design. It was easy to enter the plain of dreams after that. For the first time since my first battle, the path of dreams ran smooth.

"Tor." I heard the voice echo through my dream. "Torienne, wake. Dawn comes."

"I am awake." I rolled out from under my blanket.

"Break your fast. I have prepared the morning meal." Sal handed me a plate of fish and berries. I was looking forward to returning home.

"My gratitude." I took the plate from her hands. The fish was surprisingly good. I was not partial to the taste of water creatures.

"What is our next move?" She began repacking her saddlebags.

"We can track them to Marlkina or we can return and let someone else attempt the rescue." I spoke calmly. I did not wish to influence her decision. I was prepared to go alone. I knew those taken and not rescued would be marked as lost. We were their only chance at freedom.

"Those are our two options, aight. What have you planned?" She saw through my attempt.

"I am going to track them. The slavers do not deserve to be rewarded for their acts." I let my anger creep into my voice. "What have you planned? Do you return or continue?"

"I shall continue. I doubt not that this adventure will more interesting than returning home." Sal smiled. "There is hope yet I may find my sister."

"Then shall we ride?" I asked. I had repacked everything but my bedroll before lying down to dream.

"Until we find those who we have lost." Sal agreed.

We were on the trail moments after we cleansed the area of our presence. Even the horses seemed eager to depart. They had quickly adapted to the chase. We had as well.

It was shortly after we had begun the second full day of our journey when we encountered our first problem. The skies opened above us and we were drenched within moments. Wordlessly we continued to ride; there was no shelter in the immediate vicinity.

After midday, we found ourselves outside another village. Neither of us had been so far from our homeland. We knew not what to expect. We agreed to treat the natives as slightly hostile. We became wary of everything and walked with hands near to the hilts of our swords.

Through discreet questioning we found an inn that catered to travelers. The outside appearance did not raise our hopes. We were dripping with rainwater. It possessed a roof. It would suffice. Even the horses had begun to suffer the effects of the storm.

"Stabling and a room?" I asked Sal. The storm showed no signs of lifting.

"Aight. I'll handle the rooms and inquire if the inn has a tavern. I could use an ale."

"Agreed." I remained on my horse but accepted the reins to her steed.

The stable was located behind the inn down an alleyway. It seemed cleanse and smelled of hay. Several horses were in stalls and appeared to be dosing. I took that as a good sign. Animals had stronger instincts than most humans when it came to danger.

"Boy, how much for stabling two horses for one night?" I asked the child brushing one of the horses.

"Four coppers." He scrambled off his stool and came to take the reins.

"Here." Once I was on the ground, I handed him a silver. The slaver coinage was running thin. I would soon have to use my own. I reckoned we had enough to see us to Marlkina. After that I could not predict the outcome.

"Peace, warrior, my gratitude." The urchin scurried to collect both horse's reins.

I liberated the saddlebags. The mares were trained enough not to let anyone touch our saddles. They would not stop an attack, but they had wicked teeth. Those teeth would make any but the most determined think twice about robbery. I felt comfortable leaving them there.

I pulled my collar against the rain and wind. The inn seemed an inconvenient distance from the stables. It was logical. Not many guests would want the smell of stabled horses permeating the building. Those of us farm bred would ignore it.

Sal was waiting at a table in the inn's tavern. She waved me over when I walked in the door. It took my eyes several moments to adjust to the dim interior. They depended on the sun's light to illuminate the room. The candles they had lit did not dismiss the shadows. It seemed sinister though it smelled only of ale and sweat.

"I think we stand out in our attire." Sal said when I approached the table. It allowed us both to face the other patrons. "Ale?" She handed me a glass.

"The horses are stabled. Four coppers for the night." I lowered my voice. It was not wise to speak of certain matters where the patrons of the inn could hear.

"More than the room. They only had one room. We are allowed usage of the bathing chamber outside. It was included."

"Bathing chamber?" I laughed. "I think we are fairly cleanse after the storm. Do they have a laundress at least?"

"Aight, one building over. And, Tor." I could tell she struggled not to laugh. "You smell like a horse, you are not staying in my room like that."

The arrival of our food quelled my argument. The bowls placed in front of us smelled inviting. We tasted it at once and found the texture to be pleasing. It was infinitely better than the last meal we had been served at a tavern. Obviously the tavern was better than it looked. At the least, the cook was well trained.

"What now?" I asked after we had finished our meal.

"Find the laundress. Though, if the storm has passed, we should get something else to wear." Sal was obviously worried about our attire. "Then the baths."

"Agreed." I surrendered without a fight. She was correct about our clothing. We were a conspicuous. We knew not yet if it was a non-hostile village. Kirgeurs are not welcomed everywhere.

We made our way outside the tavern. The rain had slowed its descent. The market in the distance was ringing its bells. It was again opened for business. We headed for it before the laundress. We required something to change into before we could launder our clothing.

"What do we wish to be?" Sal asked as we searched through the stalls selling apparel.

"Non descript travelers I think. We have need of attire comfortable and practical. It should not be anything that draws undue attention to us." We continued our search.

Finally we found a stall that sold what we felt would serve us. Staying as close to my uniform as possible, I chose a pair of brown pants and a full-length shirt with a tunic that matched the pants. Sal chose a corresponding outfit in a dark green. She commented that it matched her eyes in such a way no one would believe she knew which end of a sword to use. In truth, she did appear a farmer's daughter.

We found a deserted stall. One of us changed while the other kept watch. I noticed we both kept our bracers. Sal had surprises in her pair as well. They did not point to our marks. The brand of the kirgeur would have been recognized within several days ride of our borders. We had no wish to dispel our illusion through carelessness.

What leather we had, the clothes we had cleansed the night before, as well as what we had been wearing was taken to the laundress. The lady was an older, matronly woman and promised to have our clothes cleansed shortly before dawn. We had given up hope of catching the slavers. We had an idea where they were heading, and were content at the moment to follow. We were as content as we could be with the situation.

When we returned to the inn, we took our saddlebags to the room. The room had a lock, which we appreciated. We claimed rough woolen towels from the inn's proprietor. The bathing chamber was on a natural spring. We could taste the metallic tint in the air. I locked the door behind us. I had no wish to thwart those with amorous encounters in their thoughts. The bathing chamber was for use by any guest who desired it.

There was one sunken pool in the bathing chamber. It was obviously for washing and soaking. It had a hole in the center where the water bubbled up and several channels that took the overflow away. Loath though I was to be immersed in more water, I reckoned Sal would make good on her threat. I did not wish to alienate my one ally by smelling like a horse.

Sal and I both took off our new apparel. We piled our clothing and towels on one of the benches surrounding the pool. Both of us were careful not to watch the other. Cleanser had been left on the side of the rough stone and slightly wet clumps of wool were placed around it as headrest.

We climbed in opposite ends. It placed us facing one another. It was not all that unpleasant a situation. The pool was easily large enough for ten or more. I carefully avoided looking at my traveling companion as we washed. I have no idea if she did likewise. It was a mark of our upbringing. Decency dictated privacy for cleansing.

We enjoyed relaxing in the pool. It definitely coaxed the soreness from my abused self. Sal gave a very throaty groan and rested her head against one of the makeshift pillows. I followed her example. It was wonderful.

"I may sleep here tonight." She murmured.

"I agree, though I believe we are about to lose the privilege of bathing alone." I told her while rising from the pool. "I hear horses at the stable."

"Dagthen." She too rose from the pool.

With hurried movements, we dried ourselves and dressed. We had left even our boots, minus the daggers, at the laundress and had bought new ones. Wet feet and new boots are not a comfortable combination. We survived the walk to the small courtyard in front of the stables. We heard several men talking, though we could not ascertain if they were the slavers we had been hunting.

"If they are stabling here, then they must be staying here." I whispered to my companion. "We can check them in the tavern. I shall even buy you an ale."

"My gratitude. It may rain again at any moment." Sal made casual conversation as we walked to the inn. The distance did not seem as great this time.

The table we had used previously was unoccupied. We claimed it and watched the door. Finally the men we had overheard at the stables entered. To our disappointment, they were merchants attired in robes made from trade silk. It was the one mark of a merchant.

"Back to the beginning then." Sal said as she waived over the ubiquitous wench.

The half dressed youngster was not quite a woman, but not a childster either. However, she negotiated the distance with practiced ease and brought two large mugs of port. It was not quite what I had contemplated asking for, but it would work regardless. Neither of us was in condition to complain.

"Should we ask?" Sal whispered over her port.

"Nothen. It could cause more problems. We shall maintain the plan." I answered her the same way.

By the evening meal, we had slowly consumed two mugs of port. We ate an indefinable substance for that meal. It was a combination pie and full course meal. It was ingenious as well as appetizing.

Dicing and cards seemed to be the nightly entertainment. Several farmers joined the other patrons after the evening meal. They were soon either drawn into or duping others into games of chance. Even the prosperous merchants we had overheard at the stables joined the gaming. Sal and I were the only ones not participating.

"Shall we?" I asked. As students we had learned the art of games of chance. Information was often available through that course.

"I was hoping you would ask." Sal gave what I could only term a feral grin. "Do you wish the dart and hoops or the cards?"

"Dart and hoops." I grinned. My aim had been the best of my siblings. It had won plaudits at the school as well. "Two hours and then we meet in the room."

"Agreed." Sal made her way over to a riotous card table. I knew I did not need remind her of the rules. Kayla had let her shehala hammer those into us. Chelstea was a master of such games.

I began my endeavor wagering on others. Several young men and one or two young females were tossing blunted daggers through rolling circles of metal in an attempt to stop them. The real version of the game was to pin the hoop to the ground with spears, but many tavern keepers did not want their precious tables damaged.

I chose randomly, or made it seem as if I were not using logic. I had actually marked one of the women and the youngest boy there as the real contenders of the match. I lost or won on each toss they made. I made sure I won more than lost by betting on my two competitors. They did not fail me, though I did change the routine enough to keep anyone from becoming suspicious.

Finally, the contestants were tired. The boy was crowned the winner. Many grumbled; one of the young merchandisers was among them. He complained loudly enough to attract his master's attention. It was the perfect time to gather information.

Feigning a drunken swagger, I told the boy I would give him three silvers if he could hit four out of nine tosses. He accepted readily. Apprentices are not given much coinage, and only bronze when they are given any. His master had just arrived to hear the challenge.

"I'll bet three golden you fail to hit that many." He seemed confident of his superiority. Whether it was as a male or as a master of a trade I cared not. It was the response I had been angling for when I made the challenge.

"Three goldens, faelida?" I used the term of respect prevalent in the Jilhsaed's territory. I was not going to give myself away so easily. "You must have had a prosperous journey."

"My journey is not your concern, girl." His disdain was audible. "Are you going to accept the challenge?"

"With pleasure, faelida, but only if the boy here plays as well. I have money riding on him."

"Where did you get money?"

"I sold my father's horse, though that is not your concern." I nettled him a little. It entertained me.

I walked up to the line after handing the tavern keeper the three silvers. He had been the impartial bystander all evening. I knew he would be honest. He was too proud of his establishment and did not want it destroyed in a riot, and he cared not for the outcome as long as everyone bought his ale and port.

The apprentice joined me at the line. It was a roughly drawn hallway demarked by chalk on the floor. All the spectators had to stand to the side and watch over a partition. They were far enough away to hear only the words we wanted them to catch. It was an ideal situation.

"Are you in need of a horse?" I asked as I took my first shot. I calculated it to be a fraction too late to the hoop. I heard the negative remarks and the laugh of the merchant.

"We are to be well paid when we get to Marlkina." He took careful aim. His throw missed as well. "I will get one there so I can be released on horseback and not on foot. We are not allowed to have horses before we are released."

"Ah, Marlkina has good horse flesh. My father was planning a journey there in the next season." My second aim was true and made it successfully through the hoop. The crowd either voiced their disdain or their approval.

"He should go soon. In two moons, Soliumant comes of age and is presented with his own court. It is why we are journeying there." His second throw was also true. His master's voice was the loudest among the cheers.

At last I had my answers. I had much to discuss with Sal. I still had three more marks to make before I would be three goldens richer. I hit the next but missed the fourth and fifth. The sixth and seventh were marks in my favor and I missed on the eighth. I had my required four. I claimed the ninth for spite. The boy hit his four.

The tavern keeper handed me the three goldens and the boy his three silver. I hoped his master would not take them from him. He had earned them and earned them well. The master was upset though; loss of coinage often angers merchants. I thought it best to depart the scene quickly. I waited until another boasted of his skill and took the opportunity to climb the stairs to our room.

"I saw you leave." Sal came up behind me and unlocked the door. Her drunken weaving was not feigned. "Had to drink more, not used to port." She explained at my questioning look. None of us from the plains were accustomed to large quantities of port, even as watered down as that we had consumed.

"Any see me leave?" I asked as I sat on the bed and removed my boots.

"None. The merchant was already involved in the game again. One of his fellows goaded him to the line." Sal was slumped against the door. "Remind me to avoid port."

"I shall." I promised. "Soliumant is coming of age in two moons."

"I know, the Jilhsaed is sponsoring a festival for the occasion." She pushed herself from the door and stumbled to the bed. "Are we attending?"

"I think we should. I love festivals." I grinned.

"As do I." She pulled her boots off before lying across the bed. "Perhaps we shall find our lost ones there. They were meant for presents." She suggested. Her eyes were dropping and her speech was slurring, it was time for her to dream.

"Perhaps." I answered. I took one of the pillows and a blanket and claimed a clean spot of floor. "May your dreams be free of danger." It was the traditional evening greeting.

"And yours, Tor." She mumbled into the mattress.

A rostick's call woke me that morning. I had learned to hate the breed in my village. They were uncomfortable reminders of dawn. However, I had cause to be grateful to this one. Its call woke Sal. I was content not to hunt it down and cook it as a result.

"I hear drums pounding in my head." Sal complained when she opened her eyes. "Tell me they are real."

"They are not. They are merely the byproduct of too much port." I rolled to my feet and pulled on my boots. "We need to collect our clothing and be gone soon." I ruthlessly reminded her of our duty.

"I am over hung." She said when she crawled to a sitting position. "What did you sleep on the floor for?" She was confused still.

"More room." I briskly answered. I knew from my own experience how restless port could make dream paths. "Shall we dine here?"

"I have no desire for food." She said as she pulled on her boots. Her motions were slow as if her entire body hurt. "If you wish to eat here, by all means do. I can go collect our clothing."

"Agreed." I hefted my almost empty saddlebags to my shoulder. Sal did the same.

We made our way down the stairs and into the tavern. Sal continued out the door as I found a table and waited for a serving wench. I did not wait long. No others were in the area. I was the morning's only patron.

I asked for the morning meal and two mugs of port. It would do Sal good to partake to the substance again. Perhaps it would ease her aching head. The wench was a different version of the ubiquitous breed than the one from the previous night. She returned with the food and drinks before Sal arrived with our clothing.

"We now have towels." Sal handed me a wrapped package. I opened the woolen bundle to find my clothing. The wrapping must have been the towel she mentioned. She sat my boots on the floor by the table.

"My gratitude. I took the liberty of asking you a port. I thought it might help silence those drums." I slid the mug across the table.

"Perhaps it will." She took a sip of the port. She looked thoughtful but did share her thoughts.

"Would ye be staying another night?" The wench must not have known it was impolite to answer while eating.

"We have not decided as of yet." Sal looked suspicious. "Is our room not available for another night?"

"Nothen, it is available, the keeper bid me ask." She hurried off back into the room's darkness.

"I think now would be a good time to leave." We both attempted to keep our movements casual. "I would like to see that one stall we did not have time to see yesterday."

"As would I, I believe father would appreciate the carvings we spotted." Sal caught the hint. Though I am not sure anyone would mistake us for siblings. Her hair was too red to have come from my father, his first wife or my mother.

"I believe you are correct." We exited the door still enacting our charade.

Once outside the inn, we strode down the roadway in the direction of the market. After we passed the laundress, we turned down an alleyway. We followed the crowded, loosely packed dirt track until it met another. We took the way back to the inn via the new alley. We passed several disreputable looking creatures, but none stirred as we walked by them. They stunk worse than Sal must have felt.

The stables were easy to access from the alley. We crept inside and located the horses. The stable boy was nowhere to be found. We saddled our mounts quickly. We had no way of knowing if we were in trouble or not. It was the wisest course of action to assume we were watched.

The horses were anxious. They could have echoed our nerves. We led them to the courtyard on foot. We mounted quickly once we were outside the stable yard. One look was all we shared before we spurred the horses into motion and pointed them to the nearest way out of the village. We rode with haste past the market and south to the edge of town.

"I can not tell if anyone is following." Sal turned back to the trail in front of us.

"We should have bought a distance viewer at the market."

"Should have, would have, could have, you know what Kayla would say." Sal slowed her horse.

"I know it well." I forestalled her completion of our instructor's statement. I could hear Kayla repeat it in my head. Should have, would have, could have. Do not quibble; make it so.

We continued on the trail at an easier pace than we had begun. The horses appreciated it as much as we did. We were several leagues away when we halted our progress. We had encountered a river this time. Trees and grass vied for life around it.

"We need to think this through." Sal dismounted from her horse. Sighing, I followed. "Have you a plan?"

"Well." I was not prepared to inform her I had no plan. "I thought we would buy them back if necessary." It sounded naïve even to my ears.

"How much do you think a slave goes for? Tor, we have no plan. We cannot calmly walk into a festival for a prince and ask for Kierian and the others returned." Sal seemed to be reaching her level of frustration.

"I am not saying we are going to calmly walk in and ask. I thought." I sat down. "I know not what I thought. I was hoping we would have been able to rescue them before this. I was not planning on following the slavers all the way to Marlkina. Do you know how far that is?"

"I do. It is a two week ride at the least." Sal sat down opposite me. "Tor, what is the real reason you want to go after them?"

I hesitated. I was saved from my answer, however. The horses became nervous and laid their ears back. They were facing the village in the distance behind us. That was not a good sign.

"Seems as if we are about to have company." I motioned Sal to stand.

We took our horses and loosely tied them hidden in the trees. We cleansed the area of our presence, hoping our followers would pass by without noticing we had stopped. This area saw much traffic, and it was our intention to make them think our hoof prints had been mixed in with the others.

Sal and I chose trees and used the higher vantage to see who was following. For some time, we could not see past the dust cloud the riders were causing to appear. As they neared our hiding spot, they slowed. Three men on horseback stopped not far from us. They were dressed in the same style clothing I remembered seeing on the merchant the previous evening.

"They had to have passed by here. Look around you thongnacious, thick skulled pleebs." The leader was the same merchant from whom I had won the three goldens.

I caught Sal's eye, and we swung down from the branches. They were taken by surprise. I assumed they had never seen two women swing from trees and draw swords before. We must have looked menacing with the twigs and leaves stuck in our hair and clothing.

"Were you looking for someone?" I asked the merchant.

"You cheated me out of three gold pieces. I want them back." I reckoned he would not be pleased with the loss. I proved myself correct.

"Nothen, faelida, I won them." I kept to my chosen role.

"Nonsense. Did you think one such as I could not recognize two riacuas kirgeurs from that barbarian tribe to the north?" To prove his point, he insulted us in our own tongue. The two men with him leered at Sal. Obviously they had evil plans for us.

"We care not what you recognized. It was a fair contest, accept that and leave." I was polite in my demand.

"Or stay and die. If you know us as kirgeurs, than you know we are ruthless and without mercy." Sal quoted the current ways foreigners viewed those of our calling. It sparked an idea within me.

"I know you as cowards. You shall get no mercy from us." The merchant drew his sword. He was reckless for a merchant. Most of his ilk did not carry steel. They did not have the time to learn the sword. They depended on others to fight for them.

The two men with him drew as well. It was a fair fight, two of us to three of them. However, they should have brought more men with them. Sal defended her self against the silent two as I engaged the merchant in battle.

He was well taught, I give him that, but most of what he knew was fancy sword tricks. Catching a sword in the air means little if it gives the opponent time for a stab to a vital area. The poor man made that mistake. He tossed his sword from his left to his right hand, and presented me with an opening. I did not hesitate. He was my fourteenth kill since I had earned my brand.

I turned and found Sal battling with her remaining adversary. The first she had rendered unconscious. I watched as she quickly disarmed and then dispatched the remaining one.

"Shall we wake him?" I asked mildly as I tied his hands behind his back.

"Could be he knows something." Sal emptied her flask on his face. He sputtered back to the world of reality. "What is the real reason you came after us?"

"Faelida wanted his money. He felt you had wounded his pride." The man stuttered his reply. Neither of us believed him.

"Merchants suffer wounded pride on a daily basis. What made this time special?" I asked. We had been taught the subtle art of interrogation, but I was loath to use it.

"I know not."

"I think we should do some fishing for lunch." Sal calmly interjected. "What part of him should be used as bait?"

"The human tongue is considered a delicacy." I pulled the knife from my belt. "Perhaps fish prefer it as well."

"Dagthen, I was planning on having that for a meal, but." She sighed dramatically. "I suppose we could sacrifice it for perch." She tilted his head back. I was half way to his mouth with the knife before he started sputtering and pleading for his life.

"It seems as if he has another usage for it." I told my companion. "Shall we hear him?"

"Might as well, we have nothing better to do." She released her hold.

"All right, he reckoned you as kirgeurs after the match last night. His brother is a trader in the slave market. He figured you two were here to catch his brother and free the girls. He saw no other reason for two kirgeurs to be in the village at the same time we were."

"Where are the girls?" Sal asked.

"I know not. We were to meet them two weeks hence." She resumed her former position and held his head back. "We were to meet them outside of Creasinda and then ride with them to the festival."

"Do you deal in slaves?" I was ready to kill him if he answered with an affirmative.

"No, we peddle wares not flesh. I speak the truth, but my master was once a slave trader. He was caught and heavily fined in the northern regions."

I looked at Sal for confirmation. She nodded and struck the man on the back of his head with the pommel of her sword. He was soon unconscious again.

"Well?"

"He was telling the truth. Look." I pointed to his pants with my sword. He had lost full control in his fear.

"Guess this means we go to Creasinda." Sal grinned and wiped her sword cleanse on her opponent's tunic.

"It seems we do. What do you want to do about these three?" I took great pleasure in using the merchant's tunic to cleanse my sword.

"Leave them. We can untie the talkative one before we depart."

"Good plan. That was a good tactic." I laughed. "I find it hard to believe they think we eat human tongues."

"It makes me wonder what else they say about us." Sal laughed as well. She ignored my compliment. Any true kirgeur would have.

We searched the merchant and his deceased companion. Our coinage had grown exponentially after claiming their purses. We stripped all three horses of saddles, but left the reins on them. We were pleased to see they were unmarked. Few breeders marked their horses as my father did. The saddles were marked. We could not take them with us. It would have cause trouble if we were required to sell one.

"Shall we keep the beasts?" Sal asked as I untied our horses from the trees.

"We should. We might have need of them." Horses were always in ready demand. "We can load the saddlebags from the poor departed on one of them." In truth, I was not sorry for loss of the merchant's life. It was the way of our world.

We had decided it was best to be away from the area when the lone survivor returned from his dreams. We mounted and rode. Sal had tied the reins of the three horses to her saddle. They were excellent beasts and followed easily. Obviously the other two men had not been lowly apprentices but hired swords.

At dusk we stopped to camp. We had skirted around a village. Neither of us wanted to repeat the previous night. This camp was not near water, but we were too tired to seek a sight elsewhere. The river had stopped paralleling our course several leagues ago.

"I must say one thing." Sal handed me rations from the merchant's saddlebags. "Life with you is always interesting."

"Only on the trail, my friend. Only on the trail." I told her. My upbringing had not been what others would call exciting. However, it had suited me well.

That night we talked about our childhoods. Sal was barely a season behind me in years. Aside from the loss of her parents and sister, she had a normal youth. She admitted to choosing the life a kirgeur for a chance to redeem her family and her village.

"We had one kirgeur in our village. She was a true oldster and could barely lift a sword, but she would entertain all who would listen to tales of her youth." Sal smiled at the memory. "It sounded so exciting when she talked of it. I knew when I started my training I wanted to bear the mark as well. It was my belief our village would not have fallen had an active kirgeur been present at the attack. My father's brother was proud. I am the first of our family to become a kirgeur. How did you become one?" She passed the wine skin we had found in the merchant's saddlebags. The man must have enjoyed his wealth.

"My mother had been a kirgeur. Kayla is my mother's sister. It seemed the natural choice. I am not made for hearth and babes." It was true. There were no underlying motives behind my life choice. There was simply nothing else I had been born to do except breed horses. I could not do that without the mark.

"No suitors then?" Sal took the wineskin back.

"Nothen. You?" I know not what prompted that question other than polite manners.

"None I have wanted. The only one I have wanted was far more interested in someone else." Sal related her woes in a quiet voice. The wine was affecting us greatly.

"I was not interested in the men at our village, and the one person I have loved was betrothed to my brother." I decided to stop drinking the wine. It really did loosen the tongue more than I had wanted. "My mother was killed in the raid. Tre is not her daughter, but the child of my father's first wife. I have a duty to rescue her for my father. Luiciak was my mother's son and my true brother. It is my duty to return his betrothed since he is unable. He was to marry Kierian two moons hence. I swore the bonds of friendship with her. I cannot let her lose her freedom either."

"Not many men can afford two wives. Not many would answer a challenge they were not by custom dictated to accept." She looked at me for a long moment. "Have you formulated a plan yet?"

"I have. The idea entered my head during the tangle with the merchant." Briefly I outlined my plan to rescue the others. Sal was highly impressed and entertained by the idea.

"Since you seem to have exercised your brilliant ability at strategy, I shall take first watch." Sal generously offered.

I accepted both her compliment and her offer for first watch with aplomb. Rest came easy for me, though my dream patterns were scattered. I dreamt of many things those hours. I dreamt of Kierian and of the merchant. They were not happy dreams. I woke to my watch with gratitude.

The earth and air were both silent. Necimius was quiet in his sleep, and Solisiric in her watch. Nothing stirred and I was left alone with my thoughts. My thoughts reflected my dreaming. They were chaotic and full of doubts. I prayed for a sign from Biaderi, my chosen goddess of war. She had honored my mother and Kayla well during their service in battle. She had no answer for me that night. I had not expected one.

When I could first see the sun's light hit the plains, I woke Sal. She had the talent of rising effortlessly. The wine we had consumed last night showed no ill effects in the light of day. We were both able to eat and break camp with no apparent difficulties.

We rode that morning in silence. Both of us were consumed with personal thoughts. We did not share them with one another. Some things are too private to put into words.

We had a leisurely ride; neither of us felt the need to push our pace. We had a week before we were due in Creasinda. It was a full week worth of riding ahead, and we were not anxious for the monotony.

We had stopped for a midday meal and then resumed the trail. We were both starting to tire of trail life, but saw no stop for it until we reached our goal. We decided to continue on until we found a village. Bedrolls are not sufficiently padded for extended usage.

We happened across a village a short time before dusk. We were both in unfamiliar territory and were weary of riding. We decided to stop for the night. The horses needed the rest as well. The weather was still scorching and no clouds had offered any respite that day.

The inn was a small one and did not have rooms. Patrons had to make do with pallets on the floor after the last customer had left for the evening. At least it had a stable with decent grain for the horses, and it was reasonably priced. We decided to stay for that reason. Neither of us wanted to eat something we had cooked either.

"Well, this should suffice for one night." Sal took the optimistic route. "At least they do have a bathing facility."

"It sounds rather small. I will let you go first and watch our things." We had chosen a table in the back of the crowded inn. One night's lodgings were accompanied by food, one mug of ale and the use of the bathing room. This was a very fair establishment.

Sal left her saddlebags on the bench with me. She knew they were safe there. I watched the other patrons as I waited for her to return. The inn was filled mainly with locals. Sal and I were the ones who were visible as travelers. However, there did seem to be a few from villages a day's ride or more staying the night as well. I picked up enough of their conversations to learn that they were also heading for the festivals.

The patrons were no threat to our safety. I was able to ascertain that immediately. In fact, they seemed rather plain. Even the ones traveling to Marlkina were simple farmers. To give me something to do, I began counting the mud caked bricks which formed the inn's walls. The large common room was too dark and smoky for much counting of bricks. I had moved to counting the rings in the rough wooden table when Sal returned.

"Anything interesting happen while I was away?" She asked as she sat down beside me.

"There are thirty-two rings in this table." I told her as I slid off the bench. "I shall have my bath now. Will you order the meal?"

"Aight." She was looking at the table in puzzlement. "I must warn you, the bathing room is quite small and not in the best condition."

"I shall survive." I told her.

I walked down the dark corridor with all senses alert. An unprepared kirgeur was often a dead kirgeur. I had no intention of meeting Necimius soon. I honored the gods, but felt they could wait for me to join them.

The bathing room was similar to one from my grandfather's tales. It was nothing more than an old looking glass, a rough-hewn rock bath, and an old stool. Cleanse towels were piled neatly in one corner, and the dirty ones were thrown in the opposite one. A large pump was used to fill the bath with water. There was no way to heat the water. Needless to say, I took a very short time to wash.

I rejoined Sal at the table right before the food arrived. It was hot and fresh, but tasteless. We would have gotten more flavor from the merchant's rations. However, we were grateful it was not half raw or burned. We were more grateful we were not the ones required to prepare it.

"I think we may need to visit the local market on the morrow." I told my traveling companion as we finished our meal.

"Why fore?" She was still nursing her mug of ale. Obviously she did not want to repeat her previous experience with port.

"After our incidence with the merchant, I believe we may be lacking certain items we may need at a later date."

"Ah, such as the distance viewer?" Sal asked. She had remembered my comment from the day previous.

"That would be one, yes." I finished my ale. "It seems as if we still have time before the locals clear out. Shall we have another?"

"Aight, it shall at least make this more interesting. They do not appear even to play games." Sal almost complained.

It was true. The patrons of the inn's tavern showed no signs of vacating the premises. They seemed content to sit with their ale or port and exchange news with their neighbors. Most of their news consisted of personal stories or tales of familial exploits. We soon learned these villagers and farmers were indeed simple people. My village had been much like it not long ago. As they did, we had played at war.

Finally, the innkeeper shooed the locals from their mugs. The common area's floor was cleared of tables and chairs. Sal and I spread our bedrolls in a corner of the establishment. We felt no need to set watch, though both of us had scant sleep. The bare earth with its covering of sand was more comfortable then the wooden planks we laid upon.

A rostick chimed his call an hour before dawn. We rose as one and assisted the innkeeper in resetting the common area for the morning meal. His gratitude provided us with a complimentary morning meal. It was sufficiently better than the previous meal. The innkeeper also informed us the village did indeed have a market. It opened it at dawn.

The market was small, but the stalls had plenty variety to offer in custom. This village owed its existence to travelers as well as to farmers. A good quarter of the stalls were dedicated to custom for travelers. We found those easily. Searching for the equipment we desired took a little more time.

"Can I assist you?" An aged man asked from one of the stalls.

"We are looking for distance viewers." In truth, neither of us had seen one. We had heard of them through travelers in the village near the school.

"I can show you several." He pulled out a tray with many cylindrical rolls of leather. Each had a thick piece of glass at the largest part of the leather and a smaller piece of glass at the opposite end.

"What is the difference between them?" I asked.

"The thickness of the glass varies. The thicker the glass, the farther the view." The man knew he had a sale. "Which would you like?"

"How much for the one the longest distance?" Sal asked.

"Four goldens." He smiled in victory.

"We will give you six for two of those." Sal jingled her pouch.

"Six? I cannot sell two such fine items for three goldens each." He protested.

"As you wish." Sal turned. "We will buy them in the next village."

"Seven goldens for two." The man made one last try.

"Six goldens and two silvers for two distance views and a map of the Jilhsaed's territory." Sal held firm. The map idea was a stroke of genius.

"What do you have need of a map for?" The old man let his curiosity over come him.

"We have beasts to sell as a favor to our father." I covered. There was no reason to tell him differently.

"You are robbing me, but I shall accept your terms. Six goldens and four silver for both viewers and the map." He tried to catch us off guard.

"That was six goldens and two silvers, old man." Sal pulled the correct coinage from her leather purse. We both kept them in hard leather pouches on our belts. They were designed to foil thieves, though we had no proof of it.

"Accepted." The old man muttered under his breath about foreigners as he wrapped our purchases into oiled leather pieces. We could use the scraps of leather for oiling swords at a later time.

We returned to the inn and claimed our horses. All five of them were in good health and eager to move. They had been kept in stalls all night and were ready to return to the trail. We were eager as well and wasted no time returning to our quest.
\\\\\\\\\\

Though we were still leagues from Creasinda, the distance viewers brought it into clear relief. Through the leather and glass implement, we were able to see it as if we were standing a league from its walls. We did not regret the coinage spent on such a valuable asset.

Creasinda was the largest village either of us had seen. It looked more like one of the cities my grandfather told us of as youngsters. Our people had once built such places as this. Our ability and desire to do so had disappeared through the generations.

Bricks made from compressed sand walled the city in and kept the unwanted at bay. The buildings inside had dome shaped roofs. We had never seen the likes of them. It was an impressive and awe-inspiring site. The sun's rays bounced from roof to roof and made the city appear to glow.

It had taken us a full seven days of travel to reach the eastern most city in the Jilhsaed's territory. We hoped we had beaten the slavers. Though neither Sal nor I could reckon the reasons why it would have taken them longer. They had been ahead of us the entire way. Our one asset was our speed. We doubted it helped much.

"Shall we camp here or do you wish to find an inn there?" Sal asked. She was taking the shock of seeing the city rather well.

"We have been three days eating our own cooking, sleeping under the stars and smelling as if we were horses. I wish a bed, bath and meal." I was sore and tired. Apparently Sal was as well. She lit up like a babe at a Gersonma celebration.

"Then we are agreed in our wishes. Beds for the night." She mounted her horse. "Sounds like the best offer anyone has made me in three days."

"Agreed." I laughed and mounted my horse.

We rode slowly to the walled city. We did not see a gate to use on our approach. We angled our course westward. It had been a good choice. There was a large gate patrolled by several young men in some type of uniform. They were bare of chest, wore billowy pale red pants of a thin, shimmery material and a deep red sash across their chests. Each one kept a hand on his sword hilt.

An older looking man in the same style of dress stopped us just outside the gate. We answered each of his questions in a mixture of his tongue and the one of the Poulantie. Our ruse was to be ignorant but fairly competent young women selling horses for our sick father. It worked and we were allowed inside the massive gate.

We rode through the wide, paved streets in search of an inn. Several establishments were on the main rode and each bore a sign telling or picturing its name for all to see. The row of inns went from the real impoverished to the luxurious. We attempted to find one in the middle category.

We chose an inn that boasted a stable on the sign out front. It was named appropriately enough, the Flying Flame. We took it as a good omen. Before we examined the inside of the inn, we decided to see if we approved of the stables. My father was wont to say he could tell the state of a place by the condition of the stables.

The stables were actually a large building and an enclosed paddock. Two nondescript men met us at the entrance to the large building. In our guise as horse breeders, we toured the building before agreeing to their fee. The building had an open wall where the more tame horses could enter the paddock without restriction. The wilder horses were kept penned. The stable smelled of cleanse hay, leather and harmless cleanser. The men in turn inspected our beasts. They obviously knew and respected horseflesh. They were as impressed by our mounts and the spares as we were with the stables.

We paid for several nights stabling. The price was more reasonable than we had reckoned. We were given the impression that this inn catered to travelers. We agreed if the inn itself were lacking we would still stable our horses there.

The inn was a large multifloored establishment. It was enormous compared to the smaller two floored inns we were accustomed to in our land. The first floor was devoted entirely to a tavern. The innkeeper was also the keeper of the tavern, and we inquired about rooms to let. He informed us he had several available. We paid for one night with an option to extend our stay. He was amiable.

One meal each day was included in the price of the rooms. We sat in the back of the tavern and waited for ours. The tavern was full of travelers, merchants and those attending the festivals in Marlkina. None of them paid us the least attention. We were grateful.

The tavern wenches in this establishment were from a different breed than those we encountered farther north. They wore revealing clothes and had knowing swaggers. We assumed they sold more services than the tavern boasted. When we saw one accompany a prosperous looking traveler upstairs, our assumptions were proven true. At home there are separate establishments for that sort of trade. The one outside the school was where Kayla had found our amorous instructors.

In short order, we had been given food and a dark type of ale. The ale was thick and rich. It tasted as if they used sweeteners in it. It was surprisingly refreshing, however we drank ours slowly. We did not yet know how it would affect those unaccustomed to it. The food was as different to our pallet as the ale. What we were served was unnamable and spicy. However, it was edible and pleasing to our northern tongues.

"I wonder what they call this?" Sal held up a nut that was used in the meat and vegetation mix.

"I have no idea, though I believe if we stay long enough we will learn." I finished the plate of food in front of me.

"I believe you are correct. Shall we claim the room and the bathing chamber?" Sal had picked out all the nuts from her food. They were the only items still on her plate.

"I think that is a good plan." We left the table.

Our room was on the third floor of the inn. We could see the paddock from our window. The window was another major difference. It was open and had no glazed glass like those in the north. It was also of a strange shape. It was roughly square, but the top and bottom edges were rounded. It also illustrated the thickness of the walls of the inn; the wall was at least a hand and a half wide.

The room itself was nicely arrayed and cleansed of previous occupants. It contained one large bed, a fire pit, and a table made from some unnamable substance that was as hard as wood but shone like stone. It had a high sounding ring to it when I wrapped my dagger on it. The entire room was furnished in the same type of material. The setting for the looking glass, the shelves and the cupboard for clothing were all made from similar stuff. We could only guess what the substance could have been.

We left all the saddlebags in the room and carried our change of clothing to the bathing chamber. We only had our kirgeur clothing to wear; we needed to cleanse the clothes we were wearing. We decided to search out a laundress on the morrow. At the moment we were feeling our stench.

The inn had two bathing chambers, one for men and the other for women. The scarcity of female travelers assured us we would have the room to ourselves. The bathing chamber was truly more than a room. It was carved from the stone like substance we had discovered in our sleeping room.

The chamber, for that was all we could think to call it, was round and cavernous. It was tall with a hole near the ceiling for light. Candles were also lit throughout it. The light bounced off the walls and the pillars and cast an interesting half glow on the scene. There were two pools of water in the chamber. One had a sign depicting two bathers, the other a sign depicting two women relaxing. At the least, it is what we made of the signs. They did not contain written descriptions.

We undressed slowly. Both of us were slightly stiff from spending so much time in the saddle. Sal was quicker, and was immersed to her neck in water before I had finished. She watched through have closed eyes as I slid into the water.

"You have lost weight, Tor." She observed.

"Must have been all the squirrels and rabbits." I let myself sink into the water. It was wonderfully hot and lightly scented.

"I shall have to tell certain women in my village that secret." She grinned as she reached for the dish of scented foam. It was slick and easy to spread. We were cleansed before we realized it. It was stronger than the cleanser we had used at the school. It was not as harsh either.

"Shall we soak?" I asked Sal when we were both done washing.

"Aight, I think my body could use it." She grinned and climbed out of the bathing pool.

I watched as she walked across the chamber to the soaking pool. She had lost weight as well. It only served to accentuate her lean frame and the muscles beneath her skin. She looked as hard as steel in this light, yet soft as silk. She was definitely fully female.

"Oh, gods of my tribe, this is wonderful." Sal looked blissful in the steamy pool. "Hasten Tor, you are missing a piece of Jarndinia."

I laughed at her description and slide into the pool. It was degrees hotter than the pool for bathing. I could feel the soreness ease and the low level anxiety I had been feeling since I had left my village lessen even more. It truly was as close to Jarndinia as I hope to be until my time ended.

"We have come this far. Shall we look for the lost on the morrow?" Sal leaned her head back against the side of the pool. We were both sitting on carved seats. Her movement exposed her chest to the air. The air was considerably cooler than the water.

"I think we should find the laundress and then search for them. We should try the market first." The Jilhsaed endorsed slavery. It was legal throughout his territory. People were bought and sold in the same markets as beasts and fabrics.

"Are we dressing as ourselves?" Sal sat up at the thought.

"I believe we should. I am willing to wager most people know nothing more than folk tales of kirgeurs here. Much the same as we know almost nothing of this area." I reasoned. It was also my belief that those who recognized us would be our lost ones. Perhaps they would find a way to get word to us.

"I can see the logic there." Sal stated. "This pool is easily a small lake. Care if I swim?"

"No, by all means carry on." I told her. I could not understand her obsession with swimming. I did not mind bathing and relaxing in water, but only swam for survival.

Sal pushed off the seat and glided through the water. She swam the breadth of the pool twice before rolling over mid-stroke and floating on her back. I was awed by her grace and agility. She had the ability to attract attention to her other assets as well. Her assets were considerable.

"You do not swim well?" She asked as she returned to her seat.

"Kayla taught me well enough to survive. I share not your enthusiasm for it." I told her.

"If you could swim well, you would appreciate it more. If we have time, I shall teach you." She offered.

"My gratitude. I now am for sleep." I struggled not to yawn.

"I am with you." Sal pulled herself out of the pool right after I had done the same. "I am tired down to my bones."

"As am I." I used one of the towels provided to dry myself.

We pulled our clothes on in silence. I kept my eyes and my mind on the motions of dressing. My weary mind was intent on providing me with images of Sal sliding through the water. Had I been fully coherent, I would not have let my thoughts drift in that direction. Sal was not Kierian. She was a friend and was also kirgeur. Such thoughts had no base in reality.

The room was quite warm when we returned. It was my guess that a fire was rarely lit in the pit provided. This land had no winter season, as we knew the term. The open window made more sense with that observation. It allowed the breeze free movement through the room.

"Bed or floor?" I asked, as Sal locked the door behind us.

"Neither. That strange looking sleeping platform will suffice for tonight. I will take the bed the next evening." She pointed to a long piece of furniture I had not noticed earlier. It was as long as my eldest brother is tall, and half again wide as a person. It had a thin layer of pillows on it.

"Very kind of you." I said sincerely. I would have allowed her claim the bed if she had but asked. "May your dreams be free of danger."

"And yours Tor. And yours."

We undressed again and climbed into our chosen beds. The actual bed was quite comfortable. The mattress felt as if it had feathers sewn into it. A few poked me in interesting places until I heard them snap. After that, it was a smooth surface that embraced my tired self. I was walking dreams instantly.

I woke that morning to a wonderful scent. Sitting up in bed to find the source, I noticed Sal sitting at the table. She had a tray laden with the morning meal on the table. She was watching as I stretched.

"Greet the day, Tor. Food?" She pointed to the chair across from her. "They used more of those nuts in this. They must use them for everything."

"They are not bad. Interesting flavor." I crawled out of bed and partially dressed. She had waited before breaking her fast until I had awakened. I quickly joined her at the table. "It smells appetizing."

"It does." She agreed. "I have learned two things this morning."

"How long have you been awake?" I could not see the sun from the window. I had no idea as to the time.

"Not long. Long enough to claim food. Do you wish to know what I learned?" She looked proud of herself. I nodded. "This stone is called graseleth and is quarried locally. Also, the inn has a laundry service. I have already asked for our clothing to be cleansed."

"You have been busy." I was impressed with her industriousness.

The morning's meal was as interesting as the previous meal. I was quickly developing a taste for the food here. I found it to be wonderful. As she had the night before, Sal picked all the nuts from of her food.

"Do you not like the nuts?" I asked. She had not been as picky about anything else so far.

"I do not. They do not seem to sit well with me. I thought it best to avoid them." She explained. "Shall we to the market first?"

"Aight, though in a place this size, we might need to inquire of the innkeeper its exact location. We should know if it would be easier to ride as well." I suggested.

"Sound logic." Sal commented.

We finished the meal in silence. It was too good a meal to talk much. I finished dressing after the meal. Sal was already fully attired for the day. As I was pulling on my bracers, a servant knocked on the door. She was a beautiful dusky skinned woman and wore slightly more clothing than the tavern wenches.

"Are you finished with the meal?" She asked as she demurely stepped into the room.

"We are." I smiled at her. "Tell me, where is the market located and what are the rules governing it?" I asked in her tongue. It was fortunate Kayla and Chelstea had taught us what they knew of the language of this people.

"There are no horses allowed in it. It is located farther down this street; the chimes strike upon the hour. Those will guide you." She looked closely at us both. "Also, no steel is to be worn openly on the streets except by the gieashetha." She informed us.

Sal shrugged and we both removed our swords and daggers from our belts. We took the comment about wearing steel openly at face value. Neither of us removed the daggers we had secreted elsewhere.

"What is your name?" I asked. It seemed only fair to call her something other than servant.

"Roshimama. I am to be your servant during your stay." She bowed.

"Well met, Roshimama." I broke protocol and returned her bow. "I am Tor, and my companion is Sal."

"Tor and Sal. Strange names for two such lovely warriors." She hid her face as she replied. Sal laughed.

"They are but shortened versions of our proper names, Torienne and Salenia." Sal informed the flustered woman. "You may call us by either."

"I thank you. I must return the dishes to the tavern. May the gods guard your day, Sal and Tor." She hefted the tray on her shoulder and left.

"We have a servant?" I was almost repulsed by the idea, though part of me was amused. I wondered what my siblings would think of it. The children of my mother would be amused. The rest would be scandalized.

"It appears so. Shall we go?" Sal asked.

"On foot it seems. I do not like the decree barring steel." I could see the logic behind the law, but it still sat ill with me.

"I do not either, but we must obey if we are to be successful." Sal made sure her small knife was not showing from her boot. "At the least, we must appear to obey."

"It is truth." I made sure all my daggers were out of sight. Sal was correct in her assessment of the situation. We would take care and appear to adhere to the local rules and customs.

We left the inn and followed Roshimama's directions. Already the street was blazing with heat and light. People were walking to the market in droves. Not a single person bore steel or was on horseback. They were also wearing brighter colors than I had known existed. It made me wonder who were the real barbarians. They were as outlandish to us as we were to them.

By the time we had reached the market, we were both covered in dust. Our black attire looked more brown than anything. It painted an oddly interesting picture in my mind. We were sure to use the laundress and the bathing chamber frequently. Some we passed were not accustomed to those luxuries. They were covered in layers of filth.

The market was an enormous piece of land covered with tents, stalls and booths. One or more of the merchant class manned each. All clamored for attention. If it were to be sold, it would surely be encountered in Creasinda's market. The sights, smells and noises were almost overwhelming for two such farm-bred kirgeurs. It took moments for us to adjust to the crowded bazaar.

We slowly made our way through the press of people. The farther we walked into the market, the more people we encountered. It was as if the entire population was there, and all were dancing and weaving along the narrow through ways. It was an intricate and complicated movement that required complete awareness. It would have been easy to have been overwhelmed by it all.

Finally, we reached the area marked for wares of the flesh. The sign over this section was clearly demarked in three languages. In each, it read simply the Slave Market. What I would have given for a bucket of paint. However, thoughts of vandalism were petty, and kirgeurs were trained to be above such petty acts. The simple horse breeder within me enjoyed the thought.

We made our way past several stalls and wagons full of human beast. Each person waiting to be sold was chained to either the bars of the wagon or to a stake in the ground. Crowds surrounded each enclosure and vied for the captive ones' attentions. Some were there to purchase, others there to ogle. We were there to rescue.

Sal must have pitied the captives fully as much as I. After all, her sister had once been treated like this. Those from my village had to be here, being pawed over by the crowds. I had to remind myself of our goal. We could not free them all. It was not easy to remember that.

We walked the large enclosure twice. Neither of us had spotted any of our lost ones. While Sal had not met Kierian or my sister and cousins, our style of clothing was as indicative of our tribes, as the black clothing was of the kirgeur. There were none here from our tribes, and only a few who looked Poulantie.

Wordlessly we turned back to the more normal part of the market. The foot traffic was less in that direction. It seemed as if everyone had to view the new slaves before beginning their day. It sickened us.

We took our time on the walk back to the inn. I watched the youngsters play in the dust and thought of how different customs could be and yet how similar youthful games could remain. I had no name for what I was feeling, but I could tell Sal was suffering from it as well.

I was amazed to realize it was midday when we stepped into the tavern. The dark room was cool and welcoming. The thick walls did much to keep out the heat, and the large windows made their presence appreciated. We sat at a table in the back of the common room and waited for a tavern wench. It was not yet crowded, so our wait was short.

Since neither of us felt much like eating after the sights we had seen, we ordered two ales and two bowls of stew. We knew we would have to keep up our strength regardless of appetite. Our success depended upon it.

"There are no nuts in this." I told my companion. She had waited until I had tasted the substance before she tried it. The stew was rich, thick and almost cool. It almost rivaled my grandfather's famous creation.

"Thanks be to the gods." Sal exclaimed as she tried the stew. "This is wonderful."

"It is indeed." I suddenly wanted more of the stew. We had asked only for small bowls of the substance.

A serving boy came to our table with our ales. We each asked him for another bowl of stew. Happily, he hurried off to fetch them. He returned in short order, and placed the bowls in front of us. He remained for several moments until we turned our attention from our meal to him.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" He inquired in a clear tenor. It took me a moment to realize what he was asking.

"No thank you, we have all we require." Sal smirked as I answered. "Yes?" I asked when the boy returned to his duty.

"I was just wondering if you would have put off Roshimama or one of the serving wenches." She grinned evilly.

"Of course I would have." I decided to tease her a little. "It is too hot for passion."

"You provide your own heat?" She gave a nice rejoinder.

"If you must call it that, yes. Would you have taken the boy?" I was slightly curious. Sal was still a puzzle to me. I could not tell if she were cylinge or not. Not that it mattered. I did not care.

"Not at all. He is not the type I favor." She took a long sip of ale. "I think I am becoming accustomed to this ale. It is rather refreshing."

"It is indeed. Would you have taken the wench up on the offer?" I pressed the point. I had no reason other than idle curiosity. We were becoming friends.

"Perhaps. It is however, rather warm outside, so perhaps I would decline." She paraphrased my own words and turned them against me. I could not tell if she were teasing or not. "What shall we do now?"

"We should go back to the market before it closes. Perhaps they were late in arriving." In truth, I had not thought much beyond the first search of the market. Kayla and Chelstea would have been disappointed.

"Perhaps. What we need is an information source." Sal did not look cheerful. "We should have asked that baderema more questions days ago." She referred back to the merchant's hired sword.

"It is doubtful he could have told us anything more." I defended our rather limited skills at interrogation. "Though a name would have been nice."

"A name of the inn, the head slaver, even one of the horses would have been nice. Tor, I get the feeling we are chasing shadows. What shall we do if they have been and gone?" She seemed to be getting frustrated.

"Track them to Marlkina. I am not returning to my village empty handed." I protested. I knew not why she was getting upset. She was supposed to have accompanied me to search for her sister. "Do you not care to find your lost one?"

"I do care, though I at least have acknowledged the possibility that she is not the same person I knew. Have you thought about that with Kierian?"

"What does Kierian have to do with anything?" I did not like the way this conversation was turning. "We can not give up our quest now."

"No one will blame us either way. We have traveled farther than anyone in either of our villages since we fled the invasion generations ago. Have you really thought this through, or you just groping in the dark?"

"I am not groping in the dark. I will not return without Kierian, your sister, or any of the others missing." I held firm. "Why are you suddenly opposed to this?" I asked. I let my voice rise a little more than I should have. Other patrons were beginning to stare in our direction.

"I am not opposed to this. I just want to make sure you know your reasons for continuing this quest." Sal hefted her mug to find it empty. "I need more ale. You?" I nodded and she waved a tavern wench over to the table. "Better grab her quick, Tor. You might not get another chance."

"What has gotten into you?" I asked. Sal was acting out of character. Even in school she had been even tempered.

"I have no idea. It must be the heat. My apologies." She said.

"Accepted." We had been eight days without solid sleep and adequate food. It had to happen to one of us eventually. Everyone loses his or her calm at some point, kirgeur or not. "I am going to go up to the room and see if I can dream. Were you planning on accompanying me?"

"No, I think it best to finish another mug of ale or two." For the first time since I had met her at the school, Sal did not look content with the world.

We had each been given keys to the room. I unlocked the door to find Roshimama straightening the room. The servant left her post at the bed where she had been changing the bedclothes when I entered.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Her voice implied that more than her services as a room servant were for sale.

"How much?" I asked. I need to work off my frustrations with the quest and the residual anger at Sal. It was a simple question and one I knew she would understand.

"For what do you require?" She sat the change of fabrics on the bed.

"An hour of your time." I did not worry if I were overstepping my bounds. Her responses did not make it seem as if she were opposed to the idea.

"Two silver for an hour, though when you have such a charming companion you should not be required to pay." She walked towards me. Her hips were swaying more than normal. It was the gentle gait of a horse at play. I was intrigued.

"Sal is a companion only. Not my shehala." She did not recognize the word. "We are not lovers."

"Her loss then." Roshimama stood right in front of me.

I fumbled into my belt pouch and handed her two silver pieces. She took them readily and latched the door. I watched as she walked to me again. What little she had been wearing was shed before she entered my arms. Her skin was as smooth as silk and smelled of flowers in bloom. Once again, I was on the precipice of Jarndinia.

Roshimama was well versed in the art of cylingic love. We took turns authoring each other's release. She was my first taste of this region's nectar. It was as sweet as the ale. Her hands and mouth were worth gold. It was an hour very well spent. She had managed to make the hired girls from the brothel by the school seem rank amateurs.

Primal Touch

Disclaimers: The characters in this story belong to the author; please don’t use them or steal them (honestly, they’re just not worth it). This story contains violence, a few naughty words, and scenes of intimacy between two women. If that’s too much for you, or if you shouldn’t be reading this for legal reasons, please move along and find something else. There’s a lot of other really good stuff out there.

I
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
-‘The Tyger’ by William Blake.

Jagged shadows twisted wraithlike through the jungle undergrowth, flickering between the trees and grasses, forming a body for a pair of ice-blue eyes that shone with feral intensity in the darkness. She moved soundlessly along invisible trails, leaving not a trace of passage in the moist earth, avoiding twigs and surface roots with uncanny ease. From time to time she would pause to sniff the heavy air, and shafts of sunlight would reflect off bone-white teeth as her lips pulled back in a slight snarl, the rumbling purr that followed almost subliminal in depth.
She had stalked her prey for many hours now, and the stress was starting to wear on aching muscles. She would need to strike soon, before she tired, but she had learned a long time ago the merits of caution and patience. Prowling carefully around a shallow gully, her body held close to the ground, she listened to the unaccustomed sounds of the three men who had foolishly wandered into her hunting grounds.
David Tow swatted fiercely at a fly and scowled at his companions. "How much further? We’ve been walking for hours."
The man in the lead glanced back and smirked, enjoying his partners irritation. "Whatsa matter, Dave? A few insects too much for ya?"
"Damn straight! I can’t breath in this place without swallowing a bloody bug!"
"Be another hour at least till we reach Corbin’s camp," said the leader. "And that’s if he hasn’t moved on."
"Moved on?" The third hunter, a short, wiry man with asian features, wiped his sweating brow angrily. "What d’ya mean, ‘moved on’ Jaz? He knows we’re comin’, right? Why would he clear out?"
Jaz shrugged with a wry grin. "Jack Corbin don’t like to wait around. If he finds a trail, he’s gonna take after it whether we’re there or not. So pick yer feet up boys, and hope we ain’t too late."
Grumbling, the two men followed dejectedly in silence for long minutes. Dave eyed the jungle nervously, hearing the strange, alien cries of unseen animals. The dense foliage was constantly in motion all around, giving the eerie impression that invisible creatures lurked behind every shadow. "This place gives me the creeps, Tae," Dave muttered to the asian man.
Tae shrugged, unconcerned. "You never hunted India before, huh?"
"Nope, mostly in Africa...you know, elephants and stuff. Bigger game, bigger target. It’s a lot more open than this…you can see what’s coming."
Tae grinned. "Hunting tigers and leopards ain’t like that," he said. "You just gotta be real careful, and hope they don’t find you before you find them."
Dave shivered a little and clutched his rifle tighter, his eyes wide as they scanned the mysterious jungle undergrowth. "I got a bad feeling about this gig," he said in a loud whisper. "I been hearing things ‘bout India the last few years."
"Me, too." Tae’s expression hardened. "But I’m not letting a few rumors and ghost-stories keep me from hunting that white gold that’s out here."
"Damn straight," Jaz put in, dropping back to listen to the conversation. "You know how much we stand to make from this hunt, Dave? Hell, it’s spicy enough we got Jack

involved, and he don’t waste his time on bullshit!" He grinned wolfishly. "When we walk out this jungle, we’re gonna be rich men."
"That’s if we walk outta here, Jaz," Dave said ominously. "From what I heard, lotta guys like us aren’t gettin’ to be that lucky." He slapped at another flying insect, feeling sweat trickle down his spine. "You hear about that team came out here three years back? Right in this same park, too, and huntin’ the same damn thing as what we are."
Tae’s face grew very still and he nodded. "I heard the bodies were so ripped apart the rangers didn’t even know for sure if they were human. Had to get some medical guy out from Delhi just to figure out all the parts."
"Bah!" Jaz waved his hand dismisively. "Amateurs! So they made a mistake and got shredded for it, big deal! All I know is, there’s a helluva good chance there’s a white tiger out here, and I want a piece of it. If you babies want to back out, go ahead. But remember…a chance like this only comes along once in a dozen lifetimes." So saying, the tall hunter stalked off, taking the forward position and eventually vanishing into the thick undergrowth.
Tae and Dave exchanged glances, then sighed. "He’s right," Tae said after a moment. "Poaching’s a dangerous game anyway you cut it. This is too good an opportunity to pass up."
"Yeah, I guess. Still…" Dave pulled the butt of his rifle into his shoulder. "I’m not letting some freaky tiger-ghost take me out."
"That’s the spirit." Tae grinned and slapped his companion heartily on the back. "Now, you guard the rear, and I’ll run the flanks, okay?"
Dave nodded. "Be careful," he warned. "There’re rangers out here too, don’t forget."
"I won’t." The short asian man waved and then disappeared off the practically non-existent trail, leaving Dave alone.
Dave nervously eyed the jungle, remembering some of the horror stories he’d heard before coming here. India wasn’t the same hunting ground it had once been, he lamented. Since the government had implemented the so-called "Project Tiger" back in ’72, things had started getting tougher, but in more recent years, they had gotten worse still. The Chinese were now almost militant about clamping down on poaching, and were urging their neighbors to do the same. Only the lure of hunting the great white tiger had called Dave away from Africa…and he could only hope the wild rumors of mysterious jungle terrors – the so-called ‘Indian Menace’ – were nothing more than exaggerations intended to scare away the gullible. Patting his rifle reassuringly, the poacher smiled weakly.
"Ya won’t be sneakin’ up on me, whatever you ar-"

It happened so suddenly Dave didn’t even have time to squeak. A tremendous force crashed into him from behind, knocking him to the forest floor and pinning him down. Dave struggled, winded from the impact, trying to flip himself over and call a warning even as the adrenaline surged through his blood. He felt a large warm body pressing him down, smelled the strong animal musk of sweat and death, then something crushed his head into the moist earth and stars flashed behind his eyes as his air supply was suddenly cut off. His hands scrabbled desperately for a weapon, but he’d lost his rifle in the fall. He tried to yell, then felt something burn across his shoulder. Panic engulfed him and his struggles grew more frantic as the burning turned to searing agony.
Something was clawing at his back and shoulders!
With a supreme effort, Dave managed to turn his head a fraction…just enough to dimly make out the light-orange stripped with shadowy dark lines that colored his attacker. Before he could draw breath to scream, however, something sharp pressed into his throat and tore upward. Dave managed a strangled croak, which turned into a shallow gurgle as his vision dimmed, then faded into black.
"Dave?"
Ice-blue eyes framed by darkness and death snapped up at the sound of someone crashing through the jungle. A low growl rumbled from somewhere deep in a coarse throat as the slight asian man appeared, his rifle shouldered. Hazel eyes widened as he came to a sudden stop.
Sharp teeth bared as she rose from her kill, turning malevolently intelligent eyes on the stunned man.
"Dear God!"
The rifle dropped as Tae stared, too stunned to move. Only when he heard the terrifying growl and saw the strange, striped form bearing down on him with unbelievable speed did he think to pull frantically at the trigger.
The gunshot startled the birds in the canopy above, its sharp report echoed by quickly-silenced screams.

***

"Jesus Christ!"

Ashley Richards covered her mouth, her emerald eyes wide as she stared at the two mauled bodies laying on the forest floor. Grady Neilson, her friend and partner, offered a comforting pat on the back and tried to urge her focus away from the grisly scene. Ashley shook his hand away and took a step closer, sparring a quick glance behind her to where Simon Reynolds was comforting his shocked assistant, before turning back to study their bloody discovery.
The man’s body lay face down on the forest floor, his rifle a few feet away. Great tears in the back of his shirt revealed a series of deep, bloody scratches. From the amount of blood soaking the earth around his neck, it was obvious the man’s throat had been torn out, and the churned dirt around him gave testimony to his desperate struggles before death. A second body lay nearby, similarly mauled.
Ashley studied the two bodies with dread curiousity. "What the hell happened here?" she pondered aloud.
Grady watched the young woman who had been his friend and workmate for over three years as she inspected the carnage, marveling not for the first time how Ashley never seemed to loose her composure. Her features were pale, but unafraid as she knealt to get a better view. As soon as Grady saw the young woman’s hands unconsciously start to pull the camera hanging around her neck up to eye-level, he cleared his throat. Ashley glanced back.
"Hmmm?"
He lifted an eyebrow meaningfully at the camera and shook his head. Ashley blushed.
"Oh…right." She gave her hands a stern, slightly puzzled look, and silently ordered them to behave.
Grady hid a smile. No matter what the circumstances, if something interesting or new came along, Ashley’s first response was always to take a picture. He’d seen the young woman standing in the path of an elephant stampede, clicking away happily, completely oblivious to any peril. It was the type of fearlessness, coupled with an innate and insatiable curiousity, that made Ash such a difficult yet colorful friend to have around.
It was also what made her one of the best wildlife photographers in the business.
They’d been in India now for eight weeks, and had been about to wrap up their assignment when rumours filtered down from the parks department about a white tiger that had been sighted in the Bandhavgarh National Park. Unwilling to pass up such a remarkable opportunity, Ashley had used her considerable charm to convince a reluctant Grady to delay their return to the United States. Joining Simon and his assistant, Grace – two scientists who were tagging and monitoring the tiger populations in the area – the group had set out into the jungle, accompanied by their native guide and tracker, Tarun. No sooner had base camp been established than the sound of a gunshot echoed from the

forest depths, and Tarun quickly rushed to invesitgate. Though he warned the group to remain at camp, Ashley had insisted on going with him, and the others had joined her, their curiousity piqued.
None of them had expected the carnage they found.
Ashley looked up from her study of the first dead man as Tarun appeared from the undergrowth. The Indian guide was a tall, muscular man prone to wearing open-necked shirts and cargo pants. Ashley raised a blonde eyebrow questioningly at his dark expression.
"There’s another one down the track," Tarun reported calmly in his heavy Hindi accent. "Looks like he tried to make a run for it. Made it about thirty feet before he got taken down." Hands on his hips, Tarun scowled at the torn bodies, then at the ground around them.
"What killed them?" asked Grady, the slight quaver in his voice giving lie to his outward calm.
"A tiger?" Ashley supposed.
Tarun shook his head. "Tigers don’t kill like this," he said knowingly, "and they usually avoid humans."
"Looks like a big cat of some kind. I mean…look at those claw marks." Ashley pointed. "What else could it be?"
"Tigers don’t slit their prey’s throat," Tarun argued, "Not so cleanly. And they leave tracks. Whatever did this didn’t leave any trace behind." He shook his head, clearly more upset by the lack of tracks than by the bodies themselves.
"What should we do?" asked Simon timidly. The premeturely balding, middle-aged zoologist looked at the bloody remains for a second, then hastily averted his gaze. "W-we can’t just leave them here, can we?"
"No." Tarun sighed. "Ashley, could you and Grady go find some good-sized branches? I’ll get the rope from the packs and we can make a set of litters. We’ll drag them back to camp, call the rangers, and get them to come deal with this."
Ashley frowned. "Are you sure we should move them? I mean, won’t someone want to…you know…investigate the scene of the crime? Look for evidence?"
Tarun gestured to the ground. "No-one will find anything here," he said angrily. "There is no evidence, no tracks, and I doubt the rangers or the police will waste much time on this at all. They’ve got better things to do with their time."

"What do you mean?" asked Grady.
"Look at these guys." Tarun pointed to the rifle one man still clutched pathetically in his bloody hand. "What do you think they were doing out here with guns like that? They’re poachers! Probably here to kill the same tiger you people came for!" He shook his head and spat angrily on the ground. "We take them back to camp and turn them over to the authorities. Where it goes from there is none of our business."
Ashley glared at the dark man for long moments, and it looked to Grady as though she planned to take further issue with him. Then, she smiled a little coldly and said, "Fine," grabbed Grady by the arm, and pulled him away to look for suitably strong branches to make a litter.
Nearly five hours later, Ashley watched from her fallen log seat as Tarun shook hands with a uniformed ranger and exchanged a few quiet words of thanks. It had taken over two hours to drag the bodies back to their base, even with all five of them putting in an effort, and a quick radio call had allerted the proper authorities who had immediately sent out a jeep team to relieve them of their charges. Though Ashley didn’t speak Hindi, from the tone of the conversation shared by Tarun and the head ranger, it seemed the uniformed man wanted to deal with everything as quickly and quietly as possible. As their visitors left, Tarun strode over to the others and took his seat beside the small campfire they’d lit as the sun disappeared, offering them a grim smile.
"Well, that’s that," he said simply.
Ashley glared at him a little, her emerald eyes not a little sharper than usual. "So they’ll look into it, right?"
Tarun shrugged. "Maybe. But like I said, a couple of poachers won’t warrant much interest." He paused a long time, then added ominously, "Besides…they know they won’t find anything. From what that guy told me, they’ve been seeing this sort of thing a lot the past few years."
Grady leaned closer. "What sort of thing?"
"Poachers turning up dead in the jungle, ripped to pieces." Tarun pulled a toothpick from his pocket and chewed it thoughtfully. The look on his face was the same one Ashley remembered seeing her father wear when he told ghost stories during family camping trips. "Not just here, either. Up in the Himalayan mountains, and on the grasslands…something hunting them down, then disappearing. It leaves no trace except the dead."
Grace’s eyes were wide as saucers as she stared at him in terror. "Wh-what is it?"
Tarun shrugged and sighed dramatically. "No-one can tell for sure. But some of the more superstitious elders are spreading rumours about a spirit at work." He eyed his attentive