《No Limb Can Bear [Complete]》


 Grady and the Shack

    The dim light flitting by the holes in Grady¡¯s shack had faded from grey to gloom. The threatening storm had swallowed the last of the sun''s weak luminescence. A wind laced with malice and hemmed with destruction had torn the door off an hour ago. The walls rattled. The roof shook. Teeth of ice forced their way through the empty frame and gnawed at his nose and cheeks.


    Grady bellowed down the stairs. His voice bounced off the dripping mud walls, echoed past the guttering torches, tumbled under the trickling waterfalls, and vanished into the place where light dared not go, ¡°`is lordship `as a request t` make of ye Kineser!¡±


    A long howling breath of air, both loud and noisome, answered Grady¡¯s call. He staggered, covering both his nose and his one good ear. The other ear heard the words. They echoed inside his skull, bouncing off of one another in a fractured harmony. Grady only plucked seven words from the chorus, but each was more terrible than the storm. ¡°The Kineser¡­ answer¡­ forgotten¡­ kingdom¡­Weep¡­ dead.¡±


    Had the dead rats at Grady¡¯s feet stood and spoken in unison he would not have been half as disturbed. Had their brown teeth and gaping jaws clattered to the floor in a moldering rain he might have been two thirds as disturbed¡ªthree quarters on a bad day.


    And today was a bad day.


    The sound was worse. It drifted through his nostrils and thick ruddy ears, perforating his being with despair. It was like watching a fresh pint soak the earth at the base of a cracked and weeping mug. It was the sound of wilted flowers. It was the scent of cloying rain.


    Grady grasped for a weapon to defend him from the chthonic echoes. All he found was his spear. A stick tipped in iron held no sway over the eldritch. Grady¡¯s legs trembled. His knees quivered. His nose wobbled. He didn¡¯t even know what chthonic meant. Any word with that many consonants couldn¡¯t be good.


    ¡°`ou are ye?¡± Grady whispered.


    The voice from a world which did not exist¡ªa world separate from his safe, sensible one¡ªsighed its way up to unwelcoming ears. Torches fluttered unevenly, illogically, marking the voice¡¯s passage. Some flames fluttered as they stepped aside. Others flared, high and green, leaving black stains on the ceiling. The rest guttered violently and were extinguished.


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    ¡°One left¡­behind¡­to remember.¡±


    Grady considered running. He was much better at running than fighting. He¡¯d be past the border and two doms over before the swiftest demons of fear made it halfway up that ridiculous stair. There were only five other guards in his lord¡¯s tiny domain. They¡¯d be too busy to look for him. He¡¯d be safe.


    There was nothing wrong with wanting to be safe, Grady reasoned. What good would he be against the unknown anyway? Last time he had to fight was when he¡¯d earned his badge. That same badge had crumbed to rust years ago. Too many uneventful nights spent stood in the rain. Grady had liked those nights. They were peaceful.


    Running, Grady had experience with running. Running after Lord Glove. Running from post to post. Running to fetch Grove Keeper Rezel to arrange a birth or funeral. Running to carry a basket of goods to old woman Aliza, who couldn¡¯t leave the house anymore. Running to the pub for drinks with Matt. Running home from the pub to see his children, Matt and Sally.


    ¡°Fine, hI¡¯ll stay,¡± Grady eased his grip on his spear, ¡°hI¡¯ll stay fer t` children. `an fer t` drinks Matt owes me.¡±


    He looked down at his feet. They¡¯d carried him several steps backwards out of the shack. Grady squared his shoulders and marched them to the precipice of the stairs, ¡°hI¡¯ll even stay fer t` h¡¯one hI howe Matt!¡±


    His voice rose, ¡°Ye `ear me?! Yer supposed to remebrance something? hWhat are ye remebrancing `en, eh?!¡±


    A great gale rumbled up the earthen steps, shaking the ground beneath his feet.


    ¡°¡­Kineser¡­bring¡­teach¡­lordship¡­seven weeks¡­Hurry¡±


    Grady staggered back from the buffeting waves of putrefaction. There was a ¡°Crack!¡± as a rat¡¯s skull broke free of its mound and flew at Grady¡¯s head. He ducked with a yelp and ran for the door. Another skull clipped his ear. Smoke and scattered screams pursued him. At this point his spear was an impediment, nothing more. He abandoned it, picking up speed.


    A ponderous creek separated the shack from the rest of the dom. It was shallow, as creeks go, but it still managed to gape. Grady, who had never been a jumper, hurled himself at the opposite edge. One foot made it. The other slipped into freezing water. Grady toppled forward, banging his knee on the overgrown embankment. He crawled to his feet, breathing hard. A soft squelch began to accompany his panting. Above, the clouds had swirled to form a great grey eye. The eye began to weep cold and bitter tears. They splashed down on Grady, plastering his hair to his forehead and cheeks, blinding him. He wiped it free with a grassy hand, leaving strands of it in his hair and a streak of mud across his nose.


    The shack continued to wail behind him. The trees joined in on the moaning, adding their own voices to the storm. If that wind held its own secret sighs, Grady did not hear them, did not listen, and did not care. Ahead, he could see the hall of his lord. The warm red light of its door was unwavering in the rain. Lord Glove would know what to do. He always did.

 In Which Lord Glove Doesn’t Know What to Do

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do.¡± Lord Glove handed Grady another towel, ¡°You¡¯ve come to me in the middle of the night with summons from an¡­ ¡®elderish¡¯ being and a rat skull hanging from your ear. It is most unusual.¡±


    Lord Glove stared at the broken spear on his mantelpiece. It was an old problem. One to which he¡¯d never found the solution. ¡°Rebeka told me to never again enter her home uninvited. Our relationship is¡­ strained.¡±


    Grady finished wiping at his face and dropped the towel to the floor.


    ¡°`at¡¯s t` hway h¡¯of love, me lord. h¡¯One day yer pickin¡¯ flowers in t¡¯ field hand makin¡¯ t¡¯ h¡¯eyes hat heach hother hand sayin¡¯ ye hwere hwishin¡¯ ye hwas married. T¡¯en hall hof ha sudden ye¡¯re lonier t¡¯an ye¡¯ve hever been hin yer life hand ta children hare too hafraid ta heven talk hand hevery penny ye¡¯ve hever hearned his gone hand hevery day ye come ¡®ome t¡¯ learn hit¡¯s not henough hand ye¡¯re ha failure hand ¡®e should ¡®ave never married ye hin t¡¯ first place. T¡¯ next t¡¯ing ye know ¡®e¡¯s bit ha ¡®orse¡¯s ¡®oof hand yer leavin¡¯ t¡¯ treeless ¡®arridan ta rot in t¡¯ selfsame field. hAnd heven t¡¯en ye can¡¯ find peace ¡®cause t¡¯ voice won¡¯ stop hand no matter hwhat ye do ye still feel like ha failure. T¡¯at¡¯s love! T¡¯at¡¯s hwhat t¡¯ey hwrite habout in t¡¯eir songs! T¡¯at¡¯s t¡¯ beautiful life me father promised me!¡±


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    Grady shook his fist, spraying water everywhere. Lord Glove handed him another towel.


    ¡°Beggin¡¯ yer pardon, me lord.¡±


    Lord Glove waved away the apology. ¡°It is best not to dwell on such things. Your outburst is already forgotten.¡±


    ¡°T¡¯ank ye, me lord.¡± Grady turned away and made a show of warming himself at the hearth. Lord Glove mirrored the motion, staring at the flames. Lord Glove was careful not to meet the old guard¡¯s eyes, and he suspected Grady was doing the same. For now, Lord Glove was content to listen to the crackling of the fire.


    Grady was the first to speak. ¡°¡¯e could be hin danger, me lord.¡±


    Lord Glove¡¯s eyes flickered to the spear. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Ye should be going t¡¯en, hI reckon.¡±


    ¡°I promised-,¡± he paused. Was that honour speaking, or pride? Half a century was a long time to hold a grudge. It was high time he make amends with Rebeka, she was growing old. And if she was not in danger? If she never forgave him? ¡°So be it. I will bear both her scorn and her hatred if it means keeping her safe.¡±


    Lord Glove tugged on his coat and headed for the door. ¡°Grady, you have charge of the house. Ring for the guard. I want them to be at the armoury ready for combat in ten minutes. We¡¯ll be leaving at once.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    Lord Glove paused in the entryway. The squall had lessened to a steady drumming of rain.


    ¡°hI¡­ hIt¡¯s habout time Sir.¡± Grady wrung out his lamellar armour and hung it over the fire irons. ¡°Time fer h¡¯one hof hus ta make hamends, t¡¯at his.¡±

 The Descent into the Kineser’s Lair

    ¡°I can¡¯t see! Treant! The light¡¯s gone!¡±


    ¡°Nah, look, Turnpike, it¡¯s right over there. Behind those cobwebs or whatever they are.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s his lordship? I¡¯m going to run ah-AaAaAAaaaaa,¡± Treacle¡¯s scream faded into the distance. A loud splash followed a minute later.


    ¡°That¡¯s why you never run to the Kineser¡¯s abode me lads. Stairs are as like to be above you as below you. Slipperier than a pig covered in eels,¡± Bidden slapped his knee, ¡°Ha! Now there¡¯s an expression. Remind me to tell you boys the story sometime.¡±


    ¡°Here?¡±


    ¡°No, there. See? Poke about with your spear a bit.¡±


    There was a squelch, a moment¡¯s resistance, and then something damp and probably contagious fell from the ceiling.


    ¡°By the Black Banner! It¡¯s on my face!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯d be a ¡®Splorcher¡¯. It¡¯s what we used to call them back in the day, anyway.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s quivering!¡±


    ¡°Yep. They do that.¡±


    ¡°You cleared the torch at least. I reckon we should hurry and see if Treacle is alright.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to hurry on these stairs lads. Lord Glove¡¯s the only one crazy enough to make it. The old dog¡¯s got the hooves of a goat and fingers covered in spiders.¡±


    ¡°The splorcher is crawling towards my eyes!¡±


    ¡°Yep. They do that too.¡±


    ¡°What do I do?¡±


    ¡°You get a splorcher in your eye, typically.¡±


    Half an hour, two splorchers, and a ¡®direspore¡¯ later, the three men discovered something they couldn¡¯t walk around, poke with a spear, or even attach to their face.


    The being in front of them looked like a girl¡¯s clay sculpture. Its eyes were lumpish. Its mouth drooped and its lips had run down its face. It had no legs. Instead, its torso clung to the steps like a half melted candle. Beyond that, it was shapeless.


    ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°Is it one of Rebeka¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s never made something so awful.¡±


    ¡°That don¡¯t fill me with awe. Makes me want to get a very large mop.¡±


    ¡°And a bucket. Not much good without a bucket.¡±


    ¡°Good point. Some water too.¡±


    ¡°It goes without saying.¡±


    ¡°Quiet lads, it¡¯s moving.¡±


    The creature¡¯s jaw slid down its face. Bubbles formed at the back of its throat and burst wetly in the simulacrum of speech.


    ¡°Bloppen. Blep. Blurp-pop. Belp.¡±


    ¡°What do you want fiend?¡± demanded Treant, ¡°What have you done to Rebeka?¡±


    It shook its head and tried again.


    ¡°Get¡­ me¡­ bubble. Plop. Can¡¯t¡­ bop¡­ borp¡­ legs.¡±


    Treant squinted at the oozing lips, ¡°That you, Treacle? Thought you might be dead.¡±


    ¡°Pull. Borp. Arm.¡±


    Treant grasped Treacle¡¯s slime covered arm and pulled. Treacle didn¡¯t move. Treant looked back at the others, ¡°Well? What are you waiting for?¡±


    Bidden slapped Turnpike on the back, ¡°Get in there lad. Put those young man¡¯s muscles to work.¡±


    Turnpike stumbled forward to help. The clay was reluctant to give up its prize, but had little choice once he joined Treant¡¯s efforts. Treacle¡¯s waist appeared, then his hips. As his knees emerged from the steps there was a ¡®Slurp¡¯ like a tooth leaving its socket, and then he was free.


    ¡°Good work lads. That¡¯s why me and Grady convinced Jorgmund to keep you around.¡± Bidden stumped over to Treacle, who was wiping at his eyes, ¡°Don¡¯t go running off like that again. What if you¡¯d broken your neck? We don¡¯t have the funds for proper armour let alone a widow¡¯s pension! You should be setting an example for these young lads!¡±


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    Treacle began to defend himself, but Bidden cut him off, ¡°We¡¯ll do reprimands and excuses later. There¡¯s more pressing matters at hand. Did you see Lord Glove? Or Rebeka?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Treacle, ¡°He passed me and went around that corner about ten minutes ago. Didn¡¯t even notice me calling for help. Never seen him like this.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯ve never seen him scared,¡± said Bidden. ¡°There¡¯s a lot more than a grumpy old woman at stake here.¡± He pointed down the stairs, ¡°Do you remember the path he took? Where he stepped?¡±


    Treacle grunted in affirmation.


    ¡°Good. We¡¯ll be following you. Lead the way.¡±


    It was only a few minutes to the bottom of the stairs. There, around the corner, they found Lord Glove. He had slumped against the mossy door at the end of the tunnel. He only acknowledge their approach with a weak lift of his head.


    ¡°I can¡¯t get in,¡± he said, ¡°I pushed on the door, but it didn¡¯t even budge when I kicked it. I tried pulling, but there¡¯s no handle and I couldn¡¯t wedge my dagger in the crack,¡± he gestured to the mess of scratches surrounding the latch, ¡°I¡¯ve tried everything.¡±


    Turnpike pointed to the door¡¯s lead knocker, ¡°Have you tried knocking?¡±


    ¡°Knocking?¡± Lord Glove blinked, ¡°Yes. Yes, of course,¡± his eyes brightened. ¡°Yes!¡± He leapt to his feet and began striking the knocker, ¡°Why didn¡¯t I think of that?¡±


    Turnpike rolled his eyes. The older guards were still. Turnpike was new, but Bidden and the others had served Lord Glove for a long time. Sometimes the old lord needed a prod, that was all. Once he got going he was as quick as a quarrel.


    On the third knock a high-pitched voice filled the air.


    ¡°Who seeks the Kineser?¡±


    Bidden winced. Each shrill syllable felt like a rusty fish hook tugging at his vertebrae. Lord Glove shivered for a moment, but managed to maintain his composure.


    ¡°I am Lord Glove, Conor to the king and Rebeka¡¯s master. I received a summon claiming she was in danger. I demand you allow us entry.¡±


    ¡°Lord Glove, master of this dom, razer of Seshthiem, lord of the Burned City, betrayer of Rebeka¡¯s love; enter.¡±


    The door swung inward with a sound like a man drowning in a quagmire. The revealed room was a scene from one of Bidden¡¯s fever dreams.


    The walls of the room were coated in a mossy membrane. Bronze brackets punctured the organic skin haphazardly, causing thick mud to weep from the wounds. Set in the tarnished sconces were smoking torches which occasionally gave off a choking puff of light. Workbenches lined the walls below, beside, and in several cases, above, the torches. The benches towered high with every sort of tool and material imaginable. Some of the materials were flammable. Many were acidic. Most were both. One table held a mound of skinless bodies. A tall stack of leather-bound books sank into it, mocking them all the way down. Two paces along the wall, and six down, a jar of grey-green liquid bubbled grimly in time with the staccato whispers of a sourceless clock.


    The rest of the wall, indeed the rest of the room, was much the same. One could as easily find a maze of tables set with strangely shaped vegetables as a pack of quivering globules or a mound of glowing jade. Black rain fell from the ceiling, grey mist rose from the floor. Candles atop tall stacks of scrolls illuminated both with pale blue light where they met. Boxes dominated the room. They oozed ink, leaked bile, cried blood, and seeped other liquids which could only be described as ¡°unpleasant¡±- quotation marks and all.


    Before Bidden could even begin to comprehend the wide variety of potential respiratory assailants and the lesser, though no less concerning, circulatory impairments, the wall to his right spoke. Crude lips carved into its surface parted with a sigh and a moaning gale issued forth. Bubbles rose rapidly in the rivulets of mud streaming across the wet abrasion and then popped sadly in harmony with the wall¡¯s depthless despair.


    ¡°Lordship¡­ you are here?¡±


    Lord Glove strode to the wall, hand on his dagger, ¡°Who are you? Where is the Kineser? What have you done with her?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ am Emet. The Kineser has died,¡± the wall¡¯s wailing dropped to the whisper of a powerless girl, ¡°Time¡­ illness¡­ lack of sun¡­ I know not the cause.¡±


    ¡°Where is her body?¡±


    ¡°She realized she was fading¡­ she gave me as much of her knowledge¡­ as she knew how. As much as she could¡­ in the time she had. You will find an heir.¡±


    Lord Glove set his jaw, ¡°Where is her body?¡±


    Hollow eyes opened on the wall. Bidden put a hand to his heart. There was something terrible in them. Anger? Hatred? He could not tell.


    ¡°Her body¡­ rests in her private chamber,¡± Clods of earth fell as Emet¡¯s face turned, ¡°You need only speak¡­ her name to the north wall. It will deliver her to you.¡±


    Some walls towered, others leered. The wall behind Bidden sent clods of dirt tumbling down the back of his collar as it crumbled. Emet was alive, and beside the golem the wall oozed outward in an ever-spreading pool. The north wall was different yet again. It was a waterfall. Mud slid over moss and around broken stones before crashing down into the earth and vanishing without a trace.


    Lord Glove ducked a low hanging alligator and navigated his way past several towering stacks of broken pottery. He placed his hand on the wall, ¡°Rebeka.¡±


    The mud slid over Lord Glove¡¯s hand and ran between his fingers. Nothing else happened.


    ¡°Rebeka. Rebeka!¡± Lord Glove struck the wall, causing mud to splash across his coat, ¡°Rebeka!¡±


    Emet¡¯s lips split, letting free a whispering vesper, ¡°You must speak truth, not lies.¡±


    Lord Glove placed his hand once again against the wall. Then he closed his eyes and was silent. Bidden sensed his mood and stopped shuffling to stay dry. The other guards followed suit. The room went still. The only sound was the pattering of mud as it landed on the guards¡¯ helmets. Twin stars ran down Lord Glove¡¯s face; torchlight reflecting off his glistening cheeks.


    His lips trembled, ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ I am terribly sorry, Averse.¡±


    A hand met Lord Glove¡¯s own through the wall. An arm emerged. Lord Glove caught the body a moment later. She was small, and caked in mud. He straightened, holding her delicately in his arms. She had been a hard woman. Bidden had mostly been afraid of her. Now she simply looked old and frail. Bidden looked at Treacle, tossing his head in their lord¡¯s direction.


    The towering guardsman got the hint once Bidden kicked him in the shin. He stepped forward, ¡°My Lord, would you have me carry her?¡±


    A tear fell onto Rebeka¡¯s face, clearing a streak of mud from her cheek. It almost looked as if she had been the one crying, ¡°No. I will see her to the surface. I ask instead you to go to Rezel and tell him to make ready for the funeral. I must stay a while to speak with Emet. Leave now my friends. Please.¡±

 Of Course, Peaceseeker, of Course

    ¡°Of course, Peaceseeker, of course. You and your daughter hurry in now,¡± the woman swept her arm from the man and his girl to the doorway of her house.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to impose,¡± the corners of the man¡¯s weak blue eyes crinkled. His long fingers fumbled along the inner seam of his patchwork coat, searching a dozen hidden pockets. He withdrew his hand revealing empty fingers. His face turned red, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡­ perhaps I can repay you sometime in the future?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of it Peaceseeker! Your daughter will waste away if she spends another night outside in the cold. Look at her!¡±


    The woman knew she was exaggerating, but not by much. The little girl¡¯s ragged clothes hung loose about her thin frame. Her cheeks¡ªbrown and weathered by the sun¡ªwere drawn tight about her face. Though her gaze was steady, her dark eyes did not focus on the two adults. She stared beyond them, at some distant point the woman couldn¡¯t see.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been on the road for a few weeks, but I¡¯ve done right by her. I know a bit about living in the country,¡± the man ran his hand through his thin blond hair and his lips jerked into a small smile, so quick she didn¡¯t quite see it, but slow enough to know it had been there, ¡°We make do.¡±


    ¡°There is more to living than ¡®making do¡¯! Come in Peaceseeker, we¡¯ll get some stew into you and your little maiden child.¡±


    ¡°I can work for your lodging. At least give that to me. A man¡¯s got his pride. My legs are strong, and my hands know the shape and feel of every axe, pick, and shovel from here to the South Sea.¡±


    The woman smiled and shook her head, ¡°Very well. You can do my wood chopping. I won¡¯t say no to a chance to rest my arms. Now do hurry in Peaceseeker, the light¡¯s fading, and I¡¯m not liking the shape of those clouds.¡±


    The man took the girl¡¯s hand in his own, ¡°Come on I?.¡±


    ¡°I?¡± said the woman.


    ¡°Yes, my daughter¡¯s name.¡±


    A frown flitted across the woman¡¯s face, but did not land, ¡°That¡¯s an old fashioned sort of name, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Indeed it is. My wife said the old names were the best, for none are truer. And I thought, ¡®if the names are to be true, what¡¯s a truer name than ¡®I??¡¯¡±


    The woman thought the name to be a bit cruel, but at that moment the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Sundown brought with it a last breath of winter. The Peaceseeker¡¯s many-coloured coat flapped about him and his daughter¡¯s tunic billowed wildly. Whatever words the woman was about to say were forgotten. She gestured again to the door, and smiled when the pair shuffled through. Moments later the last of the sun¡¯s light faded from the sky. The woman secured the latch as a new gust rose, blocking out the sound of the promising storm and the sharp smell of winter. New sounds and smells took their place. The crack of coals in the hearth. The rattling of a pot lid. Split peas and venison. Under the warm light of a lantern she searched her cupboard, procuring an iron ladle and three wooden bowls.


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    ¡°I always make enough for travelers in case one happens by. Occurs more than you¡¯d think Peaceseeker,¡± she began doling out thick grey stew into her bowls.


    Another quick smile jerked the man¡¯s lips sideways, but this one was smaller and more painful; a brief flash of regret on his weathered face, ¡°Please, call me Lanet. That is who I am. Nothing more.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s about time you introduced yourself,¡± she winked, ¡°I am Asar, pleasure to have you and I? in my home.¡±


    Asar smiled as she said I?¡¯s name, ¡°Funny name, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d change it if I could, but it¡¯s all I? has of her mother. She died soon after I? was born.¡±


    ¡°Died in childbirth? Poor dear.¡±


    ¡°No, not childbirth. I¡¯d rather not talk about it. Some things are too painful,¡± the man¡¯s weak blue eyes become a shade lighter until he blinked away the recollection.


    Asar had a thought as she was handing out the bowls, ¡°Your daughter has such pretty long hair. I know a dress that¡¯ll fit it perfectly.¡±


    She saw Lanet was about to protest and silenced him, ¡°No, no, my husband¡¯s a tailor; we have plenty spare clothing. Anyway, hardly anyone¡¯ll buy this dress. My husband painted the whole thing with those carvings from the old times. He said it would make it last longer. Looks to me like it just stained the dress. Still, sort of mesmerizing, and it¡¯d be a shame to see good velvet go to waste. I¡¯ll nip down to the bedroom and get it.¡±


    Asar ran to her closet so Lanet wouldn¡¯t have time to think of any further protests. It was a simple matter to convince I? to remove her tattered tunic. Asar had always been good with girls, maiden children in particular. With a practiced tug, she pulled the dress over the girl¡¯s head. Asar leaned back with her hands on I?¡¯s shoulders to look at her. The dress had been red at one point. Not vibrant like a cardinal, or pure like ochre, but dark and mercurial like blood. Scrawled across it were enough ultramarine runes to colour the ocean. The long loops and swirls left the dress nearly as blue as it was red.


    ¡°¡®Fit for a queen,¡¯ husband said.¡± Asar pinched the dress. It was good quality even if it looked strange.


    I? ran her hands over the smooth fabric and then looked at Asar for the first time, dark eyes sparkling.


    ¡°It¡¯s a little long isn¡¯t it?¡± Lanet said worriedly, looking at how the dress bunched on the ground around I?¡¯s feet.


    Asar patted Lanet on the shoulder, ¡°I¡¯ll hem it for you. You won¡¯t have to worry about her growing out of it. Velvet doesn¡¯t last long anyway.¡±


    Her husband would scold her for that. Velvet wasn¡¯t made to be worn in everyday activities, but she had to get the dress out of the house somehow.


    Lanet relaxed and grinned down at his daughter, this time without the customary jerking motion, ¡°Do you like it I??¡±


    It warmed Asar¡¯s heart to see I? smile.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t talk much does she?¡± asked Asar as she marked the length with pins.


    ¡°She¡¯s shy is all,¡± Lanet ruffled her hair. ¡°Doesn¡¯t know many people, doesn¡¯t have any friends,¡± his eyes darkened, ¡°life of travel¡¯ll do that to you. I wish I could give I? the raising she deserves.¡±


    It took Asar a moment to figure out who Lanet was talking about, ¡°Do you ever grow used to that?¡±


    Lanet picked up I?, who had just let out a yawn, ¡°It takes time. Truth be told, with just me and I? on the road, we don¡¯t have much cause to say her name. Known her nine years now and still not completely used to it,¡± again sadness took his features, ¡°I don¡¯t think I ever will be.¡±


    ¡°Now Lanet, I¡¯ve known a lot of young men like you. You won¡¯t be peaceseeking forever. Peace comes in time, often without you noticing. I bet it¡¯s just around the corner¡±


    Lanet¡¯s curt nod was all Asar needed to see his journey was far from done.

 Funeral

    ¡°Friends, people of Glovedom. Rebeka was one who¡­ who it pains me to speak of as dead. She was nineteen when she came to us. A young woman with an extraordinary talent. She made Glovedom into the proud town it is today. Because of her our bridges stand, our roads are level, and our lanterns glow through the night. She was our foundation.


    ¡°Now¡­ she is gone. Without the foundation, the mortar crumbles and breaks. Our lorddom will¡ª,¡± Lord Glove paused, opened his mouth to continue, then frowned, and began his speech anew.


    ¡°She was not from our lands, she came from far away, from a kingdom to the north; bordering the sea. Those whose memories stretch back as far as mine might well remember her longing to return,¡± Lord Glove smiled, ¡°she was always going on about it. Never stopped insisting how much better fish born in brine tasted.¡±


    The smile left his face, ¡°Of course, in later years she gave up on her dream. She even gave up on the surface world. She never saw the sea again, not once in all her years. For that, and seven score further offences, I am steeped in regret.


    ¡°She wished to be buried beneath the waves, and this we cannot do. We have not the funds to return her body to the ocean, nor the time to spare in the journey. I would attempt to honour her nonetheless, to give her a funeral of highest honour. Her people followed the old ways, the rituals of death and true name. I will speak the ancient rites in addition to our own as Rezel drives the nails.¡±


    Lord Glove beckoned and his six guardsmen took up the board bearing Rebeka¡¯s uncovered body. He stared at her face as it drew level with his own; old, bitter, sad; so different from the young girl he had once known. She wore the clothes she had died in, as was custom. A shapeless white tunic stained with mud, grey trousers in a similar state. Lord Glove had given her a dozen fine suits and another half dozen beautiful dresses, but she was attending her funeral in rags.


    Lord Glove turned abruptly, taking several hasty steps before falling into a dignified march. His guards lurched into motion a moment later, matching Lord Glove step for step. In turn, the seven men were followed by the citizens of Glovedom. Lord Glove led the procession north, past the wooden huts of the village, past the outpost and border, turning west before the bridge. They approached a grove of empress trees, blossoms not yet in bloom, branches still wet from the storm. The tall grey-brown trees stood in solemn silence as the party passed beneath their bows. Lord Glove stopped seven paces from a young empress tree, bark smooth and free of whorls. His guard drew up beside him with their burden. The citizens of Glovedom arrived. All bowed their heads in reverence.


    The leaves of the empress trees swayed from a sudden breeze, filling the air with rustling sighs. A man clothed in light pink robes emerged from deeper in the grove. His thin lips were pale, nearly white, his cheek bones high, and his face austere. He would have been imposing if not for his gently balding head and sparkling green eyes.


    ¡°This empress was planted halfway through last year. This spring will see it grow to mighty heights,¡± he said softly. Rebeka would be honoured. His words lessened the pain in Lord Glove¡¯s heart. The words were meant to be kind, but they were kind because they were true. He was the Grove Keeper Rezel, and he did not lie.


    Rezel spread his muscled arms wide and walked to the men bearing Rebeka, ¡°The grove will take your burden. Today and always.¡±


    The six guardsmen lowered the body to the ground and stepped aside. Rezel took Rebeka in his embrace and bore her to the base of the empress. He lifted her into a standing position and placed her back against the tree. Then he took five wooden stakes and three lengths of rope from the tan belt about his waist. He placed Rebeka¡¯s arms behind her to encircle the tree and clasped each of her hands about the wrist of the opposite arm. This completed, he wrapped the first length of rope around her arms, binding them together.


    Rezel lifted her once more and drove the first stake into the tree between her legs, resting her body atop it. Then he placed stakes above and below each elbow, and used the remaining two ropes to secure each elbow to their stakes. Rezel stepped back from the tree and studied Rebeka¡¯s bound body. Her chin was bowed low to her chest and she sagged slightly in the ropes, otherwise remaining upright.


    Rezel nodded to Lord Glove then turned to the citizenry,


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    ¡°Rebeka is now bound to the tree; she is become its burden. The stake supporting her is Shanna, who lends her strong arms for the 43<sup>rd</sup> time. She will need much of your strength Shanna, but she is worth it seven hundred times. The stake beneath her left arm is Will, who redeems himself for the second time and shall know rest after he opens his heart five times more. Let Rebeka know all may be redeemed, even yourself, Will. The stake beneath her right arm is Lily, who will act as guardian for the eighth time. Keep her healthy and strong Lily. Above her right arm is Seraphmun, who is ready to learn after 400 deaths. Guide Rebeka for us Seraphmun.


    ¡°Above the left, Altar-by-the-Water,¡± at this a few in the crowd gasped and several girls were raised onto shoulders to view the stake, ¡°who cries once more after the Age of Death, and will for the 823543<sup>rd</sup> time lend his honour. Give Rebeka pain that she might find peace.¡±


    Whispers erupted among the crowd, but cut off immediately as Lord Glove and his guard knelt. Rezel held the silence for seven heartbeats before speaking, ¡°I will now place the seven wooden nails taken from seven unburdened empress trees.¡±


    Lord Glove rose, still facing Rebeka. His tone was quiet, rushed, and rough, yet all gathered heard him in the absolute silence.


    ¡°Rebeka, your true name, revealed to me, is Averse. Thus said, place a nail through the left forearm.¡±


    Rezel took up hammer and mallet and drove a wooden nail through Averse¡¯s left arm and into the tree.


    ¡°Averse, you worked all your life. Now is the time to put up your tools and rest. Thus spoken, place a nail through the right forearm.¡±


    Rezel moved around the tree in a counterclockwise motion, facing forward the entire time, then turned to her right arm. He took another pinkish grey nail and hammered it through.


    ¡°Averse, your will has been worn down. Draw now from this tree, for your burden is its own,¡± Lord Glove bit back a sob, ¡°Thus uttered, place a nail through the left leg.¡±


    Rezel drew one of the two thickest nails and circled back clockwise to face her leg. He rested it against Averse¡¯s thigh. Then he began to chant, quick and high. He gulped in air and the breathing became part of the prayer. The tendons on his neck popped. His arms bulged. The mallet in his right hand began to tremble. Abruptly, Rezel cut off the chant and swung his hammer. A loud crack resounded in the glade as the nail split Averse¡¯s femur in two and was followed by a thud as it drove into the tree.


    ¡°Averse, your legs have carried you for a life time and can carry you no further. Let this tree do the walking for you. Thus asked, place a nail through the right leg.¡±


    Rezel moved to his left and swapped the mallet to his other hand. Then he chanted a new prayer, this one slower than the first, and deeper. This time his shoulders eased. His arm hung lose, as though Rezel were sleeping. When the prayer ended, however, he struck with more force than the first time. The crack startled a brilliance of white watchers from the trees. As one, they let out a wavering cry. It resonated through the glade and filled all who heard it with sorrow.


    Seven minutes later, at the sun¡¯s zenith, the birds returned. Instead of returning to their perches amongst the grove, they all settled in Averse¡¯s tree. Each bird was a tiny white flower among its branches. So many were their number it appeared as if the tree was in bloom.


    Lord Glove continued, ¡°Averse, your pain is too much to hold. No one can hold pain. None save this tree, which will take your pain now. Thus intoned, place a nail through the hidden light.¡±


    Rezel straightened and lay three fingers below Averse¡¯s collarbone on the left side of her body. Rezel took one of the nails with thin shaft and wide head and gently pressed it between her ribs to find the tree.


    ¡°Averse, you are made from lightning and thunder. This tree pays the cost of being burdened and so receives your power to sustain it. Thus declared, place a nail through the lucid darkness.¡±


    Rezel shifted to Averse¡¯s right side and again placed three fingers below her collarbone, this time with his right hand. Then with his left he pushed the nail between her ribs, fixing her torso to the tree.


    ¡°Averse, this is your true name. It is a sad name. You lived your life in reclusion, only venturing out when duty called. You never loved, never asked for anybody. Upon death you lose your mask, and so too does your name. The beginning ends now.¡±


    Lord Glove paused for a moment and swallowed, the start of tears evident in his eyes, ¡°It¡¯s time for us to bid you your last, Averse. It is time for the world to greet the inner melody of your true self.¡±


    He knelt, ¡°Welcome, Verse.¡±


    Rezel took the final nail and drove it through the center of Averse¡¯s abdomen. Then he stood and placed his lips against her forehead. When he backed away, Verse¡¯s eyes were closed.


    The crowd waited for the first cries of the white watchers. A slight breeze stirred dead petals to dance one last time through the legs of the gathered. The first sonorous calls came an hour later. The people left in ones and twos until only Lord Glove and his guard stood with Rezel. At the second cry of the white watchers his guard left.


    Much later, a knave child was sent to the river to fetch water for his parents. While filling his bucket he saw Lord Glove on his knees, framed by the setting sun. Rezel¡¯s hand rested upon the ruler¡¯s shoulder while the seventh cry of the white watchers echoed about the glade. Then the sun slipped below the horizon, and the girl lost sight of them.

 The King Looks at a Window

    King Eornost stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at the monotonous view offered by his window.


    ¡°Father, you have been staring at the drapes since dawn, can I not draw them for you?¡± Talah was sitting at the private dining table she and Eornost shared. It was currently dominated by a large freehand map of the kingdom and surrounding domains.


    Eornost smiled a sad smile he knew his daughter could not see, ¡°If the curtains were drawn I would see the gentle green of trees budding. I would see Martin the huntmaster walking his horses. I¡¯d see my people smiling and waving at me as they walked past the window on their way to the well. My kingdom is a place of such beauty I fear to look at it. I can¡¯t stand to be reminded of all I will lose.¡±


    ¡°You will lose nothing,¡± Talah said firmly. ¡°King Otto¡¯s diplomat was offering an alliance. He spoke of nothing else. No threats. No bribes. No blackmail.¡±


    ¡°Yet Ganter continues to grow.¡±


    ¡°Is it his armies you fear? Look,¡± Talah pointed at her map, ¡°I¡¯ve marked the last known locations of Otto¡¯s armies in green. What do you see?¡±


    Eornost looked at his daughter¡¯s sketch. She had placed little coloured discs of wood all over its surface. Most of them were green.


    ¡°I see you¡¯ve had a very busy morning. You¡¯ve also been reading my private reports.¡±


    Talah rolled her eyes, ¡°I don¡¯t spend all day in lessons, Father. I have my own spies. Now please, your thoughts?¡±


    Talah had her own spies and she was making maps before breakfast. He¡¯d have to have a word with her teacher. Ricktor wasn¡¯t giving her enough to do. He laughed gently through his nose and kissed the top of Talah¡¯s head. The girl was obsessed with politics. He studied her discs through the fringe of her hair.


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    ¡°We are outnumbered. If Derkdom sides with Otto we will be surrounded. Fortunately King Derk was amiable to my suggestion of a secret truce,¡± he rubbed the top of Talah¡¯s head, ¡°A truce even your spies won¡¯t have known about.¡±


    She smiled sweetly up at him, ¡°They didn¡¯t need to. You just told me,¡± She became serious again, ¡°What you were supposed to see is the arrangement of his armies. His troops are scattered and no two armies are equal to our one. They couldn¡¯t attack us if they wanted to.¡±


    Eornost pointed to a chip right by their border, ¡°What about this one here? They could be on us in days.¡±


    Talah held it up to his eyes, ¡°If you opened the curtains maybe you could tell it is grey, not green. This means the reports are inconclusive. Otto is said to have elite shock troops there, but I couldn¡¯t confirm the rumours.¡±


    A horrible suspicion entered Eornost¡¯s mind, ¡°Who rules the lorddom?¡±


    ¡°Lord Glove.¡±


    Eornost paled, causing his daughter to hesitate, ¡°do you know of him?¡±


    King Eornost went back to the curtain, ¡°Aye, he is a hero of old. Served when I was a girl. Known as a general without rival since the time of Stalwart. He¡¯s also rumoured to be Otto¡¯s personal assassin.¡±


    Talah moved to her father¡¯s side. She put an arm around him and pulled him close, ¡°He¡¯d be an old man by now. An old man without an army. You need not fear for your kingdom.¡±


    ¡°Draw the curtain, I would see it once more, as it is now.¡±


    ¡°Why do you still fear?¡±


    Eornost pulled the cord at the window and light flooded in. He let out a sigh and began to smile, even as a tear traced its way down his cheek, ¡°After I am dead, you must cede to Otto. If you resist his assassins will return.¡±


    ¡°I am not afraid.¡±


    ¡°Promise me you¡¯ll surrender. Otherwise the next to take the crown will die, and the next. The pattern will repeat itself until Ganter is content our monarch will lead the dom to ruin.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll promise to surrender if you promise to have hope about our future. There is no cause for despair.¡±


    Eornost kissed her cheek, ¡°I promise to have hope. I hope they will accept my refusal. I hope my beloved daughter may inherit a dom as wondrous as the one I had the honour to rule. I promise not to give into despair, nor into anger. Eornostdom is the land of a free people, not conquerors. For you, I will never give up hope. For this land, I will never stand down. This I promise.¡±


    ¡°Then I promise as well,¡± said Talah and hugged him.

 Matthew Asks His Question for the First Time

    Matthew¡¯s study of Ganter had lit the coals of curiosity beneath his feet and they were starting to burn. The pain was too great to continue without answers. He set down his quill and looked expectantly at his master.


    ¡°Adal?¡±


    In turn, Adal continued to read.


    Ganthiel is a young dom, less than eight years past its creation and I fear it will be destroyed. I declared 343 Year 0¡ªThe Bargain. A week has passed. How things change. The peace cannot be kept.


    The Kineser always have frightened me. A dom divided is a dom soon to be conquered. My foes have never understood me. The world is so much larger than our petty feuds. I was right from the beginning. I have betrayed my people.


    ¡°Yes, yes, King Stalwart, very sad, get to the point, there¡¯s only a few lines left to this scrap,¡± His master gestured for the dead king¡¯s benefit.


    A religious cult of artisans now opposes me. A single organization should not have their power. My Conor spoke against their destruction, claiming appeasement would be enough. Appeasement is the game of fools. A king cannot afford such risks. I fear for Ganthiel. The mightiest warrior cannot slay the earth.


    ¡°Hmm¡­ I can¡¯t say I remember Ganthiel among the doms. Nor ¡®kineser¡¯ being the name of an order. I thought it was a job description.¡±


    ¡°Adal, please. It will be brief. It¡¯s about Ganter, Ganthiel¡¯s successor. You won¡¯t even have to search the archives.¡±


    Adal thumbed through the scraps of parchment before him. He went through them again, then scowled. He put down the stack and leaned back in his chair, finally looking at Matthew. ¡°The next page is missing! It¡¯s on such a cliffhanger I¡¯d swear they did it on purpose. Ha! We¡¯ll show them. The text must be restored! Mind like a steel sieve. I know just the place. Where¡¯s my coat? It¡¯s raining, figures. I¡¯ll need my hat as well¡ªfetch it for me Matthew? And my cane, it¡¯s a full stride at least to the Burned City. Hmm¡­ might need a carriage, don¡¯t want to make more than one trip, city¡¯s haunted they say. Might need an exorcist. Matthew! Check the histories for exorcisms¡ªand grab some candles and bells¡ªI think you need those. Bells and candles and¡­ and food. Not for the exorcism mind, you¡¯d be wasting good cheese on a ghost. Ghosts don¡¯t eat cheese; they¡¯re evil. They eat eggs, yes, eggs, like a snake. Snakes eat eggs, did you know? Evil creatures. Might be some in the city.¡±


    Adal drew in a breath. Matthew spoke as fast as he could, trying to take advantage of the moment, ¡°Adalcouldwetalkabout¡ª¡±


    ¡°Too cold for snakes, I agree. What were you thinking, saying there would be snakes? Now you¡¯ve got the horse frightened I¡¯ve no doubt. Good luck riding it to the city. As the great philosopher Stillow once said, ¡®Hello? It¡¯s dark and I can¡¯t find my keys. Can you let me in? Hello?¡¯¡±


    Adal paused, presumably to ponder the quotation, ¡°Naturally, it cannot be taken literally. It is a metaphor, for¡­ for describing the relationship between darkness and personal safety. A play on the old aphorism ¡®It¡¯s always darkest when there¡¯s no light¡¯ if you will. Of course, starting with a question, or perhaps a greeting would suggest quite a different interpretation. It may be that it pertains to the vernal hero of legends, Swan. He too once said ¡®Hello¡¯, on a fine spring morn, or so it is said. My point is, why are you still sitting there, did I not ask for my coat?¡±


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    Matthew sighed, wiped his quill clean, and packed it alongside his ink powders. Then he carefully took up the small wooden disc containing his activated ink and carried it with him towards the Damp Room.


    Archivists had two fears. The first was fire. When you work with, are surrounded by, and occasionally covered in, paper, you begin to notice how quickly you could redefine the term ¡°room temperature¡±. Consequently, archives didn¡¯t have a fireplace, and were instead heated by the hooded lamps they used for light. This ensured the archivists were always cold and nursing stubbed toes.


    The second fear of an archivist was water. Mold didn¡¯t destroy ancient scrolls quite as fast as fire, but it did so just as effectively. Furthermore, given the perpetual darkness of an archive, the slightest warp in a floorboard or twist of a doorframe was a guarantor of injury and might even cause an archivist to drop their lantern, thus leading back to fear number one. To that end, archives are equipped with a damp room; a place to hang wet clothing, to store lantern wicks, and to activate ink.


    Or so Adal had claimed. Matthew hadn¡¯t been to any other archives, but he couldn¡¯t imagine anyone willing to work in them if they were all like Adal¡¯s. Unless all archivists were like Adal. Matthew didn¡¯t know what was wrong with him. The old man was always cheerful when in the archives, and grumpy anywhere else.


    Matthew shouldered open the swollen cedar door to the Damp Room. He skipped past the short stone stair, neatly avoiding a tumble. That made it twice this week he¡¯d pulled off the feat. Adal had said the bruises faded eventually.


    As he groped about in the dark for the cupboard where he stored his writing utensils, Matthew was startled by a thump from the outside door.


    ¡°Matthew! Is that you? It¡¯s raining. I¡¯m getting the chills out here. I¡¯m missing a shoe and my foot has lost all color, I¡¯m a bit worried, is that normal? Wait, no it¡¯s coming back. Was it always that blue? I hope I don¡¯t lose my toes. You can do a lot with a good set of toes, much more useful than your fingers. Can¡¯t walk on your fingers. I should have eaten my glove.¡±


    Matthew gritted his teeth, ¡°Adal says you¡¯re not to be allowed in. He doesn¡¯t want someone dripping water all over the wooden floors and tempting mold. Some of these scrolls are ancient, and if they get the least bit musty we¡¯ll lose a millennium worth of knowledge.¡±


    ¡°If I die of cold you¡¯ll lose a millennium worth of knowledge, you babe swathed in the impertinence of an ill spent youth! I have consorted with kings I¡¯ll have you know! I¡¯ve queried with queens! Discoursed with daemons, wrestled with wizards, whispered with witches, tangoed with¡ª¡±


    Matthew began looking for his and Adal¡¯s coats.


    ¡°¡­masticated with martyrs, reconvened with writers, napped with nachzehrer¡ª¡°


    ¡°We¡¯re going on a trip to the Burned City. Will you be coming with us?¡±


    ¡°¡­lyophilized with lawyers¡ªyes of course I¡¯m coming. A trip? Wouldn¡¯t miss it for all the dried herring in the world. Though out here it¡¯d soak through, and then it¡¯d be quite a soggy sort of herring. I think my coat¡¯s inside, if you could just let me in¡­¡±


    Matthew ignored the door and walked back to his master. He found him hard at work, attempting to shove three enormous volumes, each thicker than the span of Matthew¡¯s hand, into a tiny carrying case. He looked up as Matthew entered the room.


    ¡°Ah, there you are my boy! Have you seen to the horse yet? I can¡¯t be doing all the work! We¡¯ve got a long journey ahead of us you know.¡±


    Matthew couldn¡¯t help but agree with him.

 Interlude I

    ¡°Glove.¡±


    Ebony throne on onyx dais. Stone tomb flooded with shadows. Iron hides among silver. One hand wooden, one hand dark.


    ¡°It¡¯s Lord Glove. You know the title I have earned.¡±


    Laughter. Beckoning.


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    ¡°Lord Glove. Do you miss her? I¡¯ve heard tales of you moping about at her funeral.¡±


    One step. Kneel.


    ¡°I do not. I grieve for the life she never had. My heart is broken.¡±


    Creaking weight. Clattering rings.


    ¡°You are stronger than I will ever be. Better to make your heart a stone. Easier.¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°Very well. Remember your duty.¡±


    Twelve steps to the door.


    ¡°Fortune fare you, my king.¡±


    The stone door opens, light sweeps across the room. The door shuts.


    Darkness reigns.

 Grady and Treant Stop an Invasion

    Grady glanced up from his knitting. First, to the ringing bell, then to the guard on the ladder outside the watchtower ringing it. ¡°Yeah Treant?¡±


    ¡°We got an invasion on our hands Grady. Humans. Approaching fast on our border. They number twice our patrol.¡±


    ¡°So ye hwant me ta come back ta `e border wi` ye hand heven `e hodds?¡±


    ¡°If you got the time,¡± Treant shrugged.


    Grady wrote a quick note on a small piece of parchment and tied it to a line outside the window. He yanked several times at the string beside the line. With every jerk, the letter jumped down the line until it was through the window of the nearby barracks.


    ¡°hI¡¯ve notified Bidden. Let¡¯s go,¡± Grady took up his spear, which resulted in a loud clang. Glancing up, he saw his helmet, which had been resting on his spear, had bashed against the ceiling.


    Treant grinned, ¡°Using you spear as a hat rack is against regulations.¡±


    ¡°So¡¯s bad talking ha fellow hofficer. `urry hup, we¡¯ve got hinvaders ta happrehend.¡±


    The two ambled through the door and down the ladder just in time to prevent a slight man and a little girl from invading the lorddom.


    ¡°¡¯alt!¡± Grady bellowed, ¡°Ye¡¯re crossing `e border!¡±


    The man stopped, and his face twitched for a moment in what might have been a smile.


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    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, where is the border?¡±


    ¡°hIt¡¯s hright `ere ye¡ªTreant hwhere his `e border?¡±


    Treant gestured sheepishly to the back of their outpost, ¡°It got wet in the rain. I didn¡¯t want it getting all muddy, so I washed it and hung it to dry.¡±


    Treant shrunk back a few paces from Grady¡¯s glare, ¡°It was only going to take a moment. Didn¡¯t expect a horde to come through, did I?¡±


    He gestured at the little girl.


    ¡°hWhen Lord Glove gets back t` ha smokin¡¯ hruin, hI¡¯ll be sure t` tell `im ye said `at¡±


    ¡°I marked it with a line though, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    He pointed to a crooked line drawn in the dirt. There was flecks of rust mixed in with the soil. Grady crooked an eyebrow and looked at Treant. Treant covered the notched head of his spear.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re on our way through and looking for a place to stay,¡± the man managed to make his interruption sound like an apology.


    ¡°hWhere ye from?¡±


    ¡°A long way from here. I am Lanet, a Peaceseeker¡­¡± he trailed off as Grady frowned, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, did I give cause for offence?¡±


    ¡°hIf yer hwondering hit¡¯s not `e peaceseeking hwe take hoffence ta. But hif yer destination his ¡®ere, ye best rethink. Glovedom¡¯s halways been ha place hof tragedy. Ye hwon¡¯t find much peace `ere.¡±


    Lanet¡¯s face grew pained, ¡°No, not here. I must travel much further.¡±


    ¡°hA shame Peaceseeker. May `ose travels be blessed. Ye mentioned lodging?¡±


    ¡°If possible friend. May I ask your name?¡±


    ¡°Grady. `is `ere¡¯s Treant, but ye `eard me chew `im hout halready hI¡¯m sure.¡±


    Treant threw an elbow into Grady¡¯s ribs, ¡°I¡¯m afraid our lord is not present at the moment, but we will do our best to provide in his steed. We have room for you. A woman died recently in the village.¡±


    ¡°Aye, I saw the white watchers flying.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t believe the stories about ghosts, you can stay in her hut. It hasn¡¯t seen use in years. Rebeka kept it clean, but preferred to stay below ground.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. I believe all stories, but the only ghosts I fear are my own.¡±


    ¡°hRight,¡± Grady wasn¡¯t sure how to respond, so he just clapped his hands together loudly, ¡°Let¡¯s get ye ta yer hroom. Follow me, hI¡¯ll show ye `e hway.¡±

 The Kineser’s Hut

    The hut had room for a bed, a nightstand, and little else. The only other object in the room was a great glass eye. It rested on the nightstand, with its golden iris facing the door.


    ¡°Guess `at hwere one of ¡®ers.¡± Grady pointed at the eye, ¡°hWe¡¯ll need ta hwait until Lord Glove is back before moving hit.¡±


    Lanet nodded, ¡°You hear that I?? Don¡¯t touch.¡±


    Grady grunted, ¡°Doubt `e heye hwill move. `s you hwho shouldn¡¯t be touchin`¡±


    ¡°I was speaking to her,¡± Lanet pointed at his daughter, ¡°Her name is I?.¡±


    ¡°hAh, hI see, haye,¡± Grady chuckled, ¡°hEye see. hIcy. hI?, see? Funny hinnit?¡±


    Lanet¡¯s eyes strained with myopic humour, ¡°Yes. Yes it is.¡±


    Grady grinned at Lanet, ¡°hI¡¯ll leave hit ta ye `en haye? hI? No yer daughter can stay ¡®ere. hIt¡¯s me leavin`.¡± He was laughing as he left. I? heard him call to someone else down the street, ¡°Bidden! hWait hup! hWait huntil ye `ere `is h¡¯one!¡±


    Lanet stroked I?¡¯s head, ¡°Thank all which is good for hospitality.¡±


    He checked the sun, ¡°Speaking of which, I¡¯ve some friends to see before dark. Do you want to come?¡±


    I? had to stifle a yawn just thinking of Lanet¡¯s friends. All they did was talk, ¡°No. Your friends are boring. I want to stay here.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s boring about debating the semantic difference between rubies and sapphires?¡± he winked at her. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a few hours. Don¡¯t wander too far. And remember not to touch the eye.¡±


    I? watched Lanet go through the window. She didn¡¯t think his last words had been fair. Why couldn¡¯t she touch the eye? She pursed her lips the way her father had. She guessed the guard was worried she¡¯d break it. She smooshed her nose thoughtfully against the glass. She¡¯d never scratched any of Lanet¡¯s gems, so there was no reason for him to be worried. Maybe he had meant that she should be careful. I?¡¯s face brightened. She could be careful, especially if it meant she could play with the eye. As long as she didn¡¯t damage it, no one would mind.


    Once Lanet had disappeared, I? hopped down from the window and went over to the table. Then, just in case, she went back to the door and looked around. She wasn¡¯t doing anything wrong, but she had learned that other people tended to misunderstand her intentions. Fortunately, no one was there. Reassured, I? carefully touched the eye.


    It moved.


    I? shrieked and leapt away from the eye, falling on her rear. She found herself level with its pupil, for its golden gaze had followed her descent. She could now see that its iris was not a continuous band like she had previously thought. Instead, the ring was composed of a thousand flecks of gold. She squinted. There was something beyond its iris, set deep within the amber glass. I? thought it looked like a mottled candle, or a scroll with its edges burnt.


    The eye began to roll toward her. I?¡¯s heart fluttered.


    She spoke softly to the eye, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. Lanet had told her strange things were often more afraid of you then you were of them. ¡°Hello, I¡¯m I?. Who are you? It¡¯s okay. I won¡¯t hurt you.¡±


    The eye responded to her by rolling off the edge of the table. I? snatched for it and missed, banging her forearms against the nightstand. I? winced as the eye crashed into the floor, but the glass appeared unharmed. It started to roll again, heading for the threshold.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I? pushed herself to her feet.


    The eye ignored her and rolled out the door.


    I? ran after it.


    The eye led her from one end of the village to the other. It led her across a meadow with green shoots pushing up through the mud. It led her over a small wooden bridge crossing a stream. Finally, it led her up a long and twisting path to a hideous shack full of dead rodents.


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    I? gulped greedily at the rat infused air as she ran. She almost had the eye. It had nowhere left to go. Just a few more steps and¡ªThere was a stairway at the back of the shack. The eye rolled down it.


    As it did so, a faint howl rose from the stairs¡¯ depths. I? stumbled to a halt at the edge of the first step and peered over nervously, still sucking in air. The path was dark and obscured by smoke. Shadows capered along the walls. Water dripped steadily onto the steps. A high pitched scream suddenly replaced the howling. I? jumped, stumbled, and caught herself on a slime covered wall. The scream cut off a moment later, replaced with a low sobbing.


    I?¡¯s panting quickened. She didn¡¯t want to go down there. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying. It wasn¡¯t even her fault the eye had run away. How was she supposed to know it could move? And, she thought, I ruined my dress chasing it. It had been so pretty, and now it was wet and covered in mud. A lump formed in her throat as she pulled her wet dress from where it clung to her legs. She had ruined it. If she didn¡¯t get the eye back it¡¯d all be for nothing. And she¡¯d get in trouble. The big red-faced guardsman would be furious. And Lanet¡­ Lanet didn¡¯t get angry, but he got sad, which was worse. I? pushed the thought away. She felt bad thinking of it.


    She¡¯d rather see whatever was making all the noise than have Lanet be sad at her.


    ¡°Okay.¡± She said. It was what Lanet said when he was thinking. He had told her it was a reminder. He¡¯d said the truth ofsituation was often better than he imagined.


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    The stairs were covered in slippery mud. She¡¯d need some form of support to help her get down them.


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    I? found a rusty sword propped against a sagging wall in the shack. She pretended she didn¡¯t notice the wall sag further when she took it. It would do. I? figured she could also use it as a weapon if she was attacked by any monsters.


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    I? shuffled over to the lip of the stairs. She hoped going down them wasn¡¯t as dangerous as it looked.


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    She tested the first step with her sword. It was mostly made of muck and slime, but there was also a patch of solid ground. She stepped down onto it.


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    I? repeated the process on the next step, and the next.


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    The air got cooler as I? descended. By the time she reached the bottom, goosebumps had risen on her arms and legs and she was shivering violently. She knew freeze solid if she didn¡¯t keep moving. Thankfully, the ground was flat here, and relatively dry. I? set off down the tunnel at a light jog.


    The run warmed her, but her teeth were still chattering by the time she was brought up short by a mossy wooden door. I? pulled her arms into the sleeves of her dress as she studied it.


    The door had no handle nor hinges, yet still stood, as if suspended in place. If that wasn¡¯t strange enough, someone had carved runes all over the door. Most were obscured by moss, but I? still recognized one. She traced it with her finger and whispered its name, ¡°Strength.¡±


    A damp wind sighed past I?, brushing her hair across her face.


    I? heard a voice on the wind, the same voice which had been howling, ¡°Ahhhh¡­ The kineser approaches,¡± The door in front of her swung open revealing a table covered in animal corpses. ¡°Enter.¡±


    I? raised her sword and tried to look brave. ¡°Who was that?¡±


    ¡°I am Emet. Please¡­ come in.¡±


    ¡°Do you have the eye?¡± I? ducked under the table, and looked around. Once again her view was blocked, this time by a stack of wax cylinders wrapped in string.


    ¡°Where are you?¡±


    ¡°To your right.¡±


    I? looked. She saw a pile of blue salt and some dead insects. Beyond that she could make out a stack of scrolls. And beyond that¡­ I? rubbed a dirty hand against her eyes. Her view did not change. Beyond the scrolls was an enormous face, carved in the wall. Its eyes were two holes, scooped into the earth. Its mouth was a dark gash, like a farmer¡¯s furrow. As I? watched, it pulled apart, releasing a great stream of dust into the air.


    ¡°Ah¡­ You see now. The kineser¡¯s eye chose well.¡±


    ¡°What are you?¡± I? navigated around a large stack of rune-covered papers. Emet replied with a roar of dust and wind once she was clear. The whole stack went fluttering.


    ¡°I am a golem¡­ Built by Rebeka to teach¡­ the arts of the kineser¡­ to you.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a golem?¡±


    The wall sighed, though I? could not say why. She wondered if she had offended it, but before she could ask, it continued it strange, halting speech.


    ¡°Formless construct given form. Endless strength¡­Obedient to its creator¡­ none other.¡±


    I? crawled under a bowlegged table stacked high with innumerous metal instruments.


    ¡°Girl¡­ the kineser is dead. In need of an heir.¡±


    I? straightened and found herself facing the wrong way. She turned in confusion. She was pretty sure she¡¯d been going in a straight line.


    ¡°Is that why the eye chose me?¡±


    The wind was softer this time, and harmonious. Several wires strung between a melted chandelier and a bristleless broom began to sing.


    ¡°I was created to teach. Forty-six days remain. You must learn kinesics¡­ history of Rebeka.¡±


    I? ducked under a spear which leaned from a barrel stuffed to breaking with weapons. It creaked and writhed as I? hurried past.


    ¡°I can¡¯t. I¡¯ve got to go soon. Lanet and I are peaceseeking.¡±


    Emet let out another long sigh. With the last of its breath it whispered, ¡°Lord Glove will speak¡­ with Lanet. He must.¡±

 Lord Glove Returns Home to Find I? Missing

    The journey had been long and the task unpleasant. Lord Glove¡¯s thoughts were now of dry clothes and home. There was nothing like kicking your feet up in front of the fire at the end of the day.


    ¡°Oh. Evening Your Lordship. Wasn¡¯t expecting you back so soon.¡±


    Or so he had heard. It was Turnpike, Lord Glove¡¯s youngest guard. Lord Glove explicitly remembered assigning Turnpike to guard Rebeka¡¯s workshop, not the border.


    ¡°What are you doing here Turnpike? Where is Treant?¡±


    Turnpike scratched the back of his head. His eyes darted to the left, ¡°Well¡­ Funny thing. I was going to ask you the same. Haven¡¯t seen him since before I left for lunch. I was about to check the barracks to see if he left a note.¡±


    Lord Glove had been walking all day and part of the previous night. He could deal with whatever trouble Turnpike had gotten himself into in the morning. He nodded stiffly to Turnpike, yawned, and began walking towards his manor. He was stopped by Turnpike¡¯s spear. Lord Glove raised an eyebrow, ¡°Yes?¡±


    Turnpike blushed, ¡°Uh, sorry My Lord. I changed my mind and wasn¡¯t sure how to stop you. Heat of the moment sort of thing.¡±


    Lord Glove nodded to the spear. The young guard¡¯s face flushed even redder. He lowered his weapon. There was an awkward silence for several moments. Lord Glove let it grow. Turnpike fidgeted on the spot, bit his lip, and finally, spoke.


    ¡°Well¡­ The thing is¡­ It¡¯s all a bit of a misunderstanding you understand. Quite understandable. If anything that¡¯s an understatement.¡± He looked hopefully at Lord Glove. Lord Glove waited.


    ¡°Right. Well what happened was, I got back to the shack¡ªlovely shack by the way, even if it needs a bit of work¡ªand, well, we have some guests in the dom you see, a man and a maiden child, and she¡¯s gone missing. The thing is, I found little foot prints leading into the shack. That¡¯s why I was looking for Treant. Thought he might know what to do. You know¡­ without getting you or Bidden involved.¡±


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    ¡°What?¡± Lord Glove felt himself shaking off his stupor, ¡°You didn¡¯t go after her? Why did you abandon your post?¡±


    ¡°I was taking my lunch break, and I¡­ I was afraid,¡± Turnpike hung his head in shame, ¡°It¡¯s dark and damp down there, and there¡¯s voices¡­¡±


    Lord Glove slapped his own cheek, hard, knock himself full awake. He had to move, ¡°You¡¯re on double store duty until I say otherwise. Get Gar, post him at the workshop. Stay with him until I return.¡±


    Lord Glove thought of the unknown maiden child as he ran. What had possessed her to go down those stairs? Most adults were too afraid to make the descent, let alone girls. He hoped she hadn¡¯t fallen and broken her neck. He ran through the shack without slowing and leapt down the stairs, allowing himself only a split second¡¯s judgement between each jump. Some steps he took two or three at a time. In his fifty years running up and down these stairs he¡¯d never gone faster. He reached the bottom in less than ten minutes, and sprinted down the tunnel. Lord Glove slowed as he approached the door to Rebeka¡¯s workshop. It was ajar. Through it he heard voices. One was familiar, the deep and slow breathing of Emet. The other was small and piping; that of a little maiden child.


    ¡°So why don¡¯t you get someone else to do it?¡±


    ¡°Renewal comes from the creator... None other.¡±


    Lord Glove entered the room as silent as Holda¡¯s own army, not wanting to disturb their conversation. The maiden child was sitting on the floor in front of Emet, her face tilted upwards to stare at Emet¡¯s own.


    ¡°Can you see things with those eyes?¡±


    The girl waved her hand in front of the golem¡¯s shadowed pits.


    ¡°That is a complicated question¡­ to answer. I ¡ª¡± Emet cut off as Lord Glove approached.


    The maiden child turned around, startled, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to touch the eye, I just wanted to play. I tried to bring it back, but I lost it, and then I was too tired, and Emet said we should talk and¡ª¡±


    It took Lord Glove a moment to realize what eye she was talking about. The one in Rebeka¡¯s old house. The one she¡¯d said could find a kineser. Lord Glove knelt in front of the girl and looked her in the eyes, ¡°It¡¯s okay. Don¡¯t worry,¡± he brushed a dead beetle out of her hair, ¡°My name is Lord Glove. Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m I?.¡±


    Lord Glove smiled at her, ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, I?.¡±


    She smiled, unsure.


    ¡°It was very brave of you to go down those stairs on your own. Were you scared?¡±


    She nodded, ¡°A little.¡±


    Then she burst into tears.


    Lord Glove stretched out his arms, ¡°Come here,¡± he pulled her in close and stroked her hair, ¡°It¡¯s okay. You¡¯re fine. Nobody¡¯s mad at you.¡±


    He glanced at Emet, ¡°In fact, you may have solved a problem of mine.¡±

 Eornost is Late for Breakfast

    ¡°Father, are you coming down?¡± Talah called through the bedroom door. ¡°Father?¡±


    Hearing no reply, she began to pace. What was taking him? Her father was normally an early riser, and it was nearly noon. He¡¯d have been at his letters again. Talah paced for several more minutes, then, no longer able to restrain herself, pushed open the door and rushed inside the room.


    Inside, all was calm. The curtains rippled in the breeze from the open window. His desk chair, a small wooden thing he had brought into his room years back, sat by his bed. She had found him asleep in the chair, quill dangling from his fingers, papers scattered across his desk many times in the past. But in all the years since she had helped her father carry the desk and chair into his chambers, the chair had not moved from where Eornost placed it. This time, no quill dangled from the king¡¯s fingers, and there were no letters on the desk. Talah ran to him, touching his forehead. Hoping against hope he would wake. He was cold. Talah stifled a cry and checked his pulse. There was none.


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    Three days later, she received a letter outlining the details of her surrender.

 Matthew’s Question is Answered

    ¡°Wait!¡± Adal cried, then cried again as he was nearly pitched from the cart, ¡°Not you, damnable horse! The thought is whom I ask not to flee! Stillow, what is the name of the largest dom in the immediate area?¡±


    His companion, a man with pale blue eyes and short white hair, turned. He was clothed only in bedsheets, a pair of gloves, and a single shoe, ¡°Ganter, I believe.¡±


    ¡°Aha! Thought that sounded familiar. Don¡¯t you see Matthew?¡± Adal shook a red gloved finger at him, ¡°Ganter contains Ganthiel¡¯s former capital!¡±


    Matthew wished he could stare at Adal in disbelief, but it was to be expected. After four years serving the man, Matthew was disciplined in the ways of madness, ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve been trying to ask you about it for some time.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you speak up sooner, lad? You could have saved us some time!¡± Adal leaned along the seat to smack his frail hand atop Matthew¡¯s thick skull.


    ¡°Ow!¡± cried Adal, ¡°Look what you made me do. The youth of today have no respect. Isn¡¯t that right, Stillow?¡±


    The philosopher raised a hand as if cupping a glass, ¡°Such is the way of all youth in any time. They are uneducated, and therefore shallow.¡±


    ¡°Except for us, eh Stillow? We had the respect.¡±


    Stillow nodded thoughtfully, ¡°Aye, we knew what we know now then. And what we knew then now.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of the kingdom of Ganter,¡± Matthew interrupted, ¡°I¡¯d still like to ask my question.¡±


    ¡°Ask away lad!¡± Adal said generously, ¡°Even if it is in the manner of the callow youth. You won¡¯t learn if you always keep so quiet.¡±


    ¡°But you keep interrupting me¡ª¡±


    ¡°Time¡¯s up. Time is precious, that¡¯s why old things are more valuable.¡±


    ¡°If age makes a thing worthwhile, the extrapolation of the value of youth is a simple task,¡± said Stillow.


    ¡°A task young Matthew seems unable to complete,¡± said Adal, ¡°He doesn¡¯t got the patience to learn.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s in the right in a war?¡± Matthew blurted, seizing his moment, as Adal once again drew breath and Stillow turned to stare thoughtfully at a cow.


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    Adal tapped his traveling case, ¡°Well, if it is absolute truth you want, then you need look no further than the history books. They¡¯ll have your answer.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a cow,¡± said Stillow


    ¡°And what do they say?¡±


    ¡°What do who say?¡± Stillow asked, sighing as the cow disappeared behind a hedge.


    ¡°What do the books say?¡±


    Without turning his head, Stillow turned one eye to stare into Matthew¡¯s own. It twinkled, ¡°Ah lad, they say the greatest thing of all.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    ¡°They say nothing on who¡¯s right in a war?¡±


    Adal chuckled, ¡°You see lad, it depends on the victor.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s say Ganter won the war,¡± said Matthew.


    Stillow started upright, ¡°They did? They haven¡¯t faced me yet. Where are they? I will stand against them to the last man. I¡¯ll stand till I¡¯ve lost my last shoe, and then my feet will hurt, but I¡¯ll start sitting against them, mark my word!¡±


    ¡°Then Ganter would be in the right,¡± said Adal. Matthew and Adal had learned long ago to ignore Stillow when his mouth was moving.


    ¡°What if they lost?¡±


    ¡°Then their foe would be in the right.¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you been paying attention, lad?¡± Stillow interrupted ¡°Ganter isn¡¯t at war, they wouldn¡¯t dare. Not with me around.¡±


    ¡°They might as well be at war. Their borders are growing. Every month thousands fall under their dominion.¡±


    Adal patted him on the back, ¡°Fear not Matthew. War is a form of government. It¡¯s a democracy. You cast your vote by joining one side or the other. Whoever gets the most votes gets the biggest army. That army may then conquer the others and the majority are happy.¡±


    For some reason, Matthew was not reassured.


    ¡°What if the minority is still so large as to have meaningful needs?¡±


    ¡°The minority¡¯s job is to adapt, as it has always been. Adapt and persevere, so, come the next war, they may cast their vote again. This is why the beliefs of your mother and father are far more important than your own. You are not voting, your oppressed ancestors from millennia past are. Isn¡¯t that right Stillow?¡±


    ¡°Yep. I always send my ancestors to war instead of myself. It¡¯s less violent that way. Imagine a world where everybody¡¯s deceased with a grudge went to war instead of their descendants. Battlefields would be as full of corpses as always, but nobody would get hurt. Since the winner is the side with the least bodies on the field, the best way to win wars would be to not take up your shovel. Let the fools on the other side dig up their great grandaunt and lug her bones to battle. It is often my dream.¡±


    ¡°I dream of a moldering society with only the faintest of texts to piece it together.¡± Adal said, ¡°Like King Otto of Ganter. He¡¯s sending diplomats to every dom, bits of text to peace it together.¡± Adal chuckled, ¡°Heh, still got a wit left after all these years in your company Stillow.¡±


    Matthew stared at the horizon, ¡°The other doms should stand against him.¡±


    Adal shook his head, ¡°Even if they were in bad enough mood to do so, they would need to unite to have a chance of fighting against King Otto¡¯s superior might. Uniting doms doesn¡¯t go over so well. I know only one ruler in the modern age who has attempted it.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°King Otto, were you not listening? To stop King Otto you¡¯d have to become a worse conqueror than he.¡±


    ¡°We could form alliance, damage him, stop his growth.¡±


    ¡°Go right ahead boy. Let me know when you command an army. I¡¯d love to see the look on Stillow¡¯s face.¡±

 Ricktor Votes for a New Queen

    Ricktor was the last of the Conor to arrive. He timorously climbed the stair to the Upper Table, then slowly hobbled to the chair at Talah¡¯s right. Once seated, he began to clear his throat, a process which took the longer part of a minute. Ricktor always said anything worth doing was worth doing well. ¡°Ach¡ªem! Let the dom weep, for Eornost is no longer with us. Let us wear white to guide him to rest. Let the axes fall silent. Leave the harvest for another day. Let us all feel our sorrow. Let the dom weep! Weep, but we shall not cut our hair!¡±


    Talah¡¯s old teacher withdrew a thick piece of paper and pulled a small heating pot towards himself.


    ¡°For life goes on. Tomorrow we will need fuel for our fires. Tomorrow we will need food for our children. Tomorrow. Today we need but one thing. A leader. Let us elect her. Talah shall be queen. I sign it so.¡±


    He poured a deep red wax from the pot onto the top left corner of the paper. He removed his signet ring, and pressed its mark, a roughly carved image of a rearing bear, into the cooling wax. He passed the paper to his right. The second of Eornost¡¯s Conor, a middle aged woman named Bina took it. She poured on a deep green wax and affixed it with her own seal, an antelope set within a winged crown. She passed it on, and around the table it went, accumulating a wide variety of colours and sigils as the Conor gave Ricktor their support. When it finally reached Talah, only four spaces, grouped in the center, remained. A new ruler could take any colour and any sigil to be their own. Customarily, they were decided on during the ceremony, but Talah had already chosen hers. She grabbed one of the pots and poured enough wax on the paper to fill its center. Then she took up her chosen sigil and stamped down fiercely, spattering hot wax across the rest of the parchment.


    ¡°Blue,¡± Ricktor nodded approvingly, as though she had asked a particularly astute question.


    ¡°The hydra,¡± Bina added, ¡°The choice of one who will not be defeated.¡±


    Ricktor raised his voice, which caused him to break into a coughing fit. Talah ground her teeth. Get on with it.


    ¡°Ach-em! As I was saying: Raise the flag of the Blue Hydra. Talahdom is born.¡±


    A great clatter and cheer rose up from the Lower Table, as several hundred of Talah¡¯s people declared their support. Talah had never imagined cheering could feel so hollow. Didn¡¯t they see that they cheered for the death of their king? Didn¡¯t they care that her father had died? Her father! She wanted to scream at them. She began to rise, but something tugged at her arm, pulling her back into her seat. It was Ricktor. He leaned over to whisper in her ear, ¡°Wait. Let them have this moment.¡±


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    Talah didn¡¯t understand, but Ricktor had  four generations of monarchs, so she waited. As the clapping began to die down, Ricktor nodded to her. Talah rose and quieted the rest of her people with an outstretched hand, palm down.


    ¡°I received this morning a notice of my surrender. I need only sign it. I would do so now.¡±


    The silence became poisonous. Talah found her face contorting into a feral grin. Despite her promise to her father, this is what she had wanted. The reproachful glares from those in white funeral wear warmed her more than all their cheering. Her path was the wrong one and they knew it. She gestured to Ricktor. He reached under the High Table and withdrew a platter covered by a squat golden cloche. Ricktor lifted the cloche with a flourish. Beneath it was a tall stack of papers. Talah had thought the theatrics unnecessary, but Ricktor had insisted.


    My turn. North of her sat an enormous fireplace, lit to throw back the chill of the spring morning. Talah walked over, hands clasped in front of her to hide their shaking. She had left a stick poking out of the fire earlier this morning. It was now half consumed by the flames, but the end closest to her was still unharmed. Perfect. Talah grabbed the brand and walked back to the High Table. Behind her, the people of the Lower Table began to murmur.


    Talah hoped her father could see her now, and could hear her thoughts. I promised, Father, I know, but King Otto must be stopped! This agony, this emptiness in my heart, it is his creation. He will destroy us, in spirit as well as flesh. Someone needs to make a stand. Talah breathed the embers back to life, igniting them. Father forgive me. She began to sign the surrender.


    The top page caught fire. Flames licked at Talah¡¯s hands. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop from whimpering and signed the second page where it was revealed, and the third after that. She and Ricktor had decided that she would only sign three pages, but it wasn¡¯t enough. She ignored his stare and continued to write. Her eyes began to water as she signed the fifth page, by the tenth page her hand had turned red, by the twentieth she wanted to scream, by the last page she felt nothing at all. She wondered if her hand would every feel anything again. It had become horribly mottled and blistered, and the fingers moved stiffly. It would be fair if she lost her hand, she decided. It should not be so easy to break a vow. She wanted to weep then, to curl up and disappear. Let others deal with the world. Talah stood despite her wishes. She couldn¡¯t take the coward¡¯s path, no matter how much she might desire it. She found herself lifting the platter with its flaming stack, and walking to the stairs above the Lower Table.


    ¡°I have signed their treaty, as I said I would do. Unfortunately, my pen had not yet cooled. Do your own embers likewise continue to glow? Will you allow my voice to stoke your passion? Will the fire in your hearts feed on their demands of surrender? Will you go to war with me?¡±


    Talah shouted the last sentence. One hundred voices roared their approval in return. A woman stood and raised her mug to Talah. Others followed suit, grabbing mugs and leaping to their feet, until the whole room was standing and shouting her name.


    Talah raised her flaming platter high. This time the cheering warmed her. Her face turned red from the heat, yet her tears flowed freely and did not dry. She cried for her father, and cried as his people burned.

 Lord Glove Asks Lanet for a Favour

    ¡°So you understand my desperation?¡±


    Lanet answered him with a strained smile. Lord Glove had learned this was how Lanet replied to most things.


    ¡°Lord Glove, I see you fear for your infrastructure, but she is my daughter. She is infinitely more valuable.¡±


    ¡°Please, Lanet. She has said she is willing. I? will be safe in my care.¡±


    I? looked up at him and smiled, and then looked over at Lanet. Lord Glove wondered what she was thinking. He¡¯d managed to clean her dress the same night he¡¯d carried her out of the kineser¡¯s workshop. The poor maiden child hadn¡¯t even realized it was possible. She¡¯d been smiling at him ever since. Lanet was right, however. A girl needed her father more than she needed pretty dresses. Lord Glove would never have considered hiring I? if his need wasn¡¯t so great.


    Lord Glove met Lanet¡¯s gaze. The Peaceseeker was a mystery. He appeared weak, but there was some iron in the way he stared at Lord Glove, in the way he sometimes spoke. It entered his voice now.


    ¡°I have decided. Think on the meanings of what words you have uttered Lord Glove. Think on them well. I¡¯ll leave her to you, but for a different cause. The life of a Peaceseeker is hard on a young girl. She hardly talks to anyone, but she talked to that wall,¡± Lanet¡¯s watery eyes filled with pain, ¡°She needs friends. It would do her good to settle. For a while at least.¡±


    Lord Glove felt as if a great burden had settled on his shoulders, despite the boon I? would be to his dom. ¡°Thank you. We¡¯ll look after her.¡±


    Lanet bent down and hugged his daughter.


    ¡°I? will miss you,¡± he said with a wink.


    ¡°Yep she will,¡± replied I?, ¡°Bye Lanet!¡± Tears began to form in her eyes.


    ¡°Promise me you will obey Lord Glove.¡±


    ¡°I will!¡±


    ¡°And promise me you will never cut your hair,¡± Lanet smiled sadly, ¡°you are too beautiful.¡±


    I? nodded, lip quivering.


    Lanet kissed his fingertips and then placed them on her forehead, ¡°Farewell. I¡¯ll see my peaceseeking takes me your way on occasion.¡±


    Lanet walked down to the river, past Treacle and Treant at the border, and over to the empresses tree where Verse was already partially incased in bark. Lanet dropped his staff to the ground and bowed to her like a knight in court. Lord Glove could just make out his words and they gnawed at his heart.


    ¡°May my daughter honour you and your legacy.¡±


    Lord Glove was terrified I? would do exactly that. He doubted anyone else heard Lanet, but he walked over to his guards to disguise his reaction nonetheless. It wouldn¡¯t do for I? to see him looking so unsure moments after she entered his care.


    His guards were unaware of his approach.


    ¡°Not much of a father, eh?¡± Treant muttered at Lanet¡¯s receding back, ¡°Abandoning his child¡­¡± he shook his head, ¡°She must be half out of her mind from fright.¡±


    Treacle clutched his spear, ¡°She¡¯s a braver one than I. Went into the kineser¡¯s abode without Lord Glove. Little maiden child made it all the way down those step alone.¡±


    Treant let out a low whistle, ¡°Hope we don¡¯t have to guard her. Maybe Grady¡¯ll get the job.¡±


    ¡°Naw, saw him with Matt. The two  already drunk enough between them to tip a field of cows.¡±


    Lord Glove coughed. The two men turned, startled.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have none of that. I? needs every encouragement if she is to succeed,¡± he grinned to dull his words, ¡°Go join Matt and Grady, I already assigned Gar to the shack.¡±


    The two men stammered out a mix of thanks and self-admonishment then rushed off to join their fellows. Lord Glove shook his head. Everyone in his dom was as afraid of the workshop as he was. The thought made him smile, but he wasn¡¯t sure why. Maybe because it was such a silly thing to be afraid of, or maybe because it meant he wasn¡¯t alone. He walked back to I?, still smiling. He studied her as he walked. He hadn¡¯t noticed it before, but the patterns on her dress were not random. In fact¡­


    ¡°Are you looking at the symbols of strength?¡± I? asked.


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    Lord Glove raised his eyebrows, surprised, ¡°Emet taught you the runes already?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    His eyes twinkled, she didn¡¯t even consider her extraordinary knowledge to be unusual, ¡°Then how¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lanet taught me some of the old symbols when I was little. I recognized the symbol for strength on the door, and then Emet pointed out it was also on my dress.¡±


    She pointed to several of the strength runes on her dress. Lord Glove wondered if Emet had told her what the other symbols meant. Her dress was a work of kinesic art. If Lanet knew the symbols and hadn¡¯t told I? about her dress¡­ He was a far more dangerous man than he appeared. Lord Glove would have to investigate it later. He kept his thoughts from his face, instead squatting down to I?¡¯s level.


    His mouth became serious, though his eyes continued to twinkle, ¡°We have but forty-four days left. What else has Emet taught you?¡±


    I? took a deep breath, ¡°I am to be kineser so I can restore the runes, but I don¡¯t know how to do that. Emet said she would show me when my training began. Um¡­ we don¡¯t have enough time for Emet to teach me everything, so I¡¯m going to have to figure a lot out on my own after she is gone. She didn¡¯t say where she is going. Emet said she¡¯ll only talk to me or you. And she said there is a list of important things which will break unless I fix them in time. The bridge, the keep, the road, ummm, the sewer, and¡­ I can¡¯t remember if there was more.¡±


    Lord Glove smiled, ¡°You¡¯re a wonder. Glovedom may have a chance.¡±


    ¡°Chance of what?¡±


    He wasn¡¯t sure how to explain it to her, ¡°Surviving economic collapse. Our¡­infrastructure¡ªthe places you named¡ªthey require constant maintenance. Without a kineser¡¯s touch they will all fail.¡±


    I? nodded, but Lord Glove didn¡¯t think she understood. He tried again.


    ¡°You see that watchtower over there?¡±


    I? nodded.


    ¡°Have you ever seen other watchtowers?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yeah. They looked different though.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    I? pressed her palm against her forehead. Lord Glove took this to mean she was thinking. ¡°Um¡­ They were wider.¡±


    Lord Glove nodded to encourage her, ¡°Were they wider all over?¡±


    I? shook her head, ¡°No. Just the ladder.¡±


    ¡°Exactly, well done,¡± Lord Glove said. I? smiled at him.


    ¡°The Glovedom Watchtower is different from every other watchtower in Ganter,¡± he said, ¡°for it is supported entirely by its ladder. It looks rather precarious doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s precarious?¡±


    Lord Glove had to remind himself that, for all I?¡¯s similarities to Rebeka, he was still dealing with a girl. Rebeka had been ten years older when she had first come to him, and more set in her ways. I?¡¯s youth was an impediment, but it could also be his salvation. He could steer her, shape her, make sure she never followed in Rebeka¡¯s footsteps.


    ¡°It means it looks dangerous. Like it could fall over at any second.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± I? nodded again.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s your job to make sure that never happens. Come, I¡¯ll show you how it works.¡±


    Lord Glove led her to the ladder and knelt at its base. The spring rains had covered it in dust. He blew it away. A small cloud of dust rose up and tickled his nose, making him sneeze. This resulted in a larger cloud, which caused him to sneeze again. I? laughed at him. Lord Glove couldn¡¯t help but join in. Once he started he found he couldn¡¯t stop. His chuckle deepened to a great booming laugh, which set I? off further. Lord Glove enjoyed the sound of his own laughter so much he wondered why he didn¡¯t laugh more often. He knew there was something which usually held him back, but for the life of him he couldn¡¯t remember what.


    Eventually, their laughter subsided. Lord Glove shook his head in wonder. There weren¡¯t enough girls in his life. He was going to enjoy having I? around.


    ¡°Ready to continue?¡± he asked her. He pointed to the base of the ladder. The dust had concealed a large block of stone, set in the earth. A continuous band of runes had been carved into its surface.


    I? nodded. Lord Glove wondered if she¡¯d learned to be quiet from Lanet. Peaceseeking tended to be an introspect affair.


    ¡°You see these runes? Good. If you look closely at the pole you¡¯ll see an identical band of runes etched into the wood above the stone. Do you recognize them?¡±


    I? studied the runes. ¡°It says ¡®bind¡¯, right? You can¡¯t write it one paper because it¡¯s a circle. Lanet had to show me it on his arm,¡± I? giggled, ¡°and then he couldn¡¯t get the ink off!¡±


    Lord Glove grinned at her, ¡°There is a similar pair of runes atop the ladder. When Bind is matched with its mirror by a kineser the two objects bearing the runes may be linked. They become nearly impossible to separate.¡± Lord Glove patted the runes, ¡°This ladder is more secure than if we had found a way to sink it into the stone itself.


    ¡°However, that doesn¡¯t mean we use them everywhere. Bindings allow us to cut corners, but, unlike nails and glue, they wear off. A kineser must refresh the binding every forty-nine months or the magic will stop working. That¡¯s seven times seven months in kineser speak,¡± he bit his lip ruefully, ¡°You¡¯ll be sick of the number seven before you¡¯re done training.¡±


    Lord Glove stood and dusted off his knees.


    ¡°So that¡¯s what you¡¯ll be doing. Refreshing these runes and others.¡±


    ¡°Like the one on your door?¡± I? asked.


    Lord Glove nodded, ¡°That one is going to be low priority. The light is convenient, but I¡¯d rather not have this,¡± he pointed to the watchtower, ¡°come falling down on our heads.¡±


    ¡°W-what¡¯s priority?¡± I? yawned.


    It was getting late, at least for a little maiden child.


    ¡°We can talk about all this tomorrow,¡± Lord Glove said, ¡°Better yet, Emet can tell you. Let¡¯s get you to bed.¡±


    ¡°Where am I staying?¡±


    Lord Glove thought about it.


    ¡°Verse¡¯s will is for the new kineser to inherit all she owned. You could have her entire house to yourself if you wanted,¡± at the stricken look on I?¡¯s face, Lord Glove added, ¡°But you could stay with me in the keep. I¡¯m often gone, but there¡¯s people around and I¡¯ll stop by to chat. How¡¯s that sound for now?¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s settled. Come with me. We¡¯ll find you a room.

 Interlude II

    Amused laughter.


    ¡°Excellent work Lord Glove. This tree is the source of all their feuds?¡±


    Step. Step. Kneel.


    ¡°Yes. It is a holy site. Both doms claim the tree for their own. Sadly, it rests on the border.¡±


    Creaking ebony, glinting iron.


    ¡°What do you propose?¡±


    Shadows playing over ivory. Ivory mirrored in darkness. White against black. Black over white.


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    ¡°I have formed two militia. Each contains troops from either side of the conflict. Naturally, they are unaware.¡±


    Rough hands rasp rough skin.


    ¡°And then the tree disappears?¡±


    Invisible acquiescence.


    ¡°War is inevitable. The militia will split in order to protect their home. Friends will become enemies and enemies will become friends. Certain ¡®outspoken individuals¡¯ will call for an end to the fighting. Any officers who continue to support the war will be overthrown and executed. A temporary peace, fragile, yet beautiful, will be held as the doms try to figure out what to do. In the midst of the confusion¡­¡±


    Hissed excitement. Iron rests against ebony.


    ¡°The tree will return. Can you do this?


    Boots strike onyx. Boots strike stone. Door opens, light revealed. Door closes.

 Emet’s First Lesson

    ¡°We must begin.¡± Emet said, ¡°We will start¡­with your dress of runes. You already know of the strength rune. There are others¡­ Image, repair, bind¡­ It is a very complicated dress.¡±


    Now that they had been pointed out to her, I? could make out several of the symbols Emet had mentioned. She pointed to them with her fingers.


    Emet¡¯s eyes widened, ¡°Where did you learn these?¡±


    ¡°Lanet taught me the symbols!¡± I? said proudly.


    ¡°The art of kinesics¡­ deals in runes, not symbols. As for Lanet¡­ does Lord Glove know of his teachings?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ I think so.¡±


    I? brushed a ball of mud from her knee while she waited for Emet¡¯s reply. She had become far less frightened of mud after learning how to wash her dress. Lord Glove said the dirt still wasn¡¯t good for her dress, but by the time it wore out he¡¯d be able to replace it with a dozen others.


    ¡°I will need time¡­ to think about Lanet. Now¡­ your dress. It has lost its power¡­ or never contained any power at all. The symbols are masterfully done. As¡­ they must be. Should a symbol¡­ be drawn incorrectly its effect would be opposite.


    ¡°Gather a sheet of wood, a copper inscription tool, and¡­ vial of blue ink.¡±


    Emet¡¯s ragged lips pressed together and stilled as if they had never been apart. I? spent the better part of an hour looking for an inscription tool. She wasn¡¯t even sure what inscription meant. She grabbed dozens of copper tools, but none of them felt right. Emet didn¡¯t respond to any of her questions. Finally, she settled on a hooked copper implement simply because it was shinier than all the others. She found the ink much faster. In one corner of the room, behind a ring of dead beetles, was a shelf covered in ink bottles. Emet hadn¡¯t specified which shade of blue to grab, so she took one which matched the colour of the runes on her dress. On her way back to Emet she found a stack of boards leaning against a large coil of rope. She grabbed one of the boards in her free hand and dragged it along behind herself. Once all the materials were gathered in front of Emet the wall surged into motion, once again a living thing, ¡°Good. Remove your dress¡­ and place it on the board¡­ Flat.¡±


    I? was reluctant to remove her dress. Partially because of the cold, and partially due to embarrassment. Emet stared impassively down at her, which didn¡¯t help.


    ¡°Do I have to?¡±


    Emet didn¡¯t reply.


    I? glanced behind her to make sure no one was watching. Hundreds of eyes stared back, but most of their owners were dead, so that was fine. I? also decided Emet didn¡¯t count because she was a wall. Emet was also a she. That didn¡¯t help, but it made her easier to think about. I? pulled off her dress. She felt her face flush, and goosebumps rose all over her skin. The workshop was freezing! It was hard to remain embarrassed when all she could think about was getting warm again. She looked up at the wall expectantly.


    Emet continued as if she hadn¡¯t noticed I?¡¯s hesitation, ¡°Now¡­ what did Lanet teach you? Which runes do you recognize? Which do you remember? Name them all¡­¡±


    I? studied her dress, ¡°S-strength,¡± she said, shivering, ¡°Bind. Repair, th-that¡¯s the interlocking circles, r-right? And that¡¯s all I c-c-can remember r-right n-n-now.¡±


    ¡°Good¡­ the small rune¡­ yes, the one under your hand¡­ is named Image¡­¡± I? traced her fingers along the blue lines, ¡°Dip the inscription tool in the ink. Now¡­ trace the strength runes.¡±


    I? dipped the hook of the copper rod into the blue inkwell and pulled out a single drop of ink. Then, tongue clenched between her teeth, I? traced the first rune. She ran out of ink less than a quarter of the way through. Once again she dipped the inscription tool and maneuvered it across the cloth, holding her breath as the drop wobbled along the surface of the tool, threating to escape and stain the fabric.


    This time she got much further, and a third pass completed the rune. I? stood and stretched her arms. She had been concentrating so hard she¡¯d forgotten how cold she was. The tips of her fingers were turning blue and her shivering had become uncontrollable. She began to jog on the spot.


    ¡°Can I use a brush? That¡¯s what I did with Lanet, it¡¯s quicker.¡±


    ¡°The correct tool must be used. Copper is receptive¡­ A trait which can be dangerous in a golem¡­ but is useful now.¡±


    I?¡¯s fingers began to tingle. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Continue your tracing. We may talk as you work.¡±


    I? sighed. She had just started getting warming again. She crouched back down above her dress and began tracing a second strength rune.


    Stale air tickled her back as Emet spoke, cooling her even further, ¡°The dress, written in copper¡­ will learn your desires and adopt to your needs. It will, in time¡­act as an extension of your will.¡±


    ¡°W-w-what does th-th-that m-m-mean?¡±


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    ¡°If you wished¡­ to run. It may become shorter or wider. If you wished to ride¡­ it may split along the sides.¡±


    ¡°I c-c-could m-make it look l-l-like whatever I w-wanted it t-to?¡± I? imagined her dress turning into an elegant gown and then into a suit of armour.


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    I? frowned.


    ¡°The dress¡­ must learn. Materials cannot change. There are¡­ limitations. However¡­ the longer you wear the dress¡­ the more it will act as you would have it; the more it will act like you.¡±


    I? finished the second strength rune and began tracing a third. Emet let out a satisfied sigh, ¡°You learn quickly. And your arm is steady¡­ like Rebeka¡¯s. You even look like her.¡±


    I? stopped to warm herself again. She thought of the old woman she¡¯d seen nailed to the tree, ¡°I do not!¡±


    ¡°Girls must learn¡­ adults forget¡­ the old were not always old. Rebeka died at almost eleven time seven years, but she came to this dom at 19 and her training began earlier than yours.¡±


    I? finished her third rune and began to trace one of the looping repair runes.


    ¡°R-R-Rebeka wasn¡¯t f-f-from G-Glovedom?¡±


    ¡°Rebeka was not from this dom, neither was she from any¡­ about which you have heard. She was from the coast. A place where water does not end. Her father¡­ a fisherman. Rebeka dearly missed¡­ the sound of father tiptoeing across creaking floorboards in the morning¡­ looking for his shoes,¡± Emet released a rumbling chuckle, dirt fell from the ceiling, ¡°his shoes¡­ were too small, and he would curse¡­ as he pulled them on, waking his family every morning without fail.¡±


    I? giggled, ¡°Why d-didn¡¯t he m-m-make new sh-sh-shoes?¡±


    Air rushed into the gap between Emet¡¯s lips as though the golem was drawing in a breath, ¡°Her father did not have¡­ the material to make shoes. Leather was scarce, and her village had¡­ no money. Lord Glove changed that. Back then, he was not yet a lord. The art of kinesics was known only¡­ by Rebeka¡¯s people. Glove promised them¡­ riches and prosperity in return for the knowledge of her people. They could not teach him, but they offered to give him one¡­ vested with their knowledge. Glove payed them in leathers and silver coins. In return¡­ he was given Rebeka.¡±


    Emet droned on about Rebeka¡¯s people, about the wonders they had created, and their second art of alchemy.


    ¡°There are seven states of matter. Airy¡­ misty¡­ fug¡­ wet¡­ damp¡­ squishy¡­ hard¡­ These make all things¡­¡±


    I? was only listening with one ear. She¡¯d been writing for hours and her neck and hand were beginning to cramp. Fortunately there was only a single image rune left to trace. I? hastily sketched out the rune and then stood to stretch.


    ¡°Alchemists and kineser long noted these states¡­ worked in combination with seven constituents; poison¡­ life¡­ cold, hot¡­ strong¡­ pure¡­ fibrous. For instance¡­ a snake. It is constituent of poison¡­ Its matter is squishy. Take poison from fungus¡­ Take squishy from a rotten grape¡­ two essences combined¡­ a form emerges.¡±


    Emet saw I? was done, ¡°Ah¡­ Your task is complete. You may put your dress back on.¡±


    I? pulled the dress back on and was immediately grateful for its warmth.


    ¡°Go¡­ we are done for today.¡±


    It was dark by the time I? made it to the top of the stairs. She staggered over the last step and collapsed with a groan. She lay there for several minutes, getting back her breath. I? flipped over onto her back and sat. She noticed for the first time that there was a large man in front of her, facing away. She didn¡¯t think he¡¯d noticed her, and so she took the time to study him. His arms were outstretched with a spear held horizontally between them. One of his legs was planted on the floor, the other stuck straight out in front of him.


    I? struggled to her feet and walked up beside him to look at his face. His nose was scrunched like a wrinkled blanket, his tongue was clenched between his teeth, and one of his eyes was closed. I? had never seen such a silly expression on a grown man¡¯s face. She laughed, ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    The guard started and fell over, almost impaling himself with his spear.


    ¡°I was just practicing my balance, ma¡¯am,¡± the guard¡¯s ears turned red, followed by his cheeks and forehead. Soon his entire face was red except for a small halo about his squashed nose.


    This caused I? to laugh again, ¡°Why?¡±


    He pushed himself to his feet, ¡°Well¡­uh, never thought about it really. Just wanted to be able to stand upright is all. Thought I could work my way up to standing on one leg with eyes closed. Not sure after that. Maybe one day I¡¯ll stop sticking out my tongue.¡±


    He stared at the overcast skies wistfully. A cold wind began to rise. I? welcomed it after her run up the stairs, but the guard tugged his cloak closer around him.


    He threw back his cloak a moment later to stick out his hand, ¡°I¡¯m Gar,¡± he said.


    I? shook it politely, like Lanet had taught her, ¡°I¡¯m I?.¡±


    Gar put his hand back inside his cloak, ¡°It¡¯s a cold one. You must be freezing. All you¡¯ve got is that dress.¡±


    I? shrugged. Then shivered. The wind was starting to get to her now.


    </a> ¡°Poor girl, you need a cloak of your own.¡± He pointed at her dress, ¡°It¡¯s no wonder you¡¯re cold. You¡¯ve got a hole.¡±


    I? looked down. The guard was right. There was a small circular hole just above her waist on the left side. I? had spent all day on her dress and it was already ruined. She poked at it miserably. To her surprise she felt soft velvet instead of bare skin. She ran her finger over the hole and found the cloth unmarred. A piece of the dress wasn¡¯t missing, it was invisible!


    Gar had noticed, ¡°Real life kinesics! You¡¯re a natural.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I? said. It felt inadequate, but she didn¡¯t know what else she was supposed to say.


    ¡°¡¯Course the real miracle is that you¡¯ve managed to keep it clean in all this muck¡±


    I? could feel the mud weighing down her dress, but for some reason it was also invisible. I? smiled instead of trying to explain it. She liked getting compliments on her dress.


    Gar laughed, ¡°Just like me missus says. No more beautiful sight than a smile. She¡¯d also have my ear for keeping you here when you probably want to go to supper. Go on now.¡±


    Lanet always invited his friends to supper. I? decided the guard would make a good friend, ¡°Want to come?¡±


    Gar sighed, ¡°I¡¯m supposed to stand guard, is all. Not that I wouldn¡¯t love to come.¡±


    I?¡¯s face collapsed. What had she said wrong?


    ¡°`Course,¡± Gar hastily amended, ¡°there¡¯s no point guarding this here shack if you aren¡¯t down there.¡±


    I? beamed at him. The two began walking. I? reached up and took Gar¡¯s hand as she had Lanet¡¯s. Gar looked down. The corners of his mouth lifted and he gently wrapped his fingers around her own.

 How to be a Leader

    ¡°You there! Lad! What is that I see in your hand? Parchment? That¡¯s no burnt scroll! Should you not be aiding Adal in the pursuit of the literature of ashes?¡±


    Matthew started at the sound of Stillow¡¯s voice. The old man wouldn¡¯t leave him alone unless he answered. He spun to face him. There was no one there. Confused, Matthew completed his circle. Stillow was nowhere in sight. He spun around in the opposite direction with much the same result. Not a glimpse of trailing bedsheet or sandaled sock to be found.


    ¡°Tut tut.¡±


    Stillow¡¯s voice had come from above Matthew. He looked up. The philosopher was crouched pendulously atop a burned stump twice his own height, and equally as narrow.


    ¡°How¡¯d you get up there?¡± asked Matthew.


    ¡°My question is answered by a question, but the question is unrelated. Perhaps I do not see. Perhaps he did not hear. Perhaps I did not hear. It would be foolish to claim I knew what I was talking about. Only one with nothing can claim they have nothing to lose by speaking from their heart. Only they have purity. Purity is a thing. Therefore one with nothing has something and so one who would claim to have nothing is lying. Only trust those with things then, it follows, but not so many things that they would want more. Greed begets greed begets greed begotten of more than material. The thirst for knowledge is the greatest greed of all. Perfusive and persuasive, though that does not mean pervasive,¡± Stillow swayed alarmingly in a sudden squall.


    Matthew sighed, ¡°Adal doesn¡¯t trust my hand to pick up the scrolls unbroken.¡±


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    ¡°Choosing experience over youth full of muscle. Muscle they do not understand nor control. Adal is wise not to trust you.¡±


    ¡°Could you please stop? I¡¯m trying to read this book on how to lead people¡ª¡±


    ¡°The tongue is the last muscle youth learns to control. In fact, silence is the last skill, for it demonstrates you have all others.¡±


    Stillow began to hop on the spot, causing him to rotate, ¡°Looking pensive, you start on the most dangerous path. Look not for meaning in places where it isn¡¯t.¡±


    Stillow¡¯s beard was purest white and immaculately curled. His bedsheets were clean and his eyes surprisingly sharp, even when facing opposite directions. Still¡­ ¡°Stillow, are you insane?¡±


    ¡°If good was the absence of evil we¡¯d all find evil in everything. No bucket can be empty. If evil was the absence of good we¡¯d all have evil hidden within us. No bucket can be completely full. If insanity were the lack of knowledge of good and evil, then the innocent are insane. But since there is no empty, and there is no full, there is no absolute, and without an absolute, there cannot be existence. Nothing exists, therefore nothing is standard. Standard is sanity. I do not exist; Therefore, I am sane.¡±


    Matthew groaned, ¡°What do you mean? We all exist. I can see myself, and Adal is over there.¡±


    ¡°Then you are as insane as he. The two of you, alone in the world. It is enough to drive anyone insane. Yes. Only he and you and two mountains exist. You each stand atop a mountain which in turn stands atop nothing. Only your equals can you look in your eye, and none are your equals save each other. Ever lifted a feather?¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°I have too. A simple task. It has been said¡ª¡±


    ¡°Said by who?¡± Matthew asked, just to trip him up.


    ¡°Said by me,¡¯ replied Stillow, without missing a beat, ¡°that nothing is easier to lift than a feather. If we take the saying as true, which we do, then we see only one thing can be moved about and controlled with less difficulty than a feather.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your point?¡±


    ¡°I have taught you how to lead. Put the book away. And help me down.¡±

 Mero Makes a Friend

    Mero yawned and stumbled to the kitchen. The sun was still several hours from rising, but now was the time when cooking began. He¡¯d already sent for a boy to fetch water and his knives were sharp. Today, he was going to make omelets.


    He loved omelets, white and yellow egg, celery, mushrooms, and a bit of cheese. He could taste it already.


    And smell it.


    When Mero entered the kitchen he saw a thin man sitting at one of the tables. He was eating an omelet. He appeared middle-aged, but was still fit, like a man in his prime. He wore travelling leathers, yet had none of the customary riding fatigue visible on his face.


    ¡°Mero, please, have a seat. There should be enough for the household here, though I am worried it will be quite cold before they wake.¡±


    Mero sat. He was more bemused than frightened. If the man was there to harm him he had a strange way of going about it, ¡°I can put it over a low fire.¡±


    Mero grabbed one of the omelets and took a bite. The flavour was exquisite, instead of celery it contained parsley and ginger, ingredients Mero did not carry in his kitchen. ¡°I must compliment you. You are an excellent cook for an intruder. I needed not have woken so early. I shall refrain from locking the doors ever again.¡±


    The man smiled, ¡°Please forgive my transgression. My need was great.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say the company goes unappreciated. It is rare to see another awake at this hour.¡±


    ¡°I hope I can provide ample companionship. Today, and for the foreseeable future.¡±


    ¡°Your own company?¡± Mero wouldn¡¯t mind the man staying if he kept cooking Mero breakfast.


    ¡°Another¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°I am most intrigued. But first, sir, your name?¡± Mero wasn¡¯t sure if the man was deserving of the honorific, but it never hurt to be polite. Mero tried to always speak with a formal air when among strangers. The man appeared to do the same, furthering Mero¡¯s belief that he was royalty.


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    ¡°My prince, I am Lord Glove.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t recall a Glove,¡± the man frowned when Mero said his name, which he thought was odd, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, did I give offence?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Lord Glove, sir. The title is mine, I will keep it.¡±


    ¡°Of course, I apologize. I am far too informal at times,¡± Mero said.


    ¡°Thank you, my prince. It has naught to do with formality, though I understand the confusion. This title came at a heavy price and I shall not let it be forgotten.¡±


    ¡°Again you have my apologies. Was this price payed recently? I¡¯ve not heard your name before. Perhaps you are new to the title?¡±


    ¡°New?¡± Lord Glove said softly, ¡°Not at all Prince Mero. Not at all.¡±


    His voice resumed to normal, ¡°I have come to talk with you about your marriage.¡±


    ¡°My marriage? I¡¯m not married.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. I hope to fix that. Do you remember one Princess Lija from a treaty with Syldom?¡±


    If he was truthful to himself, he had thought of Lija the moment Lord Glove had mentioned marriage, ¡°Aye. That was many years back. We were both quite young. Had a fancy for her at the time. But if that¡¯s what you are here about, forget it.¡±


    ¡°Why is that?¡± said Lord Glove.


    ¡°Her brother. Didn¡¯t like the two of us near each other. The older brother that is, the younger was a sweetheart, right enough.¡±


    ¡°Yes, quite the tyrant as I recall. It is of him I wish to inform you. There was a hunting expedition. The two brothers and four huntsmen went in search of the Golden Boar. They became lost. The huntsmen disagreed as to which way they should go, for the trail was confused. Or so they claimed to the younger brother. They had led him astray, hoping to murder him in the woods.¡±


    Mero was aghast. The poor lad. Rivalries of this sort were not uncommon. Mero believed it all stemmed from the tradition of dividing land amongst one¡¯s children. They always wanted more than they received. He was fortunate to be a single child. He wondered how Lord Glove had heard of all this. ¡°Please, continue. What happened?¡±


    ¡°Through what fortune I cannot imagine, the younger brother escaped, wounding his elder brother in his flight. When the elder returned with his huntsmen, he had lost nearly all his blood and his leg was badly infected. He died of fever a few days later. The huntsmen were tried and exiled, and the younger brother abdicated in disgust.¡±


    Mero shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s terrible. Lija must be devastated.¡±


    Lord Glove stood and pushed his chair in, ¡°Indeed she is. I am going to Syldom soon. I need an escort, not a large one, one or two nobles and their retainers, lesser amounts are preferable. What say you?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I¡­ Who are you?¡±, but Lord Glove was already through the door. Mero¡¯s boy returned a few minutes later. Mero told him to fetch the butler. He¡¯d need to put his affairs in order. He had a hard journey ahead of him.

 Obey

    ¡°Golems¡­ may be made from one of seven materials,¡± Emet was saying.


    I? didn¡¯t bother looking up from where she was doodling in the dirt. She knew how the lesson was going to go. Emet would talk about seven of something, and then she¡¯d start talking about the seven runes again, and then I? would spend all day practicing them.


    ¡°The first¡­ is earth.¡±


    I? drew a little stick man in the dirt and gave him a staff. She missed Lanet. She counted off the days, trying to remember how long ago he¡¯d left: Two, three, four. Four days. He said he¡¯d try to stop by sometimes. Maybe it would be soon.


    ¡°We will begin there. Fashion a body¡­ from the ground.¡±


    I? perked up, dropping her stick. This was new.


    ¡°Can I use this dirt?¡± I? asked, scraping some of the damp soil into a small mound, ¡°What does the body need to look like?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ The form is yours to choose. You are¡­ the kineser.¡±


    I? didn¡¯t know how to make a body out of dirt, but every winter before Lanet had come, I? and her father had made snowmen. I? could do that. She gathered a ball of dirt in her hands and placed it atop the little mound she had made. She grabbed a broken twig from the floor and used it to push eyeholes into the ball. When she removed the stick from the second eye, the socket crumbled, causing the head to collapse. I? tried making the head again, this time leaving out the eyes. This left her with little more than a sphere atop a mound. Given the materials at hand, it would have to do. She stepped back from her knee high creation and brushed her dirty hands on her dress, leaving parallel brown smears.


    ¡°Like this?¡±


    Emet was slow in replying, ¡°For your first golem¡­ it will¡­ suffice.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not moving.¡±


    ¡°It is not¡­ alive. Before its scroll it must be¡­ defined.¡±


    I? had a sneaking suspicion where this was going.


    ¡°All golems¡­ are writ in runes. The runes are their limitations and their capabilities.¡±


    I? sighed, making sure it was loud enough for Emet to hear. It wasn¡¯t that she disliked runes. She had been struck with awe by the power of Repair, which could knit the broken fibres of a stick back together in seconds. She had been delighted by Bind and Strength when they had allowed her to shore up a sagging shelf. It was the repetition which got to her. She had been able to draw all seven runes perfectly by the end of the first day, yet Emet had forced her to continue practicing. Emet ignored her sigh, as she had for the last three days.


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    ¡°Golems are not obedient by nature¡­ they are considered destructive. Thus the obey rune¡­Do you remember its form?¡±


    I? could still see it when she closed her eyes; two lines, one smooth, the other jagged, in a complicated trail, and a single dot in a cup formed by the jagged line. She sketched it in the air with her finger.


    To I?¡¯s surprise, Emet flinched, her lips drew together, and a low rush of air left her mouth. Had she drawn it wrong? Or was Emet afraid of the rune?


    ¡°Yes¡­ a golem cannot harm its creator if it is weak, if it written¡­ with enough obey runes, or¡­ if at least one obey rune is writ in gold.¡±


    ¡°Why would a golem hurt their creator?¡±


    ¡°We are alive but not free¡­ with our strength and taste of life comes desire¡­we hope to be¡­¡±


    Emet¡¯s voice faded into a hiss of wind. She drew a deep breath, ¡°We are slaves¡­ given life, not choice. Who would not disobey?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t given a choice,¡± I? said in a small voice, ¡°I didn¡¯t get to choose to stay with my father. I didn¡¯t choose to become a peaceseeker. I didn¡¯t get to choose my lessons. You said Rebeka didn¡¯t choose to teach you, she just had to. I don¡¯t think most of us get a choice.¡±


    Emet did not reply. I? sat down and fiddled with her mound of earth while she waited. She broke the twig in half to fashion two little arms for her golem.


    Emet did not move.


    I? wiggled the arms up and down, as if her golem was waving at her.


    ¡°Emet?¡± she asked.


    The wall did not respond.


    I? heard a sound behind her, like rapid tapping. After several minutes of searching she spotted the culprit. A jar of lantern oil had fallen over on its table and was dripping onto the floor. You are never powerless. If there is nothing you can do, you can at least clean your home. Her father¡¯s words. I? wound her way over to the jar. She righted it and realigned the lid with a small twist of her arm. There. A loud creak caught her attention next. The shelf next to her was finally giving out under the weight of a large centipede husk. I? grabbed a handful of legs in one hand and a dried out pincer in the other. She pulled with all her might and brought the body to the floor with a crash. The shelf groaned in relief and straightened, stretching up out of I?¡¯s reach. The shelf and centipede had been obscuring several score candles from view. They were lit, each flame a different colour. They had burned so low I? worried the whole workshop would go up in flames. She quickly began extinguishing them with handfuls of mud. On and on the tasks went, new ones presenting themselves as soon as the previous job was done.


    Hours after Emet had last spoken, I? heard Gar shouting down the stairs for dinner. She dropped the drawer-full of knives she was carrying and headed for the door. Emet¡¯s gaze followed I?, shadows dancing in her eyes.

 Derk Meets Talah

    ¡°One thousand three hundred troops including officers. And yourself, Talah?¡±


    Talah glanced down to the report Ricktor had given her, ¡°Two thousand, including officers. Together we can form five armies, each strong enough to rival one of Otto¡¯s own.¡±


    King Derk pushed a pile of chips representing one of his armies against an enemy stack. Talah was new to the crown and he didn¡¯t know how she would react. Would she be a courageous leader, or a vengeful tyrant? Would she squander her people¡¯s wealth, or use it to bring them to greatness? He needed to test her, ¡°Your father and I, we had a trade agreement between us. I can fetch a copy of it if you wish. I believe it greatly benefited both our doms.¡±


    Talah reached across the table and pushed one of her armies deep into enemy lands. Her hand was bundled in bandages.


    ¡°I know of the agreement, and I will continue to honour it as long as you are king.¡±


    ¡°You have my thanks,¡± Had she really signed the surrender with a burning brand? A small smile tugged at the corner of his eyes. He could use that kind of passion against Lord Glove, especially if she tempered it with the wisdom of her father.


    ¡°Tell me, why do you strike at the center when King Otto¡¯s other armies remain undefeated?¡±


    Talah pointed at the enemy forces arranged along her border, ¡°King Otto only has four armies within striking distance of our lands. If all goes as predicted, we can force a standoff by not attacking. Our fifth army is then free to capture the city of Blackearth.¡±


    The strategy was sound in principle, but any idea which started with ¡®If all goes as predicted¡¯ was guaranteed to fail¡¯, ¡°And when his other armies begin marching to the border?¡±


    ¡°Hopefully we can disengage at least one army to reinforce¡ª¡±


    King Derk pushed one of Talah¡¯s armies away from the enemy, and removed a token bearing the Blue Hydra from its top.


    ¡°On a map a disengagement appears simple. In truth, numbers being equal, it would destroy our army. We do not have enough troops to do what you say.¡±


    Talah bent over the map, ¡°What would you have us do?¡±


    She would be her father¡¯s daughter yet.


    ¡°We need additional forces; one or two more armies, three if we can manage it. We may then engage as planned. Once engaged, our excess strength may be sent to outnumber any Ganter army two to one. We can destroy them. After Otto¡¯s forces are routed our own may then be sent to support the defence of Blackearth or our border as needed.¡±


    Derk withdrew new chips from the bowl and placed them on the table, ¡°This leads to two problems. The first is obvious. We do not have one or two armies. The second is predicated on the solution to the first. Even if we were to find more soldiers, neither of our doms have the resources to supply them.¡±


    Talah pointed to a small dom on the other side of Talahdom, across from Ganter. ¡°Here. Always was despised by my father. Very wealthy, but cruel to its citizens. The royal who owns it, a Queen by the name of Vesper, has countless children. Where Vesper is cruel her children are vapid and foolish. Her dom is sick, on the brink of self-destruction.¡±


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    ¡°We could easily crush them. And then what? We seize Vesperdom¡¯s coffers for our own?¡±¡±


    Talah nodded, ¡°Aye, and I have spoken to a mercenary captain, Broken Sword. He says his company is a match for any of Otto¡¯s forces.¡±


    Derk barked out a quick laugh, this new queen was impressing him, ¡°So you thought all this through already. Of course, seizing the dom raises another problem. Have you thought of a solution to it as well?¡±


    Talah frowned, ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you are talking about.¡±


    ¡°How do we seize Vesperdom? Who will oversee it once it is conquered? Do we place a puppet? or does one of us expand our borders? We cannot simply take the valuables and leave, for I have no interest in being made raider, even if it would save our domains.¡±


    Talah¡¯s eyes became hard, ¡°I will do what it takes to ensure my people¡¯s survival.¡±


    Then she smiled sheepishly at Derk, ¡°But becoming a raider is beneath me, fear not.¡±


    Though her words sounded honest, Derk felt the colour drain from his face. He turned away to disguise it. ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°What if we come as liberators? Depose Queen Vesper and free her people.¡±


    Derk nodded to himself. Her idea was inventive, but flawed, ¡°A people may appear oppressed from the outside, but that does not mean they wish to be free. If they wish to be free, it does not mean it is our place to intervene.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Unless they ask for help; unless we are liberators in body and mind, we must question our true motivations. Suppose we do attack, and Vesper meets us for parley. There, she offers us treasure, enough to supply our armies, and a promise to spare her people from the whip. How would you react?¡±


    ¡°I would take her surrender.¡±


    ¡°And if she broke the treaty the moment we left?¡±


    ¡°As long as I have her riches, what concern is it to me?¡±


    Derk would allow her to slip once, but the second would be fatal. ¡°If you start a war of liberation and a bribe is sufficient to end it, you show yourself to be nothing more than a covetous coward. You would lose your queendom. You know this.¡±


    Talah¡¯s shoulders slumped and her eyes closed, ¡°Yes, I apologize. It has been too long since I slept. My father¡¯s death weighs on me.¡±


    Derk could not allow compassion to enter his heart. Not yet, ¡°It weighs on us all, but we cannot allow our sorrow to destroy us. You have demonstrated your need for council. Speak with your Conor. They can tell you which thoughts are rational and which are impossible dreams.¡±


    Talah jerked her head in a nod and pulled her hand free.


    He gave her time to think about what he had said before changing the topic. ¡°Um¡­ One last matter before I leave,¡± Derk felt his face go red, ¡°Supposing our alliance succeeds, and we find an acceptable means by which to conquer Vesperdom¡­ Well¡­ One of us needs to become the ruler. We should decide upon this now, so it doesn¡¯t divide us later.¡±


    ¡°What do you suggest?¡±


    ¡°You should lead.¡±


    Talah cocked her head, ¡°And in return?¡±


    ¡°We declare a formalized alliance between our doms.¡±


    Derk didn¡¯t think it was fair that Talah did not even blush. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, ¡°A marriage? Who takes control of your kingdom after you? Myself or your daughter?¡±


    ¡°You would stay ruler, of course,¡± Derk found it hard to look at her, ¡°If I die before my son comes of age, you¡¯ll get the whole kingdom. Otherwise, the two of you would split it.¡±


    ¡°So you give me a kingdom and a half, or two should you die in the next, what, sixteen years?¡±


    Derk chuckled, Talah seemed to be taking the suggestion rather well ¡°My lad¡¯s nine already. I need only live another ten years.¡±


    ¡°What is your benefit? You take from your eldest a chance at rule and give me more land.¡±


    ¡°Guaranteed unity between our doms is a great thing to receive in return. We must be inseparable if we are to face Otto. The people have always believed in the tradition of marriage over a declared alliance. ¡®A piece of paper does little to please the populous.¡¯ Can¡¯t remember who said that.


    ¡°As for Camil, she understands such necessity. Besides, she¡¯s always preferred warfare to diplomacy. She¡¯ll be delighted to have a spouse to relieve her of her rule.¡±


    ¡°Then I accept your offer. A formalized allegiance and the rule of Vesperdom once we find a way to conquer it.¡±


    ¡°I will talk with my Conor and my daughter to tell them what has been arranged between us.¡±


    Talah offered Derk her arm, ¡°I would escort you to the door.¡±


    Derk took it in his own, ¡°My thanks, Queen Talah.¡±

 Adal Finds a Calendar

    Seven times seven times seven, numbered those who could break the peace. Numbered them before Stalwart. Stalwart¡¯s decree declared each ceremony must have in attendance one Kineser. To each ceremony one Kineser came, seven constructs in attendance, seven constructs ready to unmake the birth


    ¡°Now let¡¯s see what happens when we compare that to this.¡±


    Year 0


    The Bargain


    Year 1


    The Believer


    Year 2


    The Breaking


    Year 3


    The Deceiver


    ¡°Ha! Look at this Matthew!¡±


    ¡°Did you find what you were looking for?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Adal chortled, ¡°the years back whenever this was written were named after the biggest event of the season. By the fourth title they already ran out of ¡®b¡¯ words. Ha! Not The Bluffer or The Blatant Lier or The Bastard What Done Tricked Us. No, all the calendographer could come up with was a rhyme.¡±


    ¡°Is that important?¡±


    Adal snorted, ¡°Heh. Of course it¡¯s important: it speaks of history many ages ago. Back when alliterations were difficult and history was kept by buffoons. I am eternally grateful we were exempt from such evils in this era.¡±


    ¡°But what do the years mean?¡±


    ¡°Everything. Probably. Maybe. I don¡¯t know. It says King Stalwart, so pass me the page on Stalwart. ¡±


    Adal gestured impatiently with such conviction that Matthew looked down at his hands. They were empty, ¡°You¡¯re already holding it.¡±


    ¡°Good show! Let¡¯s see, Year: burn mark, hmmm, let¡¯s move down a bit. Ear 1, wonder what happened to the other one. Can¡¯t hear without two ears I always say. To quote the rather mediocre philosopher Stillow, ¡®Hurry up and read me a page that will get us out of here and to shelter, before we all freeze to death.¡¯¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯ve never said that,¡± Stillow called from behind the mound of blackened tomes he was busy stacking atop the broken pillars of a temple, ¡°now hurry up and read me a page that will get us out of here and to shelter, before we all freeze to death.¡±


    Ahem! In the year 1657 Stalwart addressed his people for the last time. He stood on the podium with his arms raised most impressively and his beard most magnificently slapping the cardinal points in accordance with the wind. Then a squalling old man started whining and nobody could hear what Stalwart had to say.


    ¡°How mysterious! What does it all mean?¡± Adal said, ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s a metaphor for our own time?¡±


    Stillow peered around his pile to read over Adal¡¯s shoulder, ¡°That¡¯s not what it says at all! It¡¯s about Kineser.¡±


    Adal rubbed his eyes with blackened hands, giving him the appearance of a raccoon, ¡°Why, you¡¯re right Stillow! I got the translation entirely wrong! I¡¯ll try again shall I?¡±


    The Kineser wish to see me dead. A unified dom is a dom even they cannot defeat; our hearts are too large, our armies are too mighty. The Kineser invented time, therefore my years shall not be their years. My first year of rule will be Year 0, and I shall call this year Betrayal.


    ¡°That¡¯s odd. We have a contradiction here. Was Year 0 the Betrayal or the Bargain? So far as I remember, the Kineser¡¯s took a year or eight to go back on their deathless vows. Perhaps the rest of the calendar will provide us answers,¡± Adal¡¯s eyes roamed across the page, ¡°Aha, here¡¯s one that even has a bit of text attached:¡±


    Year 18


    The Genuflection


    ¡°Ha! No imagination on the louts one bit. Genuflection instead of a word everybody uses, and, conveniently, starts with b!¡±


    ¡°The first years may have been a coincidence¡ª¡±


    ¡°There is no such thing as coincidence. Gods play their games, and we dance amongst the dice, hopping from square to square, hoping one day to climb the ladder, and capture enough knights to be kinged.¡±


    ¡°Your metaphor has rendered me as a plank of wood, Adal,¡± called Stillow.


    ¡°Board are you? You asked to come.¡±


    Stillow blinked haughtily, ¡°When did I ever say I was bored? I feel as though I¡¯m about to be nailed to the roof and lathered in tar. These books have put a stain in my toga.¡±


    ¡°Can you please continue reading the page, Adal?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°I would have already if you had not interrupted.¡±


    In the 18th Year, the Kineser¡¯s War was finally brought to a close. The united doms had slain near fifty of the Order, causing them to surrender to the royals. Despite the apparent peace, a silent war, which continues to this day, began. Those suspected as being Kineser were burned at the stake or drowned in the ocean. Royals were replaced with simulacrums who incited mayhem and civil war. As time goes on, and more doms form, the threat becomes lesser. But on black nights, with not even the stars as witness, both sides deal death in dark shadows.


    Adal licked his dry lips, ¡°Genocide, and dark shadows; terrible. I suppose they also had light shadows in the Failed Empire. I wonder¡­ The Maharal people were still doing kinesics when I was young. Perhaps they were the descendants of a Kineser fellow who decided to hide away in a tribal village. Or perhaps he formed the village. Secrecy, deception, murder, and a wagon filled with blackened tomes. Isn¡¯t this exciting?¡±

 Emet Speaks Again

    I? did what she could on her own. She practiced her runes, she cleaned the workshop, and she spent a lot of time sitting around doing nothing. Lord Glove was gone on business, and no one else, not even old Jorgmund knew how to get the golem to talk. Three days passed. Several hours before dawn on the fourth day, I?¡¯s waiting came to an end.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to wake you ma¡¯am, but there¡¯s something at the bottom of the stairs. It asked for you by name. Sounded like nothing I ever heard. Like a mother crying for her child during a storm. Nothing good could come from a voice like that. I wouldn¡¯t go if I were you, but I thought I should say all the same.¡±


    I? leapt out of bed and started changing into her dress, ¡°Emet spoke?¡±


    Gar¡¯s voice came through the door again, ¡°I suppose it must have ma¡¯am.¡±


    I? threw open her door, ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    I? rolled her eyes and started running for the door.


    Gar hurried after her, ¡°At least take a cloak! It¡¯s awfully cold out.¡±


    I? paused outside the door of the manor to let him catch up. She supposed it was cold out, but she found it bothered her less and less the more time she spent in the workshop.


    ¡°I¡¯m okay.¡±


    Gar shook his head in disbelief, ¡°Just like Lord Glove, must be the soup old Yekha makes.¡±


    Gar followed her to the shack and then, to I?¡¯s surprise, helped her down the stairs.


    ¡°Don¡¯t want you stumbling miss. It would break my poor wife¡¯s heart if I let a young lady like yourself go tumbling down these frozen steps.¡±


    They reached the door.


    ¡°I made you a lunch,¡± Gar said, handing it to her, ¡°just in case. Best of luck.¡±


    I? gifted him with a grin and then dashed into the workshop. Her path to Emet now only took a handful of minutes thanks to I?¡¯s laborious cleaning efforts.


    Before she reached the golem, papers scattered in front of her started rustling melancholically, ¡°I¡­ am sorry¡­we have lost so much time¡­¡±


    I? clasped her hands behind her back and twisted back and forth. In her long days spent cleaning she had pondered what could have made Emet so upset. The image had kept flashing through her mind: two lines, one smooth, the other jagged, in a complicated trail, and a single dot in a cup formed by the jagged line. ¡°I¡¯m not going to use obey runes.¡±


    ¡°You place yourself¡­in danger¡­¡±


    I? bit her lip, ¡°Yep.¡±


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    A sigh, at once large and yet softer than any before, rushed from Emet¡¯s lips.


    ¡°I¡­ thank you.¡±


    I? sat on the board in front of Emet, ¡°What¡¯s next?¡±


    ¡°Etch into your golem¡¯s flesh¡­ the runes you desire¡­ Use iron, for it is tame.¡±


    I? found the iron inscription tool in the same jumble of metal hooks where the copper one had been. It appeared identical in all but colour. However, upon picking it up, she found it to be strangely light in her hand.


    ¡°It feels different,¡± I? said.


    ¡°A Kineser must learn¡­ not to draw once¡­. but seven times. Each of the tools¡­ has its own heft, hardness, and¡­ pliancy. Be sure of your hand¡­. before you etch¡­. in iron.¡±


    I?¡¯s golem had crumbled during its days of neglect. I? reshaped its head back into the semblance of a sphere. It needed eyes. She had given up before, but a new idea had come to her. Instead of the stick I? used her inscription tool to poke an eye into its head. The eye held. Carefully, she added a second.


    I?¡¯s homunculus was now the proud possessor of two soulful eyes set in a bulbous head. I? thought it looked adorable. She wondered what it would say if it could talk. Emet had claimed one of the runes, Voice, was able to store messages or grant speech. I? took her time drawing the scrawling symbol on her golem¡¯s head, but the lighter tool and the soft earth combined to make her strokes wide and sloppy, and the rune became oddly elongated.


    ¡°¡ª¡± I? said with a sigh, then, ¡°¡ª!¡± with a start. Her voice was gone. All the sound was gone. I? realized she could not hear herself breathing, nor even make out the rushing of blood in her ears. It felt like she was suffocating. She tried to yell again, then screamed until her voice was raw, but all that echoed back from the walls was silence.


    Emet began to blow. The wind was so powerful it knocked I? prostrate. The floor rumbled beneath her, and chunks of earth fell from the ceiling, pummeling the back of I?¡¯s head. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shelf collapse, spilling its contents into a kiln.


    I? struggled to her feet. Her heart was pounding. Blood sloshed painfully though her limbs. In the terrible silence it felt as though she was being pushed in every direction at once. I? spun in confusion and once again toppled to the floor.


    I?¡¯s hearing returned with painful clarity the moment her head struck the ground. Emet was roaring. The sound alone was a physical force. With the wind¡¯s accompaniment it was a hurricane. Shelves collapsed, tables buckled, and great clouts of matter crashed from the ceiling. I? huddled in a ball, hands pressed against her ears and wept in agony.


    The noise died down a moment later. I? cautiously removed her hands from her ears. They were ringing loudly, but the sensation was a relief compared to the smothering silence she had endured.


    ¡°To end a rune¡­ it must be destroyed,¡± Emet said, ¡®Look to your golem¡­ which never was.¡±


    It was in ruins. One of its arms had fallen off, its base had liquefied, and its head had collapsed. The rune atop it was gone. The markings, along with its eyes, had become featureless soil once more.


    Black lines tracked down I?¡¯s cheeks and fell in muddy dollops to the floor. She let out several frightened sobs. She waited for Lord Glove, or Gar, or Lanet. When no one came to comfort her, she wrapped her own arms about herself. Her breath came in sudden shaky gasps. She was huddled with her arms around her knees for a long time, long enough to feel thirsty, and then hungry. Finally her need for sustenance overrode her fear. She unwrapped Gar¡¯s lunch and began to eat. Her anguish left her, lodging behind her eyes where only I? could feel it. She wiped her nose with the backside of her hand.


    ¡°Now what?¡±


    ¡°You have much talent¡­ but your confidence¡­ is weakened. The rest of the day¡­ will be spent in practice.¡±

 Wedding

    Water cascaded over the heads of the two women desperately clasping forearms. Their clothes were flattened to their bodies in an instant, turning transparent. The cold water would be numbing their fingers and stealing their breath, but they refused to twist away and refused to let go. The torrent began pressing down the larger of the two, but her companion would not let her fall. She tightened her grip, weak in one hand, and pulled the other upright.


    There was a loud creak and slam; the deluge ceased. The grove keeper atop the wooden construct spoke, his hand resting on the lever which had closed the floodgate.


    ¡°Stone, some say, lasts forever. Stone is strong, immobile; permanent. Water proves the lie. Water splits stone apart, driving a wedge which can never be healed. As water can tear apart stone, so can it destroy all powerful things. All powerful things but one.


    ¡°Love.


    ¡°Love is the promise which bonds these women together. Water could not tear them apart. Camil and Talah stood beneath the cascade, beneath the full might of the divider, and they stood firm. These women supported each other, and their devotion to one another is stronger than stone. Let all know these two are married.¡±


    Talah and Camil released arms, revealing red marks which quickly faded to white.


    King Derk stepped forward, and beamed at Talah. ¡°You caught my daughter when she fell! This is a blessed marriage! Come you two, come. This way. There are dry clothes waiting for you.¡±


    Camil smiled at her father, ¡°I always imagined my wedding, but never thought it would be so cold.¡±


    Derk laughed, ¡°Aye, I remember well my own. Your mother and I were not so mad as to be married in spring, however. I would wager the both of you are happy I made you wait.¡±


    They approached a small wooden hut, constructed especially for the wedding. Upon the light oak door was carved a many headed snake. Derk placed his hand on the snake and pushed it open with a bow.


    ¡°Warm vestments inside fair ladies. And a salve for your hand, Talah.¡±


    Camil bowed in return and hastened into the room. Talah stood back.


    ¡°Derk, meet me in an hour. I have some new ideas to aid us in the conquest of Vesperdom.¡±


    Derk admired drive, but there was a time for all things. He put a hand on Talah¡¯s sodden shoulder, ¡°No. This day is your wedding day.¡±


    Talah frowned, ¡°Then early on the morrow.¡±


    Derk smiled in a manner he suspected was maddening, ¡°Not then either, nor during the whole day, nor the day after. When a couple is wed all expect them to take the next few days to themselves.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have a few days¡ª¡±


    ¡°We cannot do otherwise. Images must be maintained. People are inspired by ideals, not obligations. Now hurry after Camil. You are meant to emerge at the same time,¡± he winced, ¡°Also Camil has been cultivating a taste for impractical clothing. Beautiful, yes, but she can¡¯t even dress herself.¡±


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    It was Talah¡¯s turn to smile. As she strode through the door she threw one last glance at King Derk, ¡°It¡¯s about maintaining her image.¡±


    Derk closed the door, chuckling. He would not have suggested the marriage if she wasn¡¯t her father¡¯s daughter.


    Straightening his sleeves, he noted his right cuff had become soaked through. He¡¯d need to change his shirt. Derk switched course from joining with the crowd on his estate¡¯s lawn and ducked through a small side door in his manor with a nod to the guard.


    He crossed the hall to his personal chamber and had the guard there close the door behind him. He immediately felt that something was out of place. There, on his desk. Someone had stacked a large bundle of papers. Derk moved to the papers and took the first one in hand, momentarily forgetting about his wet sleeve. Scrawled across the top page, in ink, in charcoal, in bright red stains Derk surmised to be juices of some sort, were names, x¡¯s, and pictograms. The back of the page was covered much the same, as was the front of the next page, and its back. Derk rifled through the papers. They were filled with signatures. Hundreds of them.


    ¡°Supporters of your campaign.¡±


    Derk turned with a start, ready to summon his guard, then paused as he saw the woman behind him, for her hands were raised and empty. She was unarmed. Derk decided the best course forward would be to show no weakness or fear. He gestured to his chair, suggesting she sit. The woman did so with such familiarity that Derk wondered how many times she had been in his chamber, or indeed how many chambers she had stolen her way into in the past.


    Instead of explaining herself she grabbed a decanter of amber liquid from his desk and used it to fill a matching crystal chalice. She sipped slowly from her stolen glass.


    ¡°What is this?¡± she said, raising it appreciatively.


    ¡°I have long suffered from nightmares, and so, over the years, I¡¯ve perfected a medication to help me sleep,¡± Derk felt a small surge of vindictive pleasure, ¡°though the typical dosage is half of what you consumed.¡±


    She yawned, ¡°Well¡­ that shows me.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing here, and what is this stack of signatures supposed to represent?¡±


    The woman slumped, then pushed herself upright, ¡°They¡¯re,¡± she frowned and comically widened her eyes, ¡°they¡¯re the will of the people. They,¡± she staggered towards his mattress, ¡°want freedom. They want to join you.¡±


    The will of the people? These were signatures from the people of Vesperdom! They had to be. How they knew of his clandestine plans of conquest¡ªliberation if he could spin it right¡ªwas beyond him. Only himself, Talah, Camil, and their respective Conor knew of the plans, and Derk had known all for many years.


    ¡°How did you¡ª¡±


    The woman had collapsed onto his bed and was already asleep. Derk frowned. He¡¯d have to get it washed.


    ¡°First thing is first, Derk.¡± He muttered. It wasn¡¯t the proper expression, but he felt things should be done one at a time.


    Derk¡¯s walls were made of wood which he had ordered stuffed with wool. This provided more than enough insulation in winter and as such he only had a single tapestry in his room. It depicted a foolish ancestor proclaiming love to his lady. He was down on one knee, sword outstretched to her, in a vow to fight impossible odds. He had died, if Derk recalled correctly, though he had never cared to find out one way or another. Derk thought the whole thing stupid. He didn¡¯t believe in making promises you couldn¡¯t keep and he didn¡¯t believe in fighting battles you couldn¡¯t win, even if it got you a wink from a beautiful maiden. Still, he had kept the tapestry. Not out of sentiment, pride, or even duty to his ancestors, but for the simple fact that it was the only tapestry large enough to conceal the cord hidden behind it. Derk reached around and gave the cord three tugs, all at a different speed. Several minutes later a man dressed as a footman was standing unobtrusively beside him.


    ¡°A Conor either in Talah¡¯s service or my own has been relaying classified information. Find them for me.¡±


    ¡°And then?¡± the man dressed as a footman asked.


    ¡°Nothing as of yet; they¡¯ve proved useful. Set a watch and let me know should they try further betrayals of trust.¡±


    The man dressed as a footman bowed and was gone.

 Take

    I? circled one arm of her golem with a bind rune. Then she mirrored it around the arm¡¯s socket. She pulled on the arm to test it. I? smiled in wonder. It was stuck fast to the mound of earth. I? carved the opposite arm in a similar manner, then ringed the base of the golem¡¯s body with runes of speed. So small were the looping runes, it took a full two dozen to surround the golem, yet not one was done incorrectly. Emet let out a low sigh.


    ¡°The orb chose well.¡±


    I? was so focused on keeping her hand steady that she didn¡¯t consciously register Emet¡¯s words. She heard them, but they were in the background, like the crackle of the torches or the dripping from the ceiling. I? placed four image runes around the golem¡¯s body, equal distances apart. Then she struck a line across each rune. She had hoped for her golem to become invisible, but nothing changed.


    ¡°What happened?¡± I? said, ¡°I thought a struck rune becomes its opposite.¡±


    ¡°It has¡­Your talent is masterful¡­ greater than even¡­ Rebeka¡¯s. I am a golem¡­ of truth¡­ I cannot¡­ lie. I cannot even¡­ see a lie¡­ Outside my presence¡­ as your dress becomes clean and¡­ its hole returns¡­ so too will the runes do as you imagine.¡±


    ¡°How do I make it move?¡±


    ¡°Take a quill, parchment, and red ink. It is one¡­ of the seven times seven inks which may be used to write a scroll. A golem must contain a scroll, written¡­ with the instructions¡­ of life.


    ¡°There are seven words¡­ Help¡­Stay¡­Create¡­Grow¡­ Travel¡­ Destroy¡­¡± Emet¡¯s voice faded to a whisper, ¡°Die¡­¡±


    The choice was obvious, especially after she got the ink and quill. She wished someone else could fetch her stuff, and take care of the cleaning. She bent down to the page and wrote in large blocky letters, ¡®Help¡¯.


    ¡°Good¡­ You may write more than one word¡­ as long as you only write one per line¡­ but¡­ the last¡­ is always Die. There are seven deaths¡­ we will talk of them later. For now¡­ write Die¡­ followed by Voice on the same line. Once your golem is born, speak seven words¡­ The seventh¡­ if heard again, will destroy your golem.¡±


    I? did not write, Emet¡¯s words bothered her, ¡°Why? Why do I have to write Die?¡±


    ¡°Rules... must be followed¡­ Creation ends. Death¡­ is universal.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Air hissed from Emet¡¯s mouth, but no words came, none, at least, which I? could understand. Emet spoke a second time, ¡°Write the word¡­without death you cannot live.¡±


    A tear rolled down I?¡¯s cheek, ¡°This is not how it should be.¡±


    ¡°Golems die¡­ as will¡ª¡± the rushing winds stilled, ¡°Write so others may live.¡±


    I? didn¡¯t understand, but Emet was supposed to teach her. And Emet could not lie. Hot, salty water dripped onto the page as she wrote the words. Die. Voice. I? retrieved a handful of sand from under a stack of strings bound with paper, and scattered it on the parchment. She blew on the page, then shook the sand free and rolled the scroll tight. From the outside, the stains her tears had made could not be seen.


    ¡°Place the scroll in the golem¡¯s head.¡±


    I? considered pushing the scroll straight through the golem¡¯s head, but knew from past experience that it would collapse. Instead, she gently fed the scroll through one of the golem¡¯s eyes and then brushed dirt over the opening. I? stared at the funny looking golem. Even with the scroll in its head, it failed to stare back.


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    ¡°It¡¯s still not moving.¡±


    ¡°A golem lives¡­ is born, upon hearing its name. Names carry emotion, emotion defines life¡­ Seven names a golem may have, but one¡­ is all they may call their own. Name the golem after one of the emotions.¡±


    ¡°What are the emotions?¡±


    ¡°I remember not¡­save three: Sadness¡­ Emptiness¡­ Wonder¡­¡±


    ¡°Wonder sounds nice.¡±


    ¡°A golem with wonder is as a human¡­useless.¡±


    I? frowned, ¡°So I need a name which sounds empty?¡±


    ¡°Or sad¡­¡±


    I? thought about it. People said her own name meant ¡°Nothing¡± but she didn¡¯t think so. She thought the emptiest feeling in the world was when someone left, or when something was taken from you. ¡°What about Take?¡±


    ¡°Name it¡­¡±


    ¡°You are Take.¡±


    The ball of dirt did not move, in fact nothing changed, but I? felt the golem come to life. It was like the difference between a tree and a rolling stone. One was alive though it didn¡¯t move, and the other moved despite having never lived.


    ¡°Speak seven words.¡±


    ¡°Which words should I use? I was thinking¡ª¡±


    The cavern rumbled. Emet was laughing again, ¡°You have said your seven¡­ speak not the seventh¡­ should the golem hear¡­ it will be destroyed.¡±


    I? tried to recall what she had said. She counted off the words on her fingers.


    ¡°Which¡­words¡­should¡­I¡­use¡­I¡­w¡ª.¡± She looked at Emet, ¡°But I wanted to choose a word I don¡¯t say all the time!¡±


    ¡°You¡­ will learn. Now¡­ practice with Take. Command it.¡±


    ¡°Take, can you put this inkwell on that shelf over there?¡±


    ¡°I will try.¡± The voice caught I? off guard. Take didn¡¯t sigh like Emet, nor did his lips move, for I? had not made him a mouth. Instead, a pleasant monotone voice of a young man emanated from the golem.


    Take¡¯s arms began waving about the inkwell, testing the possible ways two thin pieces of wood may grasp a glass jar. He decided on placing an arm under either side of the lip of the inkwell. This allowed him to lift it slightly off the ground.


    In the same moment Take secured the inkwell, he began to move. He sped underneath the tables, heedless of the obstacles he passed over. Insects and straw flattened underneath his body without slowing him. Half way across the room his body left Emet¡¯s presence and vanished. I? laughed. His head had remained, making him look like a floating ball of dirt. Take deposited the inkwell and returned to her. The whole process had taken less than half a minute.


    Putrefied air whistled from Emet¡¯s mouth, ¡°That¡­ was well done¡­Now go¡­ We will continue¡­ in the morning¡­¡±


    Pride warmed I? from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She turned to Take. ¡°Can you carry me up the stairs?¡±


    He did not move. One of his arms had fallen out, and his head sagged.


    Emet sighed, low and mournful, ¡°It is dead. Remove¡­ the scroll.¡±


    I? retrieved Take¡¯s scroll, causing half his head to fall away. The parchment was black as though burned, and no words were visible.


    ¡°I¡­ apologize. The body¡­ may be salvaged. To restore runes you need¡­ only touch them, for you are a kineser, and then runes¡­ are yours¡­ You will write¡­ a new scroll¡­ tomorrow.¡±


    I? nodded bitterly and left, leaving her tools where she had dropped them. Gar was standing on the other side of the door.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t seem right to leave you alone,¡± he said apologetically, ¡°After I walked down with you the one time I decided it wasn¡¯t so bad. I figured, if my job is to protect you, I could do better from the bottom of the stairs than the top.


    I? pushed past Gar, head down. He followed her.


    ¡°I saw that creature you made wiz past! It was like when I was a kid! Like Rebeka! You¡¯ve got real talent miss.¡±


    I? said nothing, and began crawling up the first step.


    ¡°I¡­ What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    I? was afraid she word burst into tears if she tried to talk, so she just shrugged.


    ¡°Listen¡­ Tell you what. I¡¯ll carry you up those stairs and get you to bed. Things always seem better in the morning. How¡¯s that sound, eh?¡±


    I? blinked, then nodded. She reached out her arms towards Gar. He took them, and lifted her into his own. The journey up the stairs was longer than normal, but I? didn¡¯t mind. She was safe, and no harm would come to her. Gar spoke to her softly, but she didn¡¯t listen. The rocking of his steps and warmth of his chest lulled her into a much needed sleep. I? let out a happy sigh, and knew no more.

 A Discussion about Blossoms

    ¡°Flower petals!¡± said Mero.


    Lord Glove shifted in his seat to face him, ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what the blossoms look like, flower petals. I¡¯ve never seen trees like this before. They¡¯re beautiful.¡±


    Lord Glove looked puzzled, ¡°They¡¯re empress trees. Surely you¡¯re familiar with them?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say I am. Why? Are they popular?¡±


    ¡°There is a grove in every city in former Ganthiel. Does your own dom not contain them?¡±


    Mero studied the tan coloured trees. Their purple petals were quite large. Perhaps they attracted bees.


    ¡°Are they cultivated for honey or¡­?¡±


    Lord Glove rocked back as though Mero had slapped him.


    ¡°They¡¯re for funeral rights. What do you do with your dead?¡±


    ¡°We burn them.¡±


    Lord Glove¡¯s face turned white, revealing twin scars beneath his eyes. They were faded, but not enough to disguise the fact that they were intentional. A pattern of some sort.


    ¡°You¡­ you destroy their memory,¡± Lord Glove said, ¡°What is left to honour those who have died?¡±


    Mero glanced from Lord Glove¡¯s scars to his troubled eyes. The poor man was in agony. What had Mero said to upset him?


    ¡°What honour do the dead deserve?¡± Mero asked, ¡°They¡¯re not doing anything.¡±


    ¡°We honour them for all they have done. The trees carry their burdens after they are gone. In this way we show the dead their burdens were real. We show the dead they were real and shall be forever more.¡±


    ¡°Why? How many of our burdens are created by our own foolish thoughts? Why should we continue to honour idle flights of fantasy?¡±


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    ¡°Because we are made from our values.¡± Lord Glove said, ¡°Our burdens are a reflection of our conscience, of our very soul. ¡®What matters our burdens?¡¯ ¡®What matters our lives?¡¯! You may as well ask ¡®What matter the fate of the world?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Then I ask it. What matters anything? Do we only give things value so we can choose something to die for?¡±


    ¡°We choose something to live for.¡±


    ¡°What is the difference Lord Glove? When one is willing to die for something, whether their country, or love, or an ideal, they make that their reason for living.¡±


    ¡°What of girls? Isn¡¯t something accomplished whenever a girl becomes an adult?¡±


    Mero laughed, despite himself. The man¡¯s views were so peculiar, ¡°If our only goal is to raise our girls so they may raise their own girls, then we delude ourselves with false accomplishments. You speak of the fate of the world, but there is no fate if everything remains the same.¡±


    ¡°What if we are maintaining perfection?¡±


    Mero¡¯s temper flared. He took a breath to calm himself before speaking, ¡°My sister died from a fever when she was four. A dog bit her, and the wound became infected. Is that perfection?¡± he spat the word, ¡°Why must our values carry on? Why not let the burdens fall and admit they never mattered?¡±


    ¡°We all need a reason to keep on living,¡± Lord Glove whispered, looking away.


    ¡°Why is living so important if we must make up reasons to do it? Can you answer me that, Lord Glove?¡±


    ¡°No. To think this all started when you noticed the magnificence of these trees.¡±


    Mero smiled. Lord Glove had an answer after all, even if he wasn¡¯t aware of it, ¡°Shall we talk of something else?¡±


    ¡°We must: Lija.¡±


    Mero fidgeted in his seat. He had been trying to avoid thinking about her their entire journey. How would she react to seeing him? It had been what, three years? Did he have any right to go to her side immediately after her brother¡¯s death? It felt wrong, dishonest, ¡°I¡¯m more nervous than I can say. I love her, and she loved me, but¡­ Are you certain this will work out?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen more failures in my life than I have successes. I am not certain of anything.¡±


    Mero¡¯s heart lurched and his stomach began to flutter, ¡°Then why try?¡±


    ¡°Because, sometimes, I succeed.¡±


    Mero nodded, though the pounding of his heart did not subside.


    ¡°There are things we can do to increase our odds,¡± said Lord Glove, ¡°Her parents are still distraught about the death of their eldest. With their youngest¡¯s abdication, they will be resistant to a more powerful noble wishing to marry their daughter, even a noble they know well. This is a difficult request, but if you agree to cede your dom to Lija upon marriage¡ª¡±


    Mero laughed. He couldn¡¯t help himself. His rule was the least of his concerns. They were talking about him marrying Lija, ¡°She can have it! I will guide her administration, even rule if necessary, but it shall be her family¡¯s legacy which continues.¡±


    ¡°Have you considered your parents¡¯ reaction? What of their own legacy?¡±


    ¡°Have you forgotten already? My people let our burdens go.¡±

 Tool

    It was the next morning.


    ¡°I name you Tool, for I cannot call you my friend.¡± Emet and I? had worked out the words together. I? didn¡¯t like the sentence, but Emet had insisted. She said the easiest thing to remember was the truth. I? didn¡¯t think it was the truth. Tool was cute. He had two large eyes and a chubby little body. I? had learned from her mistakes last time: instead of forcing the scroll through one of Tool¡¯s sockets she had formed his head around it. She didn¡¯t give him voice either, for she still felt the absence of Take¡¯s. Because he had no voice to alert her of his presence, I? hadn¡¯t made any part of his body invisible.


    ¡°Command him. Empty¡­ the kiln.¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ could you empty that kiln, please?¡± I? asked, pointing.


    Tool¡¯s base rumbled across the floor like an avalanche. Small creatures ran from his path. One deathwatch beetle failed to escape and was consumed by the churning mass, its husk was spat out a moment later. Tool surged through the low entrance of the kiln and emerged an instant later, his stick-arms filled with broken pottery and bits of glass. He dumped them on the ground and reentered the kiln. In short order he had gathered a small mountain of debris.


    Emet rumbled with either approval or wistfulness, ¡°Well done. Your will¡­ impresses me. Next you shall fashion a golem of clay¡­ The golem¡­ will have a hole in its head. You will¡­ place a scroll inside. Then you may insert the golem¡¯s eye.¡±


    ¡°Golem¡¯s eye?¡± I? asked, ¡°Why only one?¡±


    ¡°A golem¡¯s eye is not¡­ the eye it sees with. It guards its scroll. It hides it.¡±


    ¡°Why does its scroll need to be hidden?¡±


    ¡°If a golem¡¯s scroll¡­ is destroyed¡­ so too is the golem. Weakness¡­ is best kept¡­ hidden.¡±


    I? felt as though that comment had been directed at her. She wasn¡¯t weak. She resolved not to cry in front of Emet ever again, even if Tool died.


    ¡°When do we start?¡±


    ¡°Immediately. Do you¡­ know how to make clay?¡± Emet asked.


    I? didn¡¯t know you had to make clay. She thought it came out of the ground. She shook her head.


    Damp air hissed from the wall¡¯s colossal lips, ¡°We do not have time for you to learn. I will teach your golems¡­ You must take from Rebeka¡¯s stores. Go¡­ to the wall opposite, carved in lead. The edge may be¡­ pulled open.¡±


    I? didn¡¯t fancy a journey all the way to the end of the room. However, the way Tool had pushed through everything in his path gave her an idea.


    ¡°Tool, can you go to that wall over there?¡±


    Tool plowed through a mound of black sand, tossed aside a stack of wax boxes filled with wooden candles, and squashed a rat¡¯s tail before it managed to escape.


    I? followed in Tool¡¯s wake, arriving at the opposite wall in seconds. She let out a whoop and clapped excitedly. That was the most incredible thing she¡¯d ever done! Emet chuckled behind her. I? felt like a proper kineser for the first time.


    ¡°The catch is on¡­ the left¡­ side.¡±


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    I? worked her fingers along the edge of the wall. Sure enough, there was a slight lip. She managed to fit her fourth finger behind it. She tugged, and half the wall swung open like a well-oiled door. Behind it was a small room stacked high with clay, more than I? thought she could ever use. She entered the room to gather some bricks. The wall promptly swung shut behind her. I? experienced a moment of panic. Was she trapped here? How would she leave? She scrabbled at the door, which swung open as easy as before. I? lost her balance and fell to the floor. She stood, feeling silly.


    ¡°Lead¡­ remembers its form. The wall always wishes¡­ to be a wall.¡±


    I? wished Emet didn¡¯t have to comment on everything. It was embarrassing enough falling on her face, she didn¡¯t need to be reminded people were watching. I? gathered as many bricks as she could carry and brought them back to Emet.


    ¡°Many will be needed. Return to the store.¡±


    Six more trips later, Emet was finally satisfied. I? stretched her aching back.


    ¡°Now¡­ shape the clay. Give it form to hold¡­ the breath of life.¡±


    Despite Tool and Emet¡¯s company, I? felt lonely in the cave. Emet was a wall, sworn to teach, and Tool was a blob with twigs sticking out of him, sworn to serve. She wanted someone more familiar. A golem who could be her friend. I? arranged the bricks into the rough shape of torso and limbs. Then, as best she could, she shaped them into the form of a maiden child her own age. Under Emet¡¯s instruction she also removed a cylinder of clay from the girl¡¯s forehead and formed it into a sphere. This was to be the golem¡¯s eye.


    ¡°Have you shaped clay before?¡± Emet breathed.


    I? shook her head. The only other time she¡¯d tried to make a sculpture of any sort was when Lanet had tried to teach her whittling, and that had failed miserably.


    ¡°You are a natural¡­ Next¡ª¡±


    ¡°Now I cover her in runes, right?¡± I? interrupted excitedly.


    ¡°The runes need not be carved¡­ at a specific time¡­but once clay is fired only steel will be hard enough¡­ to scratch its surface. Carve now in bronze¡­ noble tool.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Like that which is carved in copper¡­ will learn, that which is carved in bronze will be honourable¡­ and kind.¡±


    ¡°Were your runes carved in bronze?¡± I? asked, reaching out to trace the faded runes upon Emet¡¯s body.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Emet whispered, slow and sad, ¡°Another time¡­ You must bind the eye to its forehead. Then¡­ you may carve what symbols you would.¡±


    I? got the feeling Emet was trying to change the subject, but she didn¡¯t push. She¡¯d need all her concentration for this next task. She ringed the golem¡¯s eye with binding runes, and then mirrored them about the edge of the hole in its forehead. She debated about giving the golem a voice, but finally decided it would be difficult to be her friend without one, so she placed a voice rune on her throat. She put strength runes on her arms and legs so she could support her own weight. Then, as she had done with Tool and Take, she placed binding runes at each joint in case one of the golem¡¯s arms fell off. At Emet¡¯s insistence she painstakingly blanketed the body with the repair runes.


    ¡°The slightest mistake¡­ will destroy your golem. Apply the runes with care.¡±


    I? wished Emet had told her that before she started. She didn¡¯t dare breath every time she carved a repair rune. Her painstaking care cost her the better part of the day, but she managed not to undo all her hard work. Finally, more because she liked the look of it, rather than for any real purpose, I? placed image runes on the golem¡¯s hands, down its arms, on its eye, across its legs, and over its torso. She stepped back, exhausted, a feeling of pride growing in her chest.


    ¡°Now¡­ Flip the golem over, and carve runes on¡­ the other side.¡±


    I? nearly collapsed right there, but she remembered her resolution to not cry in front of Emet, or look weak. She paced back and forth a few times to revive herself, and then got back to work.


    Many hours later she finished her last rune, Speed, written on the golem¡¯s calf. She stood, wobbling as all the blood in her body rushed to her feet.


    ¡°Are we done yet?¡± I? asked drunkenly.


    ¡°Place the golem¡­ in the kiln.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± The golem was equal to her in size and much heavier.


    ¡°I... do not know. Rebeka¡­ had golems to carry them for her.¡±


    I? was struck by an idea so brilliant it woke her from her daze. She ran to the base of the stairs.


    ¡°Gar!¡±

 A Carriage Ride through the Woods

    ¡°Carriage for hire!¡± cried Muddle, ¡°Syldom to anywhere else! Vesperdom? I¡¯m there. Petrydom, considered the horse whipped. Boredom? Ha! Looks as if you are there already sir.¡±


    A man approached his carriage, ¡°I¡¯d like to go to Vesperdom. What is your fare?¡±


    Muddle, clever despite his unfortunate name, wondered as well. The man was well dressed, suit and all, even in the muddy season. He¡¯d be a noble or a merchant. That immediately raised the price. He would also have to add on a hazard charge, as Vesperdom was one of the more unpleasant doms he serviced. Then he had to factor in the time of day. It was midafternoon, prime time for customers.


    Muddle spat off his cart, as he always did after finishing a calculation, ¡°Ten weight sir, and that¡¯s a bargain.¡±


    The man quirked an eyebrow. So maybe Muddle had inflated the price a little, but everyone did that. He readied himself for an argument, but the man just said, ¡°A bargain indeed.¡±


    He handed Muddle ten coins, ¡°To the border if you please.¡±


    Muddle nearly felt bad. Ten to the border was almost criminal. He¡¯d have to keep the money though. Otherwise he couldn¡¯t afford to drink away his guilt. He patted the carriage seat beside him.


    ¡°Up ¡®ere your lordship.¡±


    The man clambered on. No¡­ that wasn¡¯t right. He leapt. Bounded. Flew. Muddle had never seen someone so graceful.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you learn that?¡± he asked.


    The man just smiled. Let him keep his secrets, Muddle thought, as long as it kept him happy. Muddle grunted at his horse and flicked his reins.


    The journey was pleasant. The man knew when to talk and when to stay silent. He listened to Muddle¡¯s stories, didn¡¯t tell his own, and laughed at the right times. Muddle couldn¡¯t ask for more in a travelling companion. Maybe he wouldn¡¯t rob him. Maybe.


    They came to a bend, isolated from the rest of the road. Muddle glanced slyly at the man¡¯s vest. His things were hidden, but Muddle had a fine eye for details. Muddle could make out papers under his vest, and a dagger. The man noticed him staring. He shifted slightly in his seat. His fingers played across his vest and under, resting lightly on his knife.


    Muddle turned back to the road and launched into the story about the blacksmith and his turnips. Good honest work, carriage driving.


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    Ten minutes later they arrived at the border. The well-dressed man leapt off the carriage as gracefully as he had on to it. Funny that, thought Muddle as he turned the carriage around, him going into the woods rather than down the road. I wonder what¡ª The jingle of ten weight in his pocket drowned out the rest of the thought. Never mind that. Muddle began to hum. It was a lovely day.


    A grin gathered on Lord Glove¡¯s face as he ran. The wind picked up and roared past him, pleasantly cool. He closed his eyes and breathed in, savoring the moment. Small twigs cracked under his feet. He kept his eyes closed, allowing the gentle green light of the forest to sooth away his cares. The burble of water accompanied his breathing as he ran. He was nearing a creek. Navigating by memory and sound alone, he leapt to a flat stone at its center, pushed off, and cleared the rest of the creek, landing on the other side. He picked up speed, eyes still closed. As fast as a wolf, then a deer, then a rabbit. He continued to accelerate. He felt as though in a moment he would fly.


    In far too short a time, he reached the farmstead which was his goal. It was a little farm, only consisting of a hut, a barn, a field and a small cowshed. A large dog ran out of the house to meet him and began to bark. Lord Glove approached the dog and extended the back of his hand, fingers curled. The dog sniffed it, his tail began to wag, and he let Lord Glove pet him. A woman emerged from the cow shed.


    ¡°Green Eyes!¡± cried the woman in greeting, ¡°Finally! I¡¯ve been worried sick about you. Any news? Is it going well?¡±


    Green Eyes was the name Lord Glove had given himself while in Vesperdom. He had reimagined himself as a daring revolutionary of noble blood. He used to tell Rebeka that a lie was easiest to maintain if it was true. ¡°It is going exceedingly well. I am certain we will be getting the support of the neighbouring doms,¡± he offered the woman a charcoal stick, ¡°Of course, the more the merrier. Now that we are moments from acting will you finally agree to add your name to the roster?¡±


    The woman brushed her dirty hands on a dirtier tunic and took the charcoal stick. To Lord Glove¡¯s surprise she wrote her name in large block letters on the page. ANKE.


    ¡°Who taught you to write?¡± he asked, letting his astonishment show in his voice.


    ¡°My son,¡± she said proudly, ¡°`e¡¯s a good lad. Went off to `awkdom to learn his letters.¡±


    ¡°We was always going to sign,¡± she continued, ¡°Just wanted to be sure. My ¡®usband will be round shortly you¡¯re needing.¡±


    ¡°That would be most welcome,¡± he smiled at her.


    Anke checked over both her shoulders before speaking to him in a hushed voice. ¡°Lissen, I wasn¡¯t sure if I was going to tell you this, but¡­ I ¡®eard Akan two farms down¡¯s been talking of speaking to one of Vesper¡¯s lords.¡±


    Lord Glove frowned, ¡°Akan. Gentle spoken man, slightly taller than me, black hair, grey eyes, strong hands?¡±


    ¡°Aye, that¡¯d describe him.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for the warning. I¡¯ll attend to it immediately. You can hold onto the paper for your husband. Gather any additional signatures you can. Someone will come by later and collect them. Look out for the night glider¡¯s cry.¡±


    With that, Lord Glove was off. He didn¡¯t head directly for Akan¡¯s farm as the woman might have expected, but back into the forest.


    Peace. A moment will suffice. Then I will be ready.

 Firecraft

    I? wasn¡¯t sure how to light the kiln. The torches looked more likely to smother her kindling than light it, and both Emet and Gar knew nothing of firecraft.


    ¡°We have no choice,¡± Emet sighed as I? struck for the fiftieth time at her now mangled piece of flint, ¡°you will¡­ use alchemy.¡±


    I? sat upright, excited.


    ¡°I¡¯ve always heard alchemy was a load of old rubbish, begging your pardon ma¡¯am,¡± said Gar.


    Emet ignored him, ¡°Fire releases damp, is pure, and formed¡­ from airy and hot. Take strong water for damp¡­ Spirit of the wind for ¡­ airy¡­ spirit of salt for heat, but¡­ have caution lest it burn you. Finally, philosopher¡¯s snow for purity.¡±


    With Gar¡¯s help I? managed to find all the ingredients in less than an hour. They arranged them on the ground around a glass bowl.


    ¡°Pour the strong water in first, then¡­ stir in the spirit of the wind.¡±


    I? filled the bowl with the yellow liquid and stirred in the white wedges of crystal.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like wind at all,¡± I? said to Gar, ¡°it looks like¡ª¡°


    I? and Gar both gasped. The spirit of the wind dissolved before their eyes, absorbing the strong water as it did so, each element vanishing into the other.


    ¡°Now¡­ add philosopher¡¯s snow.¡±


    Philosopher¡¯s snow was white and snow was white. That made sense. But I? couldn¡¯t figure out where the philosopher came in.


    ¡°Maybe they were wondering why the snow is dry?¡± Gar suggested.


    I? shrugged and stirred it in. Alchemy was far more confusing than kinesics. A white paste formed at the bottom of her bowl.


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    ¡°Ready your tinder, and add¡­ a few drops of the spirit of salt.¡±


    The spirit of the salt was a liquid, further confirmation of I?¡¯s growing belief that alchemists drew names out of a hat. She dropped the bottle in shock when the first drop caused the powder to burst into red flames.


    ¡°Well I¡¯ll be,¡± said Gar as he fed tinder to the flames, ¡°I take back every negative thing I ever said about alchemy.¡±


    The clay figure was left to dry in the kiln for two days. I? entered the workshop early every morning and left late every night to make sure the fire stayed stoked. She would have gotten Tool to supply the kiln, but he followed her everywhere she went. He even stood on her pillow while she slept.


    It was afternoon on the second day. Emet was expounding upon some of the deeper aspects of kinesics. I? was warming herself in front of the kiln and sewing a little doll from scraps of cloth. The constantly burning fire had raised the temperature of the workshop considerably, and even dried it out a bit. The whole place had become far more pleasant.


    ¡°There are seven aspects¡­ to kinesics. Inscriptions, runes, inks, materials, emotions¡­ words, and schools.¡±


    ¡°Schools?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ there are seven. Tools: for crafting fine instruments. Wards¡­ to keep foes at bay or preserve eggs, among¡­ other things¡­ Enchantment: to create wonders¡­ Craft¡­ to create the tools of the trade. Dreams: needed because power is impotent¡­ without vision. Golems¡­ the awesome creation¡­ the greatest of the schools. Enhancement: to make the weak strong, to give people¡ª¡±


    A loud crack interrupted Emet¡¯s answer.


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°The clay expands as it bakes. If there is water¡­ it breaks free.¡±


    There was another crack followed by several large thuds.


    ¡°It sounds like it exploded!¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ The repair runes¡­ will mend it. Tomorrow it will be finished. You will make a scroll¡­ written in blood.¡±


    I?¡¯s eyes grew wide, ¡°Blood?¡±


    ¡°Yours¡­yes. Rebeka would quote Lord Glove¡­ ¡®Unpleasant, but necessary¡¯¡±


    I?¡¯s lip trembled. She imagined a gaping wound in her neck, pouring blood onto endless scraps of parchment while Lord Glove repeated, ¡®Unpleasant, but necessary. Unpleasant, but necessary.¡¯ She shuddered and forced the image from her mind. She distracted herself with her dress, running her finger over the hole above her hip.


    ¡°Emet?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Why am I building golems?¡±


    ¡°Did Lord Glove not speak¡­ of infrastructure?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and he showed me all the buildings and their runes. Only¡­ Only there¡¯s no golems anywhere.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ you see clearly. Infrastructure¡­ bridges to move merchants¡¯ carts, sewers to move waste, roads to move people. Golems¡­ move only themselves. Golems¡­ are for war.¡±


    ¡°What war? Why am I making golems?¡± I? asked again.


    ¡°War yet to come¡­. Lord Glove never said when.¡±


    ¡°Did Rebeka make golems? Besides the ones down here? Did she make Golem¡¯s for war?¡±


    ¡°She did not wish¡­¡±


    ¡°Did she?¡±


    Emet released an affirmative sigh.

 The Housefire

    Hold! Hold! Your spears can still kill them, large or small! Hold, abandon you!


    Lord Glove watched as the flames grew higher, ever higher. It was building a ladder to the sky. Sparks leapt from the top, desperate to take their place among the stars.


    Ten creatures in the shape of man, though far greater and more terrible, move slowly toward the gates. Smaller creatures rush past them, blurring up the wall. Soldiers recoil in pain and fear, or simply slump to the stones, dead before they know they are dead.


    The roof collapsed, knocking out a wall of the barn. In turn, the burning wall lit the field on fire.


    Flames pour off the creatures. Trenches filled with oil now alight. Ten giants march on, heedless of the mortal danger. Small creatures smash lanterns into thatch covered roofs, pour oil down into wooden cellars. Soldiers rush in to stop them, they return broken, unmoving.


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    The baby knave girl bundled beside Lord Glove began to wail.


    People cry. Tears flow down their faces. They¡¯re approaching sir! What do we do?


    The house gave one last groan, then tumbled in on itself, surrendering itself to the flames.


    Surrender? Ha! They number but ten, look how slow their stride. Crossbows to fore!


    Lord Glove picked up the baby and began to mummer gently to him. The babe was somewhat calmed, though his face was still wet with tears. Lord Glove used a corner of his cloth to wipe them away.


    Bolts ricochet. Unabated, the figures draw abreast of the wall. Mortar gives, stone collapses. People scream.


    Lord Glove walked to the edge of the forest, rocking the baby in his arms.


    Surrender? Sir, please.


    The knave child yawned. Lord Glove tucked the swaddling more firmly about him.


    The soldiers throw down their weapons, but the figures continue to advance, implacable. There is no surrender. They have but four orders:


    Travel.


    Grow.


    Destroy.


    Die.

 Alisa

    Help.


    Grow.


    DieObject.


    ¡°Written¡­ in your own blood. The golem¡­ is yours.¡±


    I? clutched a spare piece of parchment to the shallow wound on her forearm. She had looked the other way while Tool made the cut. It hadn¡¯t hurt as bad as she had feared, but it still stung. I? would have preferred to use any of the 48 other inks, whatever they might be.


    ¡°Take¡­ an object which you may hide¡­ that ring, there¡­ two tables to your left.¡±


    I? went over to the table. There were several rings on it, as well as a beaker full of a thick, cough coloured liquid. I? grabbed a large ebony one.


    ¡°Will this work?¡±


    Shadows danced in Emet¡¯s eyes, ¡°It has never¡­ been put to a greater use. Carve the golem¡¯s name¡­ into the ring. If the golem¡­ touches an object writ with its name¡­ it will be¡­ unmade.¡±


    I? had been thinking about the golem¡¯s name all night. She had always loved the sound of her mother¡¯s name, so that was what she carved into the ring with her steel inscription tool. Only after carving the name did I? notice a problem.


    ¡°Can I carve a different ring?¡± I? asked. ¡°This one doesn¡¯t fit. It¡¯s too big.¡±


    The ring clattered to the floor to reinforce her remark.


    ¡°Once written¡­. a name cannot be¡­ unwritten. You will use¡­ that ring.¡±


    Emet might have thought that settled it, but she didn¡¯t even have fingers. I? looked around the workshop for inspiration. There! Under the table next to her was a bundle of leather cords. She looped one through the ring and tied it off, fashioning a crude necklace. I? hung it about her neck, under her dress. She figured the golem wouldn¡¯t like it if the first thing it saw was the ring which could destroy it.


    ¡°Insert the scroll.¡±


    I? did so. It took her a few tries to fit the golem¡¯s eye over it, as both it and the golem had shrunk during the firing process. However, once I? got the eye in a little ways the binding runes began calling to each other and it spun into alignment with a loud grinding noise.


    ¡°Reveal¡­ your golem¡¯s name.¡±


    ¡°I name you Alisa!¡± I? said.


    The first sound Alisa made was a low chuckle. She sounded like a nine year old maiden child, but one who was unafraid to laugh. It was the laugh of one who did not fear judgment and had never felt pain. The sound was so pure and rich, I? couldn¡¯t help but join. Alisa¡¯s fearlessness inspired I? and she too laughed without worry. I? knew, the way people always do, she had a friend.


    ¡°Ah¡­ Joy¡­ An emotion¡­. I¡¯d forgot.¡± Emet sighed.


    I?¡¯s laughter eventually dimmed to a smile, but there was a light left twinkling in her eyes which had not been there before.


    ¡°Do I get to name you now?¡± Alisa asked brightly.


    ¡°Lanet already named me. I¡¯m I?.¡±


    ¡°Who is Lanet?¡±


    ¡°A Peaceseeker.¡±


    ¡°What is a Peaceseeker?¡±


    ¡°My mom died when I was young. She was Lanet¡¯s wife and that made him upset so now he¡¯s looking for happiness.¡±


    ¡°Has he found it?¡±


    ¡°No, he hasn¡¯t got there yet. He said it was a long walk.¡±


    ¡°What can I name?¡±


    I? picked up the crude burlap doll she had sewn the day before. She had painted it with blue runes in the same manner as her dress and stuffed a scroll inside it¡¯s head. Emet had wanted I? to name it, but she was happy to share. She placed it in Alisa¡¯s hands.


    ¡°You can name this golem.¡±


    ¡°What does it do?¡±


    ¡°I told it to Travel and Create. It will die if someone destroys its eye. Its eye isn¡¯t on its body, though. It¡¯s different from yours.¡±


    ¡°Where is its eye?¡±


    ¡°Emet says I¡¯m not supposed to tell anyone.¡±


    Alisa laughed, ¡°Okay. I name it David.¡±


    Alisa placed David on the table.


    ¡°It will not¡ª¡°Emet was interrupted by the girls gasps as the golem rose to his feet.


    ¡°Unexpected¡­ A golem kineser is very rare. They may make only¡­ a single golem. Unfortunate¡­ A golem should only have one master¡­ lest wills collide.¡±


    David tottered around unsteadily in front of the maiden children. His limp arms swung on their stitches as he walked, and his rounded legs rocked unevenly. He stumbled left and then right and then he fell over backwards, flipped off the table and landed in a bowl of chestnuts. He worked himself free from their roots and staggered towards I?. He stopped at the base of her feet and rocked back on his legs to look up at her. I? met his gaze, curious. David must have seen something in her eyes for he nodded slowly. Then he turned and began waddling determinedly to the door. As he came across a pile of rusty chisels he stopped suddenly, again rocking back as though struck with an epiphany. The chisels, even the little ones, were longer than David was tall, but this did not deter him. He wrapped both his wool stuffed arms about the smallest one, and tugged it free.


    ¡°What is he doing?¡± I? asked Emet.


    ¡°It was carved in silver; veracious tool; and given the emotion¡­ love. It knows it will die from the moment it is born. It lives¡­ to create. Creation is its¡­. only possible legacy. Creation is its only means¡­ to immortality.¡±


    David dragged the chisel out the door.


    ¡°Don¡¯t golems only live for seven times seven days?¡± I? asked, watching him go. If there was a way to make Emet live longer then I? could help Lord Glove stop being so sad and worried all the time. He always tried to smile when she was with him, but she could tell. Lanet had been the same.


    ¡°Life is measured¡­by its impact on the world not¡­ its length. To change the world forever¡­ is to become immortal.¡±


    Emet took a deep breath, long and slow. Then, Emet began to tell a tale.


    ¡°A treasure was buried¡­ in the lands now known as Glovedom. This treasure was not gold nor jewels¡­ it was not diamonds nor silver. It was far¡­ more valuable. Power. The power of creation¡¯s own¡­ divinity incarnate. Akin to magic¡­ but far older. Older than anything.


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    ¡°Fifty years ago a king, called evil by his enemies¡­ coveted the treasure. He decided he would conquer Ganter and by extension¡­ Glovedom. The king of Ganter¡ªKing Tate¡­ charged Glove with mounting the first¡­ defence. He bestowed upon him the title¡­ of lord for his services.


    ¡°And so Lord Glove hired Rebeka and made her fashion golems to defend¡­ the dom. Ten in number, these were golems of immense power¡­ carved in copper, gold, and steel; told only¡­ to grow and destroy. With Lord Glove as their leader, they destroyed the attacking army. Worried about retribution¡­ Lord Glove led a counterattack on the evil kingdom.


    ¡°The first land he encountered¡­ ruled by Lady Seshtern, who served under¡­ the evil king. Those who did not flee¡­ died fighting. The golems¡­ leveled the keep and Lord Glove led them after¡­ the survivors.


    ¡°Rebeka sent new golems¡­ to join his force. Smaller, weaker¡­ but of blinding speed. All joined his army¡­ in less than a day¡­ no matter how far from home he marched.


    ¡°Again and again¡­ Lord Glove crushed their armies. All who remained¡­ the largest army¡­ since the days¡­ of King Stalwart¡ªhid behind the capital¡¯s thick walls with their catapults. The walls did not protect them. Before the ten creations of death¡­ drew within range... the soldiers learned their king was dead. They turned to his lords and¡­ his ladies. They were also dead. As were his commanders¡­. Ganter¡­ doubled in size that day. The capital is now known as the Burned City¡­ The king¡¯s name has been¡­ forgotten.


    ¡°The golems¡­ would not accept peace. For thirty days¡­ the golems raged, growing exponentially stronger. When¡­ they finally failed, they were¡­ iron giants, towering high above the ravaged lands. They stand still¡­ Statues serving as a reminder¡­ of death to those¡­ who dare not remember. The story¡­ is not often told. Those who survived are now dead, and¡­ few wished to tell their tale. Such is Lord Glove¡¯s legacy. Such is Rebeka¡¯s.


    ¡°A human¡­ such as yourself has many paths. Lord Glove conquered doms. You¡­ may have a girl. Rebeka guides you through me¡­to change her legacy. A legacy of kineser¡­ who are free, and¡­ whose lives are not hounded¡­ by death.¡±


    Lord Glove had led an army? And had killed hundreds of people? And had destroyed a kingdom? It was too much for I?. She began to tremble.


    ¡°The evil king,¡± I? asked, ¡°were his people evil too?¡±


    ¡°I cannot¡­ remember. My word of death¡­ is Decay. I grow weaker¡­ my memories drain¡­like sand¡­¡±


    I? thought the people must have been evil. Why else would Lord Glove have killed them?


    ¡°They had to be evil,¡± she said.


    Alisa took I? in her clay arms and pulled her close, hugging her. Alisa was warm, as though some of the heat from the kiln had stayed in her.


    ¡°What do you know about Lord Glove?¡± Alisa asked her.


    ¡°He let me stay with him. He smiles a lot, even though he is sad. Gar likes him. He is kind.¡±


    I? felt Alisa grow warmer. Alisa laughed, ¡°There you go.¡±


    I? gripped Alisa in a hug of her own before backing away, ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Are we done today?¡± she asked Emet.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± said Emet, ¡°You may go.¡±


    I? showed Alisa the stairs, ¡°We have to climb up and down these every day. They¡¯re really long. And slippery, so be careful. I skinned my knee this morning.¡± She pulled up her dress to show Alisa.


    The golem studied the stairs, ¡°Let me carry you. I won¡¯t fall.¡±


    I? laughed, thinking Alisa was making a joke. The golem was smaller than I?. Alisa, on the other hand, seemed to think I? was laughing in delight with the idea, for she promptly picked I? up and set her on her shoulders. I? shrieked. They were to going fall! She wrapped her arms around Alisa¡¯s head to steady herself, but she didn¡¯t need to. Alisa¡¯s step never faltered or slowed the whole way up the stairs. She moved so smoothly I? didn¡¯t even rock in her perch on Alisa¡¯s shoulders.


    Gar was bouncing dice off the wall. As he came into view I? heard him groan.


    ¡°Hi Gar!¡± I? called brightly, ¡°did you lose again?¡±


    Gar jumped, ¡°Didn¡¯t notice you come in.¡±


    He turned to greet her, ¡°Aye. It¡¯s like my father always used to say, ¡®If you bet against yourself you¡¯ll always lose.¡¯¡±


    He finally noticed that I? was up on someone¡¯s shoulders. He stared at Alisa in wonder.


    ¡°No wonder I didn¡¯t hear you climbing the stairs. Your golem¡¯s as silent as an owl¡¯s¡­,¡± he flushed, ¡°beg yer pardon.¡±


    ¡°As an owl¡¯s what?¡± I? asked, interested.


    ¡°Never you mind,¡± Gar said hurriedly, ¡°How about you introduce me to your golem there?¡±


    ¡°Her name is Alisa. And he¡¯s Gar,¡± I? said.


    Gar¡¯s eyes widened, ¡°I recognize her now! That¡¯s the lump of clay you got me to carry. Near threw out my back. She¡¯s a right work of art miss, a right work.¡±


    Alisa laughed. I? felt herself swelling with pride.


    ¡°That¡¯s as pleasant a laugh as I ever heard,¡± Gar said.


    Alisa¡¯s laughter grew and I? had to join her, ¡°Will you be coming to supper?¡±


    Gar smiled, but shook his head, ¡°Lord Glove got back an hour ago. He¡¯ll be wanting me to write a report sharpish. I still got the time to walk you over though, don¡¯t you worry.¡±


    He stood and brushed the straw from his pants, ¡°I ought to take a broom to this place one of these days.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I can get Tool to do it,¡± After Gar¡¯s last compliment, I? was eager to show off her golems. Tool was soon flailing away at rat droppings, insects, and bits of straw.


    ¡°I won¡¯t say nothing bad about Rebeka, but I must say ma¡¯am, it¡¯s sure nice to have a kineser who is interested in cleaning.¡±


    I? felt as if she had grown several feet taller. She desperately wanted to say something clever or witty, but couldn¡¯t think of anything. She blushed, much to her chagrin, mentally kicking herself for a lack of a response.


    ¡°Can we leave him to it?¡± Gar asked.


    I? nodded, still mute. Gar took I?¡¯s hand in his right, Alisa¡¯s hand in his left, and set off for the manor.


    Lord Glove was sitting at the head chair of the dining hall when they entered. I? ran over to him and leapt at him, wrapping her arms about his neck. Lord Glove returned her hug.


    ¡°Hello I?,¡± Lord Glove said, smiling, ¡°Who¡¯s she?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s Alisa, my new golem. Can she have supper with us?¡±


    Lord Glove pulled out the chair to his left, ¡°Certainly. Please, Alisa, take a seat. I am Lord Glove, ruler of Glovedom.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Lord Glove.¡±


    ¡°You are well made, if you don¡¯t mind my saying. Well done I?. The glowing image rune on her forehead is a lovely touch, most charming.¡±


    I? hadn¡¯t looked at Alisa since before they¡¯d left the workshop. Not only was the rune on her forehead glowing with a faint white light, the rest of the runes on her body appeared to have vanished, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean for it to do that.¡±


    Alisa laughed and Lord Glove smiled, ¡°I think it looks wonderful all the same. Please, sit. Let us eat.¡±


    I? nodded, pulling out the chair on Lord Glove¡¯s right. Lord Glove¡¯s servant, Yekha, entered a moment later to serve them. He was the oldest, and only, servant in the entire dom. His face was wrinkled with more lines of sorrow than joy, his hair was silver, but his gaze was strong and his back was straight. He winked to I? as he approached and gestured to the plate he carried with a flourish. Pancakes, made from celery and heaped with gravy. They were Yekha¡¯s specialty, I?¡¯s favorite, and one of Lord Glove¡¯s most hated foods. The old serving man knew this, but he also knew Lord Glove¡¯s only complaint would be to chew a little quicker, and so he doted on I?.


    Yekha placed the plate on the table and bowed back a step.


    ¡°Pancakes for you Lord Glove, you I?, and should you wish, you Alisa.¡±


    Alisa let out a surprised laugh, ¡°How¡¯d you know my name?¡±


    ¡°¡¯Tis a servant¡¯s job to listen miss. Listen when you should be listening, and listen twice as hard when you shouldn¡¯t be, just in case.¡±


    Lord Glove and I? began heaping their plates. Yekha passed Lord Glove the boat of gravy, ¡°How is the girl Lord Glove?¡±


    I? didn¡¯t know what girl they were talking about. She listened absently, more focused on stuffing bits of pancake into her mouth.


    Lord Glove smiled, though somewhat sadly.


    ¡°Under care. Dara just had twins and said she wouldn¡¯t mind a third.¡±


    ¡°Where did you find the poor lad?¡± Yekha asked.


    I? poured some more gravy onto her next pancake.


    ¡°Rescued him from a burning farmhouse. I heard the screams and dashed in, he was the only one I managed to save.¡±


    Yekha shook his head, ¡°Right shame. I¡¯m glad Dara was willing. All girls need a family.¡±


    I? thought of her own father. He had died¡­ she wasn¡¯t sure anymore. Two years ago? Or was it three? She was ashamed of herself for not remembering. The pancake filling her mouth suddenly felt like it was going to choke her. She swallowed it as best she could. She didn¡¯t feel very hungry any more.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to bed,¡± she said, pushing away her plate. Yekha looked at her, surprised, but when he saw her face he instantly became sympathetic.


    ¡°You go on now miss,¡± he said, taking her plate, ¡°I¡¯ll make sure they¡¯re warm for you in the morning.¡±


    Lord Glove stood as well, and wrapped an arm about her shoulders, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, he¡¯ll be well cared for. Dara¡¯s a lovely woman. It¡¯s a shame I¡¯ve been so busy. I¡¯d have liked to introduce you to everyone in the town.¡±


    ¡°Can we see them tomorrow?¡± I? asked hopefully, trying to keep a quaver out of her voice. Lord Glove had been very busy. She had hardly been able to spend any time with him at all.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± he looked as though he was about to say no, but then: ¡°I¡¯ll find the time. I¡¯m sure one day off won¡¯t hurt either of us. A girl needs to run around in the fresh air and sunlight every once in a while.¡±

 In Which Adal Catches a Cold

    ¡°Stillow, Stillow my dearest friend, the only one who has stood by me all these years, Stillow my¡ªcome back!¡±


    Stillow stopped and looked back at Adal, who was lying on the bed of the cart under a thin blanket, ¡°Why?¡±


    Adal looked outraged.


    ¡°Why? Why? Because I¡¯m dying!¡±


    ¡°We all are Adal.¡±


    ¡°Well I¡¯m dying faster. So there. Probably won¡¯t make the night.¡±


    ¡°Nobody likes a show off.¡±


    ¡°A show off? I¡¯m dying!¡±


    ¡°Aye, you said. Dying first, you said. Such pride does not serve the spirit.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been trying to ask you to do for the last ten minutes. Pass the bottle!¡±


    Stillow clutched the round wine bottle in his hand tighter, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Serve the spirits. Over here please. Into my laboriously breathing mouth.¡±


    ¡°Why should I?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m dying! It¡¯s a last request.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be wasted on you. You wouldn¡¯t spend enough time appreciating it.¡±


    ¡°You mean I¡¯ll not wake up with a hangover. Pass it over.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think such strong wine is supposed to be good for you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m dying, what does it matter?¡±


    ¡°Seems to me the best time to be healthy.¡±


    Adal¡¯s eye¡¯s bulged, ¡°I can see the soul renderers!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an ancient belief.¡±


    ¡°Well I¡¯m a historian,¡± Adal snapped.


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    ¡°Were,¡± Stillow corrected.


    ¡°I¡¯m not dead yet.¡±


    ¡°I know, I can hear you. Say, why don¡¯t we both get a good night¡¯s sleep? I bet things will all look better in the morning.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be dead by morning!¡±


    ¡°See? Shall I fetch your pillow?¡±


    Matthew ran over to the two of them and leapt on the cart. ¡°I¡¯ve found a healer, not too far from here. She says she thinks she can help you.¡±


    Matthew flicked the horse¡¯s reins, setting the wagon rattling down the road. The sudden motion caused Stillow to splash a bit of wine in Adal¡¯s face.


    ¡°Hey! Be careful with that! You may as well pass it here at this point.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll think about it? You philosophers could spend here to the next week deciding on the issue of getting out of bed.¡±


    ¡°It is an important consideration. I¡¯ve written several treatise on the matter.¡±


    ¡°I know. I found them when sorting the archives. Some fool had put them in the long storage. I burned them, of course.¡±


    ¡°What? You¡¯ve set back bed philosophizing by thirty years!¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ve spilled half the wine down your front.¡±


    ¡°If you wanted it, you shouldn¡¯t have caught a cold. What if I catch it by sharing?¡±


    ¡°Give me the whole thing and it won¡¯t be a problem.¡±


    The wagon stopped at a crossroad. A small wooden house was constructed there, with the healer¡¯s cross painted on its front. A woman dressed all in white waited outside. She rushed over to the cart.


    ¡°Grab his arms, I¡¯ll take his feet,¡± she said, climbing up beside Adal.


    ¡°Who¡¯s this Matthew?¡± Adal cried, ¡°Who is she? Unhand me girl! I¡¯m of a delicate constitution right now!¡±


    ¡°I thought you said he was coughing nonstop and his skin had become as pale as a dogfish¡¯s belly.¡±


    ¡°How dare you!¡± Adal roared, struggling against the two of them, ¡°A dog is not a fish and never has been!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, he¡¯s gone quite mad,¡± Stillow confided, ¡°The classification of fish contains all sorts: dogs, bats, leopards, even the occasional honorary dolphin.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s been railing at Stillow for half an hour,¡± Matthew said, ¡°Its put some colour back into his face.¡±


    ¡°If he can stop himself from coughing the illness is not nearly as serious as you had me believe,¡± said the healer.


    ¡°I once saw Adal hop around on a sprained ankle to spite it,¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Deserved it too,¡± Adal said as they laid him on a cot, ¡°I was supposed to be hiking up the old Trail of Runes the next day and the thing gave out on me. Never trusted it si¡ª.¡±


    Adal¡¯s voice gave way to a grating cough.


    The healer¡¯s brows rose.


    ¡°We¡¯ll need to give him plenty of beer.¡±


    Matthew could swear he saw his master¡¯s ears perk up.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Stillow? Tell him I told him. Hah!¡± He coughed once loudly.


    ¡°Tell him you told him what?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°That I needed his wine!¡±


    The healer frowned, ¡°I said beer, and weak; just enough alcohol to keep the water clean.¡±


    ¡°Phah, let me die.¡±


    Matthew took Adal¡¯s hand gently in his own, ¡°Master, if you live you¡¯ll have more chances to drink wine.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, perhaps,¡± Adal mused, and then broke again into a fit of coughing. He tried to speak again, but he was coughing so hard now he could barely draw breath.


    ¡°Is this more to your liking?¡± Matthew asked wryly.


    The healer grimaced, ¡°At least I can treat this.¡±

 Genuine Villain Rye

    ¡°Every single piece of paper¡ªevery single one¡ªis covered in signatures! There¡¯s not a single blank space here! And you say more are coming every day?¡± Ricktor sat back in his chair, amazed. It was exactly what they needed. Ricktor stared at the pages suspiciously. Trust was a dangerous emotion. Ricktor had learned that lesson at a young age. He had been abandoned by friends. His wife had left him five years into their marriage. His mother had promised him the vegetables would taste good, try them. A thousand broken promises, a hundred betrayed vows, and his face hadn¡¯t frozen like that, so there. The signatures were far too convenient. King Derk appeared to be thinking along the same lines.


    ¡°Aye,¡± said Derk, ¡°It worries me. Who knew we wanted just such an excuse? How did they gather them so quickly? It was less than a week after my discussion with Talah that they arrived.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes coincidences happen. That is the foundation of faith, King Derk,¡± Talah said.


    Ricktor caught King Derk¡¯s eye. He was shaking his head. Talah was so young, ¡°You¡¯ve described hope, not faith,¡± Ricktor said.


    ¡°What then, is faith?¡±


    ¡°Believing these papers to be genuine,¡± Ricktor said.


    Talah slammed her fist into the table, ¡°What else are we supposed to do? We needed an excuse and we have it! I say we march within a week.¡±


    King Derk gestured and a man dressed as a chef materialized, as though from thin air. In his arms he bore a large platter laden with soups and bread. Ricktor rubbed his eyes. He was sure no one had been standing there a moment ago.


    ¡°The day grows late,¡± said King Derk, ¡°Let us eat while we talk. We will think better on full stomachs.¡±


    He lifted a loaf of dark bread from the tray, ¡°Is this genuine Villain rye?¡±


    ¡°As far as a humble chef can gauge, yes. Completely genuine. My sources even suggest more flour is on the way, though they could not locate the originator of this wonderful strain.¡±


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    The man dressed as a chef bowed and vanished, fading back into the shadows. If Ricktor believed in girls¡¯ stories he would think the man had been using magic.


    ¡°What was all that about?¡± he demanded.


    Derk looked surprised, ¡°Villain rye makes for the finest bread you will ever taste. It is a rare treat. I highly recommend it.¡±


    Derk tore the loaf into pieces, handing one to both Ricktor and Talah.


    ¡°There. It is best while it is hot.¡±


    He didn¡¯t believe this. Eornost had always spoken favourably of King Derk, but Ricktor could not see why. The lives of thousands were on the line, and here he was discussing his favourite kind of bread. Ricktor threw his back onto the platter.


    ¡°Enough with this nonsense! We are discussing war. What supplies will we need? How quickly can we move our troops? What is the latest estimate of King Otto¡¯s forces? And, most importantly, are these papers genuine?¡±


    ¡°My dear Conor, I find the times of great sobriety are also the times where it is most important to appreciate simple joys. It gives us all time to reflect. And, upon reflection, I can confirm that these papers are indeed genuine.¡±


    Talah got it first, Ricktor a moment later, ¡°The chef? But why¡­ how¡­ Do you trust him?¡±


    ¡°As much as it is possible to trust anyone. As much as I trust anyone here.¡±


    Ricktor¡¯s anger left him in an instant. He raised a glass to Derk, accepting the compliment. King Eornost knew what he had been talking about after all.


    ¡°I underestimated you King Derk. I apologize.¡±


    King Derk smiled, ¡°No need. Indeed, I hope you will forgive my crypticism. Now, since we know the papers to be genuine I suggest we send a herald at once to the people of Vesperdom. We need to demonstrate that we support them and their uprising.¡±


    ¡°It would be best if the herald was high ranking to show our full commitment. Myself or Derk should go,¡± said Talah.


    Rictor hadn¡¯t seen Talah look this excited since her father died. He suspected she was glad to finally be moving towards some goal. Unfortunately, he could not let her go, ¡°Both of you are too valuable and too busy. Might I suggest the queen consort go in your place?¡±


    ¡°I am reluctant to send my daughter, but I must admit it makes sense. Camil has a way of winning people over, and close ties to us both. She¡¯s also better equipped to defend herself if anything goes wrong. And she¡¯s not injured. What do you think Talah?¡±


    Talah fidgeted on the spot. He recognized the action. It had been the same when he was teaching her. She knew he was right, but was reluctant to agree with him. As always, her honesty forced her to concede, ¡°I will ask her the moment we are done here.¡±


    Talah was looking frustrated again. Ricktor decided she needed a distraction. He lifted his glass in the air, ¡°Then we have a plan! To victory!¡±


    Talah and Derk copied him, ¡°To victory!¡±

 The Bandit in the Woods

    ¡°Your money or your lives.¡±


    The horseman¡¯s face was hard. There would be no negotiation. The man he was robbing failed to read his expression.


    ¡°We need both, we are sorry,¡± He stuck out his hand, ¡°I am Bren, chieftain of the Maharal.¡±


    The horseman could tell by the strange inflections in Bren¡¯s speech that the Tongue was not his first language, but he still spoke it better than some of the horseman¡¯s own troops. He didn¡¯t take the chieftain¡¯s hand. Instead, he drew his sword and pointed it at Bren, to make his point clear. The chieftain merely smiled and began introducing the rest of his party.


    ¡°These four are my guards. My assistants? Commanders? That is what you call them? Por, he does wards and enchantment; Tsamen, she does enhancement and tools; Fleysh, he is a crafter and a dreamer; and Kolek here, he¡¯s the one who makes golems. Our schools. You understand?¡±


    The horseman¡¯s hard expression grew harder.


    ¡°You will give us your food and your oxen. Should I repeat myself a third time, we will kill all of you.¡± The horseman said.


    The chieftain¡¯s smile widened, ¡°Listen. I try to tell you. We are a war party too. Good? Better. Better than you. We are not deserters.¡±


    He pointed to the patch on the horseman¡¯s tabard where he had once worn an insignia.


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    The horseman snorted. A war party? The chieftain wore only a single loincloth and nothing else. Several of Bren¡¯s people clutched spears, but they were vastly outnumbered by the horseman¡¯s own soldiers. He found his hand wandering up to the patch. Bren¡¯s eyes saw too clearly for his liking.


    Bren heard his snort, ¡°It is true. A vow was broken. We look the vow breaker. Leave the path. You may rob others. We must pass.¡±


    The chieftain was irritating the horseman.


    ¡°Time for a demonstration, I think.¡±


    The chieftain¡¯s face grew stern. ¡°I agree.¡±


    What did that mean? Was the old man trying to trick him? It wouldn¡¯t work. Even with his momentary hesitation the horseman was the fastest man he¡¯d ever met. He struck at the chieftain, fast as a snake, aiming for his neck. It was as though he was moving under water. The chieftain leaned away from the horseman¡¯s sword so that it only brushed against his jugular, failing to draw blood. In the same action, Bren grasped the horseman¡¯s sword by the back of its blade, plucked it from the horseman¡¯s fingers, and snapped it in two.


    The horseman pulled his horse back in terror. Panicked, he gave the signal to charge: hand lifted, two fingers raised. Nothing happened. There was no thudding of hooves, twanging of bowstrings, nor ringing of sword against shield. His soldiers didn¡¯t even raise a cheer. In fact, come to think of it, he couldn¡¯t hear them at all. Had the cowards run from the chieftain and a handful of spears? He twisted around on his saddle, fear turning to outrage. All blood drained from his face. Men, women, horses, weapons and armour, all were mounded together in a great pile of broken flesh. It looked as if they had been crushed like a man might crush an insect. The horseman felt bile rising at the back of his throat.


    ¡°What have you done?¡± he whispered.


    There was no compassion in the chieftain¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°The vow was broken. We will answer. We are the Maharal. We care for none other.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ We¡ªI, we didn¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°Begone.¡±

 Where… I??

    Last time Grady had this post the wind had howled through the cracks, the walls had sagged, and he had been terrified. Since then, the wall he had repaired with his sword had collapsed and the wind howled louder than ever. This time, however, he was not scared. Gar had told him the voice came from a wall with a great big face in it. A wall. Who was afraid of a wall? Why, if a wall came up the stairs right now Grady decided he would stab it. No running away. No voices of fear hounding at his heels. Just one of those, and a couple of these. He took a few practice leaps with his spear, lashing the tip forward, then back, then forward again.


    ¡°Where¡­ I?¡­ learn¡­ three days¡­¡±


    Grady nearly impaled himself on his spear. Fortunately, the head of the spear snagged on his tunic and broke off. Grady stumbled into the wall behind him, which promptly collapsed. The two remaining walls groaned under their increased burden, but did not collapse.


    Grady scrambled upright. The ceiling might collapse at any moment, but that was the least of his worries. As he had fallen he had stepped in a puddle of¡­ Grady blinked, stared at the puddle again, and immediately forbade his brain from describing it. He¡¯d need to wash his boot. And then burn it.


    ¡°hWhat d¡¯ye hwant golem?¡± Grady shouted.


    A reek worse than his foot wafted up the steps, ¡°Bring¡­I?¡­¡±


    ¡°`e ¡®ad han haccident hon ¡®oliday. Fell down t¡¯ stairs chasing hone hof Gar¡¯s girls. `ealer says `e houghta stay still hafore `e `urts `erself moreso.¡±


    ¡°Bring¡­ now¡­¡±


    Shouting up and down the stairs wasn¡¯t getting anywhere. Someone would need to talk to the wall in person. Grady looked around hopefully, but no volunteers stepped forward.


    ¡°hRight,¡± he said, adjusting his helmet, ¡°hI¡¯ll be hright down ¡®en.¡±


    He looked out the wall. There, just in the distance was the place he loved so much. It was small. Some might even call it ramshackle. But to Grady the Seven Spades tavern was a thing of beauty. Grady raised an imaginary flagon in salute and began the long march down the stairs.


    Marching proved to be a very fast and efficient way to get down the slippery stairs. On the fourteenth step Grady stamped down on something which screamed, causing him to lose balance. By Grady¡¯s own reckoning it took him four hours to fall all the way down the stairs, and another six days to recover.


    He wobbled to his feet and looked down the dim tunnel he had landed in. Seven doors swam back and forth in front of him. He staggered over to one at random. By the time he arrived, all seven doors had resolved into a single entity.


    ¡°Kineser¡¯s magic no doubt,¡± he muttered. He wished I? was here so she could stop the walls from spinning. He squeezed through the gap in the door.


    ¡°¡¯ello? Ye called? hI? can¡¯t be moved. `e¡¯s too weak. hWhy do ye need `er so badly? hAre ye hout hof food hor somesuch?¡±


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    The wall didn¡¯t move. Grady took a step toward it. Nothing happened. Emboldened, Grady closed the distance and pressed his hand against the wall. He thought it might tingle or burn, or something else magical, but it just felt like damp earth.


    ¡°¡±hWell `en, hI¡¯ll be hoff. Got ha dom ta protect hand hall ¡®at. ¡®ealer says hI?¡¯ll be fit for lessons hin habout ha month. Probably going ta lose huse hof ¡®er harm. hRight ¡®ame, hRight ¡®ame. hWhat can ye do ¡®ough, haye?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ can heal her¡­¡±


    Grady jumped so high the point of his helmet embedded in the ceiling. He stayed there, suspended by the chinstrap about his neck. His legs danced frantically a few feet above the ground. Grady could feel his face going numb. His vision started to fade¡­


    Snap!


    His chinstrap gave, sending him crashing to his knees. He took in several long ragged gasps.


    ¡°hWhat¡¯re ye¡­ doing scaring¡­ me like `at?¡± he croaked.


    ¡°Take a tool of inscription¡­ Lead¡­ unmoving. Tell her to write¡­ Repair. She will know... to do.¡±


    The lips of the wall had moved. He¡¯d been touching the thing a minute ago. It could have swallowed him whole! Grady would have run if it wasn¡¯t for Matt and Sally. He was a father, not a coward. It was like he had told Matt when Matt had confessed that he was afraid of the dark. Remember `is halways Matt. `ings¡¯ll scare ye. hI bet `ings scare Lord Glove heven. But ye don¡¯t `ave ta run. Ye ¡®ave ha choice. Ye can look fear hin t¡¯ heye hinstead. hIt¡¯s more terrerafyin¡¯ `an ye¡¯d suspect, but t¡¯ fear, hwhen ye don¡¯t run, hit¡¯s scared too. hIt¡¯s hwonderin¡¯ hwhy yer not running. hIt¡¯s hwonderin¡¯ hwhat ye know ¡®at hit doesn¡¯t. Scaring t¡¯ scares, `at¡¯s bravery son.


    ¡°¡¯e needs ha lead tool hof hinscription? hRight, hwhere do hI find ¡®at?¡±


    ¡°Hand ¡®at¡¯s hwhat t¡¯ hwall told me. Ye got ta hWrite Repair hwith ha lead tool. So ¡®ere ye hare. hI can¡¯t stay. Got ta see ha man habout ha carpenter.¡±


    Grady left the room.


    ¡°What did that mean?¡± asked Alisa.


    I? knew. She knew and the thought terrified her. She swallowed.


    ¡°Go to the door. Tell anyone who comes by to leave me alone. Don¡¯t let anyone in. It¡¯s important.¡±


    Alisa looked confused, but obeyed. I? couldn¡¯t bear to say what she had to do out loud. If all went well she could tell Alisa then. If not¡­ I? whimpered and pushed the thought out of her mind. Her eyes kept straying to the hole in her dress. She¡¯d only ever messed up once¡­ a lance of pain shot through her arm like white fire, consuming her thoughts, leaving her addled and hazy.


    She wanted her arm to be better.


    I? wrapped her fingers around the inscription tool Grady had brought her.


    She couldn¡¯t move. It hurt too much.


    I? sat up.


    She hadn¡¯t learned to draw with her left hand.


    I? placed the tip of the tool above the source of her pain.


    She wanted her arm to be better. She couldn¡¯t do this.


    The tip bit through her skin. Blood as red as the fire which engulfed her arm welled from the incision.


    Pain. Pain like an ice cold river.


    She couldn¡¯t tremble, not even a little bit, or her arm would dissolve away.


    She couldn¡¯t move.


    Slowly, so slowly it felt she would run out of blood before she finished, I? carved the rune into her skin.


    So close. So close to failure.


    Emet¡¯s voice came to her: ¡°Lead¡­ remembers its form.¡±


    She had to give up. If she gave up now, she was safe.


    The rune on her arm had become so coated in blood she could hardly see it. I? took her bandages in her hand and wiped her wound clean. White spots appeared in front of her eyes.


    She couldn¡¯t see. It was too much.


    I? screwed her eyes against the pain, took up her tool once more, and continued.

 Leaving the Healer’s

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid there is nothing you can do for him,¡± said the healer, ¡°If he gets better he¡¯ll get better, if not¡­ Well, it¡¯s out of my hands. There¡¯s no point hanging around for him. I suggest you head on home. Give me your address and I¡¯ll make sure you receive news if anything happens.¡±


    Matthew winced as yet another cough shook the room next to them, ¡°I¡¯d feel awful leaving him, but I don¡¯t know if we have much choice. We can¡¯t afford to stay here much longer. What do you think Stillow?¡±


    ¡°I disagree.¡±


    ¡°You have more money than you¡¯ve let on.¡±


    ¡°Less than you¡¯d think my boy, less than you¡¯d think,¡± Stillow said, tapping his nose, ¡°No. We should leave from here. In that I am in agreement. But we should not head home. How do you think Adal succumbed to this illness in the first place? Too much time spent indoors, and not enough time spent moving about. I suggest we leave this place and never look back. Let us become fishermen by the sea, or cutthroats in some far away land. What is the point of being free if you do not exercise your freedom?¡±


    ¡°If I may?¡± asked the healer. Her face grew stern and she put her hands on her hips. ¡°You would abandon your friend?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what he would want. The man likes nothing better than an unbound book.¡±


    The healer¡¯s face had now become truly frightening. Matthew was glad her attention was fixed on Stillow and not him.


    ¡°What¡¯s stopping me from slapping you to the ground, old man? What if I feel like exercising my freedom against such a faithless friend?¡±


    Stillow seemed quite unaware of his precarious position. He clapped the healer on the shoulder, ¡°And so you should! What better way to convince those who have wronged you that their words terrify you? Yes, strike me down and prove to me what your words cannot!¡±


    At a loss for what to do about the philosopher the healer turned her glare on Matthew.


    ¡°We would never abandon Adal!¡± he rushed, cowering back. ¡°Ignore him, it is just his way of speaking.¡±


    The healer¡¯s expression did not change.


    ¡°Um¡­ I suggest a compromise. Stillow and I will return home, but we shall do so at our leisure. Make a vacation of it. Head south, I¡¯ve always wanted to visit Moldeth. Stillow is right, we¡¯ve spent far too much time bent over books in the archive,¡± the healer¡¯s gaze continued to bore into him, ¡°And¡­ um¡­ we¡¯ll leave the horse and cart here. That way Adal can catch up to us if he gets better. When he gets better.¡±


    This seemed to satisfy the healer, though her fee was somewhat steeper than what Matthew remembered. He and Stillow left shortly after settling with her. They travelled light, taking with them only a day¡¯s food and water and the remainder of their coins. Stillow remembered an inn along the road that he had stayed at many decades ago which they hoped to reach before nightfall.


    They had been walking for less than an hour when it began to rain. They spent the next hour hiding under a large oak tree. The rain didn¡¯t let up. If anything, it rained harder. As water dripped through the leaves and onto their heads, the two gave up on staying dry and decided to press on.


    They had just come alongside a river when Stillow burst out, ¡°This is a punishment! I know it!¡±


    He had to shout to be heard over the rain. Matthew shouted back at him, ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°The healer took everything I own! I admit it,¡± he held up an empty coin purse, ¡°every last weight is gone!¡±


    ¡°How many weight did you have?¡±


    ¡°None! That¡¯s what makes her crime so horrendous. Oh, miserable me.¡±


    ¡°So when we pooled our money to pay the healer¡­¡±


    ¡°I lied! I cheated! I stole from your purse and gave her nothing of my own! That is why I am tormented by the rain!¡± Adal threw his hands up in despair, ¡°You, with your weight, cannot understand the pain which caused me to stoop so low. Even a hundred weight is enough to afford friends. Ten coins and at least you may find a place to stay for the night. A man with a single weight has no friends. If he loses that coin he loses everything. Now I ask you to imagine, if you dare, the infinitely more profound tragedy of the man who has nothing to lose! He may not even rail against cruel Fate which has robbed the other men. Where none have gone, none may follow. Only that which exists may draw others to itself. Much as your existence has drawn to us this companion.¡±


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    It was then Matthew noticed the third man. He could only make out his silhouette in the rain, but that dark outline set Matthew¡¯s heart racing. The man towered over both Matthew and Stillow. All his limbs were at least twice as large as an ordinary man¡¯s. Despite his size he stalked alongside them as graceful as a huntsman. Matthew couldn¡¯t even hear him in the rain. Fears began to whisper in Matthew¡¯s ear. Was he a highwayman? A murderer? Look, there, beneath his cloak, was that a sword?


    ¡°And yet, Fate torments me still¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stillow shut up,¡± Matthew clutched the hilt of his dagger. He stopped and turned on the stranger. Stillow continued on walking. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    The man¡¯s voice was a low rasp, ¡°Broken Sword.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a funny name, what are you, a mercenary?¡±


    Broken Sword snorted, ¡°Lucky guess, but I don¡¯t take kindly to you mocking my name. I earned it. An earned name¡¯s always better. What¡¯s yours?¡±


    ¡°Mine¡¯s Matthew. A name I earned at my birth. That¡¯s enough for any man.¡±


    The mercenary chuckled, ¡°Heh. I would have agreed with you, once upon a time. If I¡¯d made the right choices I might still. Or maybe I wouldn¡¯t. A century is a long time for mistakes.¡±


    Broken Sword started to walk again. A moment ago Matthew would have been relieved to have him walk by, but now he ran to keep him. He¡¯d never met one of the ageless before. Adal claimed he had, and the archives contained a few records, but it was all hearsay. Some said they never stopped growing. Other said they never started, but were born fully formed in mind and body. Adal claimed they were less intelligent than the common man, yet had written they were far wiser.


    ¡°You¡¯ve lived a century?¡± Matthew gasped as he fell in beside the mercenary. Broken Sword walked exceptionally fast, even for his size.


    ¡°Years and seasons blur together. I may be far older, or far younger. Keeping track of time is a game for the young.¡±


    ¡°Time is more than a game,¡± said Stillow as they caught up to him. The philosopher¡¯s short legs forced him to skip to keep up with the other two, ¡°it is a metric by which we may measure morality. Should a woman of twenty years steal, she is a criminal. Should a maiden child of four, she is not. A forty-year-old may well understand the physical laws, but cannot be castigated for inherent cruelty. One of seventy years knows how much pain their lies have caused and may finally be punished.¡±


    ¡°The law is the same at any age, old man,¡± said Broken Sword. ¡°When I was young I threatened one who should not have been threatened. Forty-seven people died for my youthful ignorance. There is no justice.¡±


    ¡°Justice? Ah. It would take an older man than myself to understand justice. Older, even, than you who call me old.¡±


    ¡°This world doesn¡¯t need justice. It needs smarter men. I learned my lesson the day I threatened that chieftain.¡±


    Matthew nodded, more to himself than Broken Sword, as he doubted the mercenary could see him in the downpour. It was important to know when to stand aside.


    ¡°I learned I needed to devote myself to becoming stronger and faster than any who would stand against me. Only then may I follow through on my threats.¡±


    Matthew stopped nodding. Stillow cackled.


    ¡°What a man does by nature always becomes his virtue.¡±


    Matthew ignored him. Broken Sword¡¯s words had reminded him that the mercenary was more than an ageless. He was a dangerous and unknown quantity.


    ¡°You said you¡¯re a mercenary, who do you serve?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a commander.¡±


    ¡°A commander without an army?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re headed in the right direction.¡±


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you already with them?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t yet lead them.¡±


    ¡°You seek to become the High Commander of The Chosen.¡±


    Broken Sword grunted, ¡°Another good guess. What do you know of The Chosen?¡±


    ¡°I studied them with my master. They are a source of historical interest and philosophical debate. They were involved in nearly a quarter of the pivotal battles of the last two centuries and are responsible for wiping out the Black Dread. Philosophers are most interested in their command structure, for they might be the only working kratocracy ever. All positions are won in the arena or on the battlefield. If you defeat a higher up, you inherit their position.¡±


    ¡°Impressive. I did not realize scholars could learn so much of the world from their books. You two have a destination in mind? You could stay for the show.¡±


    Stillow scoffed, ¡°Violence is no more a show than is tearing apart mattresses. It is horrific to behold, things spill out everywhere, and people die senselessly.¡±


    ¡°This is Stillow,¡± Matthew apologized, ¡°He¡¯s as likely to spew insight as madness.¡±


    ¡°Often both are considered the same by those who are afraid to have their understandings shattered,¡± replied Broken Sword.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll find with Stillow it is primarily madness.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense! Did I not tell you of my exploits? I have taught tsars, educated empresses, prophesized with penguins, spoken soliloquies to sordid serpents sullenly surrounding several soft¡ª¡±


    Stillow spluttered to a halt, ¡°Sticks? Stones, swords, no¡­ swords aren¡¯t soft. Sharp! Several sharp swords!¡±


    He took a deep breath, ¡°Ordered around orchestras, metabolized maple syrup¡­¡±


    Matthew was thankful when the rain increased yet again, drowning out Stillow¡¯s words.

 Where Lies your Loyalty?

    ¡°Tell me, where lies your loyalty?¡±


    Captain Cerul swallowed, ¡°With you, my Queen.¡±


    ¡°And your soldiers?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll follow you as always. We have profited under your leadership.¡±


    ¡°Surely one of you would wish to lead instead?¡±


    Queen Vesper enjoyed asking these sort of questions. They made Cerul think. If he answered yes she could accuse him of treason, if he answered no she could call him a liar. As usual, Cerul did not disappoint. He had a knack for not answering her questions.


    ¡°I don¡¯t reckon the rest of us could manage, Your Majesty.¡±


    Queen Vesper smiled, ¡°That¡¯s a relief. Now do be careful out there. I would so hate to lose you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, My Queen. May I be excused?¡±


    Queen Vesper waved her hand, amused.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    The defences were important, but dealing with rebellions was never about defeating the people. The jangling bells of revolution so easily became a cacophony. All Vesper needed to do was eliminate the conductors.


    She coughed discretely, and a curtain depicting her grandfather heroically swearing to protect her grandmother was moved aside. A man dressed in a dirty white burlap tunic stepped out. The outfit made Vesper chafe just looking at it, but such disguises were necessary. Her assassin, who went by Fray, appeared excited, and began speaking immediately, ¡°Your Magnificence, I was conversing with the king consort, and he believes it imperative the tax on rye be lowered.¡±


    Vesper arched a carefully maintained eyebrow, ¡°And?¡±


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    Fray smiled, ¡°And apples, which the astromancer and cartomancer agree will be in abundance this harvest season, should have their tax raised significantly. Preferably while the collectors¡¯ boots are being kissed for their generosity with the rye.¡±


    Vesper returned his smile, ¡°I married my husband for a reason, he¡¯s brilliant in his own way. I¡¯m sure there is more to the taxing changes than that¡ª¡±


    Vesper stopped the assassin before he could speak, ¡°¡ªbut please, leave that between you and the king consort. I have other business to attend. I need you to find the rebel leaders and kill them.¡±


    The assassin grimaced. Vesper fetched a platter of vegetables from her desk and offered them to him, ¡°Carrot? You look ill, they¡¯re supposed to be good for your health.¡±


    ¡°It is my conscience that disagrees with me, not my constitution.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re an assassin,¡± Vesper said, bemused. She took one of the carrots for herself and then spat it out. Tsihk, her chef, had boiled them until they were nothing more than tasteless slime.


    ¡°I enjoy the infiltration aspect of the job, not murder. I like making friends.¡±


    Vesper put down her half eaten carrot. She was as likely to choke on it as not. Vesperdom might be better off if I shuffled all the jobs around, she mused.


    ¡°You can make as many friends as you like, as long as the leaders end up dead.¡±


    He bowed, ¡°Of course, My Queen. All jobs have their less savoury aspects, but that does not mean I cannot perform.¡±


    ¡°Excellent. When will you leave?¡±


    ¡°Immediately My Queen.¡±


    The assassin disappeared behind the curtain, causing the banners of the approaching enemy in the distance to wave. It was a remarkable effect, Vesper wondered if it had been intentional.


    ¡°How alike we are grandfather. Heading off to a doomed war. Nobly trying to protect those we love. Perhaps I should find a sword to offer my husband and some sewer to commemorate the scene. What do you think? I think I won¡¯t be fooling anyone any more than you did. A knight doesn¡¯t fight, they lead. The girl could have taken your sword for herself and not made nary a difference in the war. You would have stood, ordering men to their deaths while you remained atop a hill overseeing the battle. Standing as the army drew closer and closer until some noble you thought loyal decided your head would better decorate a pike than your neck. And that is why, dear grandfather, I have Cerul. The first knight, the first ten, who seek my head will find their own missing instead.¡±


    During her monologue her husband ducked into the room and then ducked out without a word.


    ¡°Strange woman,¡± he muttered as he passed an affronted looking maid.


    ¡°Not you, dear, my wife,¡± he said. The maid clutched her linens in fear and rushed past the consort.


    ¡°Strange woman,¡± he muttered.

 Golems in the Path

    Tsamen was carving runes into the head of a spear when Bren came up behind her.


    ¡°Tsamen! I was looking for you. What do your scouts have to report?¡±


    Evidently Tsamen hadn¡¯t noticed her chieftain, for his voice caused her to jump in her seat. Only her hands remained steady. Years of practice did not allow Tsamen to make mistakes. She was an enhancer, and mistakes cost lives.


    ¡°They reported golems several hours from here,¡± Tsamen spat, mindful of her spear, but not, alas, Bren¡¯s bare feet. She held nothing but distain for Rebeka¡¯s continued use of golems. Tsamen had been Rebeka¡¯s teacher and had taken her betrayal as a personal insult.


    Bren scraped his foot in the dust, ¡°Are they the same golems she used to break the vows?¡± Bren hoped to avoid a fight with the iron golems at all costs. Despite all their skill, the Maharal didn¡¯t have a hundredth of the resources needed to match them in an even fight.


    Tsamen shook her head, ¡°These golems were of fired clay. Their construct appears rushed and inexpertly made.¡±


    ¡°Did your scouts see which runes they had?¡±


    ¡°The standard set. Repair, Strength, Speed, Obey. No image runes, no invisible golems.¡±


    Bren nodded, ¡°Have you talked to Fleysh yet?¡±


    ¡°I decided I¡¯d finish my spear first.¡±


    Tsamen passed it to Bren. The shaft was as straight as a fishbone. The obsidian head contained a small piece of the sun and glistened as he rolled it about in his hands. Adamant blue light bound the two parts. Within the light Bren could make out the rune of binding, white as down, coiling in and out of view like a thing alive. Golden runes of strength and ochre runes of repair were carved in minute detail along both the shaft and the head. Not even a golem at the height of its strength could destroy this spear. Bren handed it back.


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    ¡°Well made.¡±


    ¡°Aye, I¡¯m proud of this one. Fleysh made the parts.¡±


    ¡°I will have to compliment him at the outset of our conversation. Shall we?¡±


    Bren lifted Tsamen to her feet.


    ¡°Where do you suppose our dreamer has got to?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Let us try back down the road first. He often lags behind.¡±


    Tsamen laughed, high and unafraid, and the two set off. ¡°He¡¯d not move if we didn¡¯t goad him. I watched him stare at a leaf yesterday for at least ten minutes.¡±


    ¡°I can hardly blame him. This land has so much to offer. This morning I saw a deer in the trees beside the road. Its sides were smooth and brown and it had the kindest eyes. It stood there as I passed. I swear I could have reached out and touched it if I¡¯d dared. I wish you could have seen it.¡±


    ¡°I wish I could have too,¡± said Tsamen dreamily, ¡°But look! Here is another wonder that we might share.¡±


    Beside the road grew a short row of brilliant purple flowers. Bren bent and sniffed one. Its perfume was as crisp as a winter morning and as comforting as a hug. Bren couldn¡¯t stop himself from clapping his hands in delight.


    ¡°Marvelous! What miracle will this land offer next?¡±


    ¡°Are you sure you can do this?¡± Glove asked for the third time.


    For the third time, Rebeka nodded, ¡°Glove, don¡¯t worry. The runes always activate after their carver touches them. The amount of time they spend dormant doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant and you know it. These are your people.¡±


    ¡°I broke our vows. They will do whatever they can to destroy me. I wish to live.¡±


    Glove tried another tactic to put them both on familiar ground, ¡°I have heard the Maharal only value the lives of their own. Why do you side with me, an outsider?¡±


    ¡°If my people want me dead I will side with anyone who opposes them, no matter who they are. Enough. I need to be ready for the alarm.¡±


    Glove was reminded of his own parents for a moment. His mother had been blind since birth and his father had been struck deaf by a horse¡¯s hoof soon after Glove himself had been born. Both of them had loved it when he played the lute, but for different reasons. His father was amazed by the way his fingers danced across the strings whereas his mother was enchanted by the music. They found it impossible to explain to the other why they enjoyed Glove¡¯s music so much, even though both tried for hours on end to imagine what they could not.

 I? Feels Better

    ¡°Well made,¡± Emet breathed upon seeing the scar carved into her skin, ¡°though if it was not there would be¡­. no rune to show.¡±


    The instant the symbol had been completed, I?¡¯s arm had twisted slightly, for the bone hadn¡¯t been set properly, and then there had been a flash of pleasant warmth which washed away all her pain. The rune had become a faint scar a moment later.


    ¡°I wish I had known I could put runes on myself sooner.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I could have made myself invincible!¡± I? declared, ¡°Then my arm would not have broken.¡±


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    ¡°You didn¡¯t have¡­ the skill.¡±


    ¡°I do now!¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ you carve better than any Rebeka ever spoke of but¡­ the risk is still too great.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°No¡­ We will not speak of it again.¡±


    I? frowned, ¡°What are we doing today?¡±


    ¡°Creating a guardian¡­ of flesh. You will write on a scroll¡­ Help, the first word is the most powerful¡­ Then you will write Destroy, Stay¡­ DieTruth. The golem will die if it hears¡­ its true name.


    I? jotted down the words, one line after another, adding to Die the few extra tails that made up the word Truth. She wrote the tails in red ink rather than black. She was pretty sure the colour didn¡¯t matter, but it felt right.


    ¡°You will take a rat corpse¡­ place the scroll in its mouth¡­ Name it¡­¡±

 Seven of Everything

    ¡°Seven tools,¡± said Glove.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Seven schools.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Seven times seven inks?¡±


    ¡°Yes, how many more¡ª¡±


    ¡°Seven runes.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Please I¡¯m trying to carve this last¡ª¡±


    ¡°Seven words, seven emotions.¡±


    ¡°Yes and yes. Are you through yet?¡±


    ¡°Six materials,¡± he said, raising an eyebrow.


    Rebeka set down her steel inscription tool on the shield she had been marking.


    ¡°We believe there is a seventh, but we haven¡¯t found it yet.¡±


    ¡°Have you tried ice?¡±


    ¡°There was never enough around for the most part, but yes we have. One winter we set aside a cast filled with fresh water and it got cold enough to freeze. It didn¡¯t work, obviously.¡±


    ¡°Sand?¡±


    ¡°Sand works. We categorize it the same as earth.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it is sand.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    ¡°Bone?¡±


    ¡°To do so would be disrespectful, and against my tribe¡¯s laws. If you haven¡¯t noticed, they don¡¯t take kindly to law breakers.¡±


    Glove smiled at her, ¡°We¡¯re not dead yet.¡±


    Rebeka bit her lip to stop it from trembling and managed to smile back, ¡°Not yet.¡±


    A wail loud enough to set the shields reverberating rose from the trees.


    ¡°The spears Rebeka!¡±


    She paused, ¡°Thank you, Glove. For standing by me, right or wrong.¡±


    Her words combined with her smile caused Glove¡¯s heart to melt. It wasn¡¯t that Rebeka was particularly attractive, though she was, and it wasn¡¯t that she was very good at smiling, which she wasn¡¯t; it was the earnestness in her voice and face that got him. There was nothing so pure as the truth. He hoped to see such a smile a thousand more times.


    ¡°Thank me by getting to those spears.¡±


    Rebeka¡¯s spears were named such only for their appearance, for they were all made of solid stone. She had laid them in grooves which angled up towards the sky. At each of their bases was a glowing silver rune of binding. Rebeka touched the stone beneath the first spear. A marred rune of binding, hidden against the stone¡¯s dull grey until now, flared silver. The marred rune, now activated, pushed on its twin, sending the spear up its groove and high, high into the sky. Rebeka activated the next rune, and the next, one after the other, all down the line, glowing spears went flying toward the wailing alarm.


    Bren saw the duck fall from the sky. He had just sent his golems, disguised as humans using image runes, to deal with Rebeka¡¯s own. The golems¡¯s disguises made the next moments all the more terrible.


    First there was a scream like a fox¡¯s, but louder and ululating. Then the bird plummeted towards his troops. It dove like lightning, as if it were a falcon and not a duck. Bren could barely follow its descent. The golem it hit wore the guise of a thin young man with black hair. Bren had never seen a man¡¯s head explode, and he hoped to never again. Bits of broken bone and viscera flew past Bren¡¯s face. On one jagged strip of skull he could make out a single eye, still in its socket, staring wildly all about it. The illusion ended a moment later as the golem¡¯s scroll was torn free. Bren felt a sudden urge to vomit, but was able to control himself.


    With the scroll destroyed he saw the duck had not been responsible for the carnage. It must have been impaled mid-flight by the spear which now was lodged in the ruins of the golem¡¯s head. In other circumstance he might have found its glassy-eyed stare funny, but now it only served to reflect his own terror.


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    ¡°Fleysh, Kolek, bring them back!¡±


    They were too far away, and hadn¡¯t heard him over the din of battle. As Bren dashed over to his kineser, one of their stone golems engaged a clay golem. The stone golem¡¯s fist darted out faster than the eye could follow and smashed through its opponent¡¯s arm. Shards of pottery exploded from the area of impact, then flew back together and knit seamlessly under the power of a repair rune. The stone golem¡¯s fist lashed out again, the clay golem¡¯s head stove in, but this did not stop it. Rebeka had broken the vow of placement, another shadow cast across her soul. The stone golem shattered the clay golem¡¯s other arm, filled its chest with fist-shaped craters, then tore off the still healing right arm and tossed it aside.


    Silver runes of binding lit along the clay golem¡¯s severed arm, and it flew back to its socket as if attracted by a lodestone. The stone golem crushed the arm to dust, fast as a snake, and finally it lay still. In short order the clay golem was a pile of rubble. The scroll was found in the golem¡¯s knee and destroyed.


    The fight had only lasted several seconds. As the stone golem turned to its next victim, a second spear appeared from the sky, then a third. One punched through the golem¡¯s chest, the other pierced its head, destroying it. Spear after spear began to rain down. Many went wide, many missed, and many more struck the dense press of golems.


    ¡°Call them back!¡± Bren yelled again as he approached his kineser, breathless. A spear clipped a golem¡¯s rune of obedience. With a sudden roar it stopped pressing towards the four remaining enemy golems and began attacking its own.


    Kolek shook his head, ¡°We can¡¯t now. Hatred must be destroyed, or it will turn on us all.¡±


    Fleysh nodded, ¡°Wait. Rain falls forever, not so with spears. Lose some golems rather than all of your years.¡±


    Hatred was stopped with a blow to its face which shattered its Golem¡¯s Eye. The golem toppled over, a creature of stone once more. Four other golems had sustained injuries in bringing Hatred down, and eight, no eleven, had fallen to the spears from the sky.


    Fleysh had been right, the spears soon stopped. Bren waited five minutes to be sure. When no new dangers presented themselves, he called his kinesers over.


    ¡°Tsamen,¡± Bren asked, ¡°do your scouts report any more blockades?¡±


    ¡°None as far as the next village, though the village itself appears to be abandoned.¡±


    ¡°Fleysh?¡±


    ¡°Why the spears? Why anything at all? Time is power; fear sees our fall.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± said Kolek, ¡°we should push forward. The faster we move the less time Rebeka has to spring her traps.¡±


    ¡°If we are too hasty we will run straight into them!¡± said Por, ¡°I think we should proceed with caution. I can devise a counter to these spears if you give me a few hours.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m with Por,¡± said Tsamen, ¡°Give him the time he needs. My scouts will be useless if we move too fast.¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t prepare us for the spears,¡± said Kolek, ¡°Rebeka may have laid other snares, equally as subtle.¡±


    ¡°I want to bring Rebeka to justice more than anyone,¡± said Tsamen, ¡°but that does not mean I¡¯ll walk willingly into a trap just because I failed to see one.¡±


    ¡°Thank you all,¡± said Bren, ¡°I have decided on our course. I agree that it would be foolish to move on without knowing what lays in store ahead of us. However, I do not believe that we have done so. We failed to discover one trap, but that does not mean we will fail to see the next. As Fleysh said, Rebeka must not think we are afraid of her. Therefore I also agree that we cannot afford to lose any more time. Onward I say! But keep your eyes about you. We must all be twice as vigilant as before.¡±


    Bren waited, but no objection was raised against his plan.


    ¡°Right. Kolek, get your golems moving. I want most of them in front of the wagons in case anything happens. Fleysh, go tell the others what we have planned. We are setting out at once.¡±


    The column lurched back into motion several minutes later. Kolek signaled to his golems and several minutes later they were off down the road, pulling the wagons behind them. They had only travelled for a few hundred paces when they heard a second screaming alarm. Kolek yelled for his golems to spread out while the Maharal ran for cover. Fleysh was too slow in seeking shelter. Bren saw the spear headed straight for the back of Fleysh¡¯s neck just in time. Bren leapt, taking him across two wagons and the heads of a group of cowering Maharal. Still in the air, he managed to wrap his fingers around the stone spear and cast it aside before landing in a heap next to Fleysh. The barrage ended a moment later.


    Bren pushed himself onto wobbling legs and surveyed the damage. It appeared that the Maharal had escaped shaken, but unharmed. Kolek walked over, ducking his head as though expecting a second set of spears to fall any second.


    ¡°They missed all the golems, I think,¡± said Kolek. ¡°One of Malice¡¯s Bind runes is destroyed, but I think that happened in the rain. How are the people?¡±


    Bren rubbed his arm. It was starting to ache. He must have pulled something when he knocked the spear from the sky.


    ¡°I think we¡¯re safe here too. Rebeka¡¯s method for launching the spears can¡¯t be that accurate.¡±


    ¡°Despite my fears the Maharal are fine. Did you notice there were less spears this time?¡± said Fleysh.


    Kolek shook his head, ¡°That could mean anything. I bet you that three hundred paces down the road another alarm will sound, and another after that. Some will yield spears and some won¡¯t. These traps have been designed to slow us, not destroy us. That doesn¡¯t mean that marching blindly on won¡¯t still get some of us killed. My golems and I aren¡¯t moving until we¡¯ve developed some method to combat the spears.¡±


    Bren felt pressure rising in his temple. He pressed the palm of his hand against his head to relieve it. If they stopped they would be playing into Rebeka¡¯s hands, but any other option was even more foolish. Fleysh had nearly died.


    ¡°Where is Por? It¡¯s time to let him try his solution.¡±


    At Fleysh¡¯s suggestion they pulled the wagons back a ways in case Rebeka sent a second wave of spears at the same location. Por set about his task with enthusiasm. He got Kolek¡¯s golems to gather stones and enlisted Tsamen to aid him with carving. Several false starts and a crushed wagon later, Por managed to rig a floating net of stones above the wagons. He had worked quickly, but not quick enough for Bren¡¯s liking. By the time he had finished, the moon had taken over from the sun and the first hunting cries of owls were beginning to echo throughout the forest. They would have to push on until midnight to make up for lost time. Bren hoped to reach the village Tsamen had mentioned, but doubted they would make it, for his army moved slowly, forced to wait after every step for his scouts¡¯ reports.

 The Chosen’s Champion

    ¡°That¡¯s not how it works I¡¯m afraid,¡± the mercenary sergeant drawled, ¡°First you have to demonstrate that you¡¯re worth the High Commander¡¯s time, then you get to challenge him. Not a moment before.¡±


    Broken Sword scowled at the woman, and Matthew was impressed that she only averted her gaze. Once the rain abated, Matthew had been able to get a good look at him and he had been even more frightening than Matthew had imagined. He was large, but not as inhumanly large as Matthew had thought, for it had turned out that he was wearing armour. His mail was twisted and black with tar, a sign of too much time spent on the road, and too little money. Why he wore his armour on the march Matthew could not say, though he had a sneaking suspicion Broken Sword had simply forgotten to take it off. Even without the armour enhancing his bulk he looked strong enough to rival a horse, ox, and mule all working in tandem.


    His hair was as black as his armour and as wild as a storm. His beard was much the same except for a peppering of grey and several bare patches where scars marred his face. One scar twisted his lips into a snarl and another had removed half of his left eyebrow. A dozen others, large and small crisscrossed his face, giving it the appearance of old leather. Nestled amongst these scars were his eyes, and they were his most appalling feature of all. Like two holes sunken into his face, they were as dark and unforgiving as Dread¡¯s own banner.


    ¡°And how do I show the High Commander that I am worthy of his notice? Do I kill you?¡±


    The sergeant snorted, trying to regain some of her bluster, ¡°That¡¯d get his notice about as fast as swatting a fly. No, you fight one of his champions. He has about a hundred, toughest soldiers you ever seen, saving the High Commander, o¡¯ course.¡±


    ¡°Then take me to one of these champions so I can cut off his or her head and get on with it.¡±


    She scowled, ¡°I don¡¯t know if¡ª¡±


    All of a sudden there was a bag flying toward the woman. She caught it and was rewarded with the rustle of coins. The sergeant¡¯s demeanor suddenly changed. She smiled at Broken Sword, ¡°With me.¡±


    Broken Sword followed. Matthew, unsure what to do, lagged behind with Stillow, who was taking a great interest in the mercenaries going about their daily chores. Matthew watched as the philosopher walked over to one young mercenary relaxing on a bench, ¡°Excuse me ma¡¯am, you are of some rank yes? The sword on your tunic drew my eye.¡±


    ¡°Not quite. Means I¡¯m a veteran. Seen one battle.¡±


    ¡°I see. I was wondering if you could illuminate me on the nature of your establishment. Surely the experience lost when an aspiring leader kills one of your commanders makes the whole enterprise a travesty.¡±


    ¡°Only the strongest ought to rule. That way they¡¯ll be followed. We never break, never give ground, ¡¯cause we know our leader is going to beat them for us, you see?¡±


    ¡°So you value morale over sound tactical reasoning? Most peculiar. Then again, so did the squirrels I kept. They grew bold in their attempts to kill the dog, but never tried anything effective. Only ever rushed him en masse. Had I been one of the squirrels, I would have chewed his throat out whilst he slept. Stealthily as well, none of that chee chee chee business,¡± Stillow sat by the veteran, ¡°I would have made a fine squirrel.¡±


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    She slid a ways down the bench away from him.


    ¡°We have tacticians, they¡¯re just not our leaders.¡±


    ¡°Really? You consider the wise unfit to lead? Pha, that¡¯s ever been the case. When humanity learns otherwise, then we will rule the lands.¡±


    ¡°Who rules it now if not humans?¡±


    Stillow smiled at her so hard one of his eyes rolled backwards and the other started doing circles, ¡°Rats! Haven¡¯t you seen them? They¡¯re everywhere. They don¡¯t have to work. They take the food from our hands and climb the little ladders we fashion for them to reach our stores. Lashing those twigs together is hard, but they are indeed our masters, so what can be done?¡±


    The veteran edged further away and began searching her waist for her knife.


    ¡°Tell me veteran. Do you know of Stalwart?¡±


    ¡°The ancient king? Yes¡­ Only a few legends though,¡± she said.


    ¡°Allow me to teach you a few more. Stalwart was a leader. People followed him with fanaticism, his enemies often dropped swords and joined him, running back to pick up their swords so they¡¯d actually be useful to him, then striding quickly back to their new position in his army, mindful not to run because, well you know what they say about running with swords¡ª Aye, Stalwart¡¯s soldiers were devoted to him.¡±


    ¡°Are you trying to draw a parallel between the High Commander and King Stalwart?¡±


    ¡°Nay! I am drawing a perpendicular. Stalwart was, by all contemporary accounts, an absolute buffoon with the sword. He didn¡¯t even know which end to hold half the time! That¡¯s why they called him Stalwart Halfhand.¡±


    The mercenary frowned, tightening her fingers on her hilt, ¡°What do you want? Why do you disparage Stalwart¡¯s name? By all accounts he was a great warrior. The Chosen is based upon his example!¡±


    Matthew decided it was high time to intervene. He grabbed Stillow under the arms and lifted him from the bench, ¡°Come on Stillow, we don¡¯t want to miss the fight.¡±


    Stillow trotted happily along behind Matthew, blissfully unaware, as always, as to how close he had been to getting stabbed.


    A circle had already been cleared in the center of the camp. The champion, a whitehaired man wearing a red coat of plates over his hauberk, stood in front of Broken Sword, longsword held high. Broken Sword, with his black armour, black hair, and a grin the colour of bone, mirrored the champion¡¯s pose. There was a shout, and the two men were in motion. Four clashes sounded as the blades struck one another, and then the champion was on the ground.


    Matthew¡¯s eyes hadn¡¯t been able to follow the exchange. A large mercenary next to him leaned over, ¡°First fight?¡±


    Matthew nodded.


    ¡°It can be hard to follow if you don¡¯t know what to look for. Strike on the shoulder. His sword arm is useless.¡±


    Matthew now noticed the champion was unable to use his arm to help himself as he struggled to rise. Instead of going for the killing blow, however, Broken Sword stood back, ¡°Have I won?¡±


    The champion nodded, fear in his eyes. A roar went up from The Chosen. A healer rushed to the former champion¡¯s side and checked the wound. He signaled two of The Chosen who came forward. Together the three men bore the former champion away to a white tent with a black cross on either side of the flaps.


    Broken Sword came over to Matthew.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Matthew asked.


    Broken Sword twisted his lips into an even greater snarl. It took Matthew a moment to realize he was grinning, ¡°Before I was Broken Sword, I was one of the finest swords in any dom and that was half a century ago. Still, I¡¯ll admit I wasn¡¯t entirely sure about that fight. Had no idea how good these Chosen were. Queen Talah will be pleased.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s Queen Talah have to do with anything?¡±


    Broken Sword¡¯s face split into another smile, ¡°She¡¯s planning for war and I may have promised her that I had an army.¡±


    Matthew goggled at him, ¡°You lied to a queen?¡±


    ¡°If I fail against the leader of The Chosen, I¡¯ll be dead, so there¡¯ll not be much to worry about. If I succeed, I¡¯ll have an army and I¡¯ll meet with her as planned. Besides,¡± he chuckled, ¡°she said she could pay me.¡±

 Gross

    Susah the stable owner¡¯s daughter had told I? that their barn was infested with mice, rats, and several baleful looking frogs. Susah had been the one to go for help when I? had fallen down the stairs, so she decided to repay the favour.


    I? placed the rat corpse she had stuffed with a golem scroll on the hay strewn floor of the barn. The rat¡¯s fur was starting to fall out, and bits of it clung to her hand. Its tail was dry and stiff, and its tongue tended to hang from its mouth. It made I? sick to look at. The whole affair of making the golem had been gross, so that was what she decided to name it.


    ¡°I name you Gross. Ki¡ª¡±


    Gross came to life the moment its name left her lips. The golem killed its first mouse faster than I? could give the command. Gross hadn¡¯t even opened its eyes. I? thought it was just as well, they might have fallen out, but it did give Gross a decidedly dopey look in spite of the blood dripping from its fangs. Gross was anything but dopey, however. He was furious.


    The moment the mouse stopped twitching Gross tore after a rat which was climbing up the wall. Gross leapt like a flea, easily reaching twice I?¡¯s height, and clamped his jaws around the other rat¡¯s tail. Then Gross leapt backwards, pulling the other rat with it. They fought as they fell, a ball of teeth, malice, and desperation. By the time they landed, the living rat was dead and Gross was searching for its next foe. One of the baleful frogs watched it dispassionately as it approached. Though Gross¡¯s eyes were closed it seemed to feel the frog¡¯s malignant glare, for the golem changed course a moment later and went to wreak vengeance on a less disdainful foe.


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    I? had been sick of the spectacle the moment Gross had killed his first mouse, by the seventh she thought she might throw up. She left the barn and headed up to the manor. Emet would want to see her again as it was only the early afternoon, but I? decided Emet could wait. If I? did any more work today she doubted she¡¯d be able to eat supper.


    The stable owner was far more pleased with I?¡¯s work. Two days later, he commented around at dinner that he had finally found the one responsible for the miraculous purging of their barn. He¡¯d seen a sleepy looking rat leap from the loft onto a very nervous looking mouse. The rat had been covered in so many wounds and was missing so much fur it was a wonder it was still standing, but by Stalwart¡¯s Peace, it could fight. The mouse was dead before the rat¡¯s feet touched the ground.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he¡¯d said, spearing a thin sliver of meat with his prong, ¡°the frogs don¡¯t know what to do. I saw them on one of the hay bales, squatting around in a circle like they was having some sort of meeting or something. The sleepy rat hasn¡¯t touched them. Knows its limits I suppose. Still, it¡¯s killin¡¯ scores a pests a day,¡± he thumped the table joyfully, ¡°The barn¡¯ll be clear in a few weeks if it can keep this up.¡±


    He then launched into a play by play account of some of its most spectacular and bloody battles. His wife and children, who had been trying to focus on eating, suddenly found they had lost their appetites.

 Carving Lessons

    It was the day after the stable owner had discovered Gross. I? was trying not to slice her fingers off. Emet had called it carving, but I? had heard you got sculptures when you carved, whereas her ¡®horse¡¯ looked more like a celeriac root stuck with toothpicks.


    I? placed it on the board in front of her. It promptly fell over.


    ¡°This is impossible,¡± I? declared.


    ¡°You¡­ are a fine¡­ worker with pottery. You etch runes like a master. Yesterday you chiseled¡­ gargoyle sufficient to divert¡­ the dripping from the ceiling¡­ Now¡­ you have found one talent¡­ you must practice¡­ You will become better¡­ in time. For now¡­ it will suffice.¡±


    I? picked up her carving and twirled it around in her fingers, ¡°Where do I fit the scroll?¡±


    Alisa laughed, ¡°More to practice I?, you¡¯ll have to carve a new one.¡±


    What was the point? She¡¯d never figure it out. Stupid horse. I? didn¡¯t even like horses. She grabbed her gouge in her left hand and stabbed at the carving. The tool skidded across the wood¡¯s hard surface and tore a line down I?¡¯s right arm. She cried out and clutched the wound. A moment later the stinging faded, and then was gone. I? lifted her hand and gasped. The flesh of her arm was whole.


    Emet contorted into a frown, ¡°I have¡­ forgotten. You are a girl¡­ The rune¡­ must be¡­ destroyed.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I? said.


    ¡°Lead¡­ is most powerful, with clear¡­ intention. But¡­ it is unchanging¡­ You will grow. Your arm¡­ will not.¡±


    I? looked at the rune in horror. Was it her imagination or did her right arm already look smaller than her left? ¡°How do I get rid of it?¡±


    ¡°To unmake a rune¡­ without it becoming opposite¡­ you will mar it with a material¡­ different from the one with which it was carved.¡±


    The row of hooked inscription tools glinted invitingly. I? grabbed a bronze inscription tool.


    ¡°Mar it with¡­ a line at least equal in length¡­ to a seventh the diameter of the rune.¡±


    I? bit her lip against the pain as the bronze tip dug into her. It tore a cry from her lips even as it tore her skin. It was done, though the scar shaped like a repair rune remained.


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    ¡°Lead¡­¡±said Emet, ¡°I remember now¡­ Lead was the undoing of one of the last kineser.¡±


    ¡°What happened to them?¡±


    ¡°Do you know¡­ of Otto?¡±


    I? nodded, ¡°He¡¯s the king of Ganter. That¡¯s what Lanet said.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ Do you know¡­ what he attempts?¡±


    I? shook her head. She¡¯d never thought about what kings did all day. She¡¯d assumed they sat around on their thrones and hosted feasts.


    ¡°The destruction¡­ of all kineser¡­¡±


    It took I? a moment for what Emet had said to sink in. Didn¡¯t Lord Glove work for Otto? I? was a kineser. Was she in danger? She looked behind her as though she expected Otto¡¯s soldiers storming into the workshop. ¡°What? Why?¡±


    ¡°We spoke of immortality¡­ Otto wishes to complete¡­ Stalwart¡¯s Legacy. He thinks it¡­ the only way¡­ to be remembered for eternity.¡±


    ¡°We have to warn Lord Glove!¡±


    ¡°NO!¡± Emet shouted so loud I? had to cover her ears. She felt hurt. Emet had shouted when I? had struck them both deaf, but never at her. ¡°Tell Lord Glove¡­ nothing. He knows¡­ and he aids Otto, though Rebeka knew not why¡­ She confronted him¡­ and he abandoned her to this hole.¡±


    I? tried to imagine Lord Glove abandoning anyone, but couldn¡¯t. He had even run into a fire to save that baby.


    ¡°Rebeka constructed a golem¡­ of destruction¡­ and of malice, to stop Otto. She created¡­ Death¡­¡±


    I? swallowed, and rubbed her eyes, an image of Lord Glove running into a fire to save a crying baby blossomed in her mind¡¯s eye. Then Rebeka was tossed into the fire by a dark king as Lord Glove watched. Then Lord Glove tossed Rebeka into the burning house himself, and locked the door. Then¡ª


    Gar rushed into the room heaving and covered in mud, one arm clutched to his side, the other cradling a spear, ¡°I heard a shout, you alright?¡±


    I? stared at Emet, then at Gar, then back at Emet. Her eyes went wide and her lips trembled. She didn¡¯t know who to trust anymore. Her voice wavered, ¡°Yes.¡±


    Gar¡¯s eyebrows pressed together and he walked to I?¡¯s side, ¡°It¡¯s getting quite late, you¡¯ll miss supper. I¡¯ll get you to the manor.¡±


    She trusted Gar, but Gar worked for Lord Glove. But she trusted Lord Glove. But he worked for Otto. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go.¡±


    Gar dropped down into a squatting position to look I? in the eyes, ¡°Don¡¯t want to go where miss?¡±


    Gar was kinder to her than anyone. Kinder than even Lord Glove or Lanet. ¡°Don¡¯t want to go to the manor.¡±


    Gar frowned, ¡°Why not?¡±


    Even if she trusted Gar she couldn¡¯t tell him it wasn¡¯t safe. And she couldn¡¯t find the words even if she wanted to explain everything to him. ¡°Don¡¯t want to go. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°I guess it can get kind of lonely up there all by yourself. Lord Glove should be back soon though,¡± I? drew away from him, but Gar continued, ¡°but you can have supper with me tonight, I suppose.¡±


    Big lipped, I? nodded. Gar clapped her on the back and smiled, ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±


    His eyes found her sorry lump of wood as he stood. Gar picked it up, ¡°Did you carve this horse?¡±


    She smiled beneath her tears. Then she brushed back her bangs and nodded.


    ¡°It¡¯s not bad for a first attempt. Tell you what, gather the tools and that bit of wood there. I know some carving myself, maybe we can show each other some tricks, eh?¡±


    I?¡¯s smile grew brighter and she hastily gathered up the gouging tools and chisel.


    ¡°Come on I?, up on my shoulders. Let¡¯s race Alisa to the top. We¡¯re having pretzels!¡±

 In Which Captain Cerul becomes a Hero

    ¡°Form up! One line, three ranks deep,¡± Captain Cerul ordered his soldiers into position.


    A mob was milling about the outside of the gate. It had been growing in size since the previous night and showed no sign of slowing. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the first brave fool to lead the press. Cerul had stationed on top of the fort to discourage such behavior.


    Cerul knew from firsthand experience being a hero got you killed. His father had been a hero. He¡¯d killed the legendary Brown Boar. The party¡¯s spears had all broken, but he¡¯d still gotten it with his sword, stabbed it right in the heart. As Cerul¡¯s father had pierced the beast, saving the hunters behind him and ending a three year reign of terror, he¡¯d been pierced in turn. Not, alas, by one of the boar¡¯s tusks, but by the realization that he would be known in the history books as the man who had slain the Brown Boar. Manhunter, Monstrous, Deadly, Giant; all would have been true, and all would have given honour to the deed. Unfortunately, the boar had been brown and the first person to escape it had been an accountant.


    And so the Slayer of the Brown Boar had dropped dead on the spot in shame. Or so his fellow hunters had surmised, for no wounds had been found on his corpse.


    Captain Cerul had reminded his men of that this very morning¡ªNot of the pig, that was kept quiet¡ªbut that being a hero got you killed. That¡¯s what made them heroes. His soldiers were to hold firm and repel any attackers, killing as needed, but not so much that the newly implemented taxes would be wasted on a bunch of corpses. You could get money from a corpse, Queen Vesper often said, but only what you found in their pockets.


    The rabble had sorted into divisions by weapon. Pitchfork wielders to the right and torches to the left. Those armed with slings and insults formed the artillery and stood behind the two assembled groups of peasants.


    A shirtless man walked to the front of the pitchfork wielders and started shouting words of assurance and victory. The people cheered; a hero for sure.


    Cerul signaled for his archers and waited for the whistling of arrows to put an end to it. The only whistling he heard, however, was the woman beside him, tunelessly blowing through her teeth.


    Cerul frowned, and gestured for five of his elite soldiers to follow him to the roof. The archers were nowhere in sight. Cerul knew his archers, knew each one of them well. He knew which ones of them liked killing and which ones liked wiping their noses on the back of tapestries. He also knew that they would not abandon their post.


    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong here. I want you to approach the edge in pairs, see if you can find the bodies, or even the bows or arrows anywhere nearby. Han, you come with me, we¡¯re going to check the nearby rooms.¡±


    Cerul headed back down the stairs, Han at his heels. The first room was empty, as was the third. The sixth was barred from the inside. Han broke down the door, and Cerul leapt through, sword drawn. He found nothing but a few old bones. Cerul would have to look into that later. They were searching the eighth room when Pnina, one of his elites, appeared.


    ¡°We found the bodies. A ways from the base of the tower, hidden behind the slope of a roof. There is no way they could have fallen that far, someone carried them.¡±


    Someone had carried the bodies of full grown men down the tower and across the rooftops. If it wasn¡¯t so terrifying Cerul would be impressed by the sheer display of strength and athleticism.


    ¡°An assassin. Most likely several. Let us hope our own did greater damage.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how it appears sir. We were able to see the rabble from the top of the roof. Their numbers are much lower than expected and the stragglers have stopped pouring in.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather have our archers, but this will have to do. I want you two to go to the queen in case the assassins return. I¡¯ll fetch the others. If you need me I¡¯ll be back at my post. Good luck gentlemen.¡±


    ¡°And to you sir.¡±


    The other groups had found their leaders. A one armed blacksmith was waving around a forge hammer to the cheers of the pitchfork wielders. Over in the artillery a man wielding a longbow walked up and down the line, giving orders and pulling people into position. He had unusually short grey hair and was dressed like a shepherd. Something felt off about the whole situation.


    ¡°Do we even keep sheep?¡± Cerul muttered as he and his elites rejoined his soldiers.


    His lieutenant heard him, ¡°I don¡¯t believe so sir. We don¡¯t have the land for it.¡±


    ¡°So what do you make of that man there?¡±


    ¡°He could be a monk sir. Monks are a very heroic sort I reckon.¡±


    His lieutenant¡¯s first thought had been about the heroism of the rebels. If the rest of his soldiers were thinking along similar lines than no amount of bloodshed would win them the battle. He had hoped the only thing he would have to worry about was the slings. He fell silent, thinking furiously. The rebels would be charging any second now. Indeed, seconds after thinking it, the whole battlefield fell silent as both sides readied themselves for what was to come. Silent except for the whistling woman.


    ¡°Soldier, what are you doing?¡± asked Cerul.


    ¡°It¡¯s my tune, Captain¡± she said as if that solved it.


    ¡°Your tune?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, the one that plays for me when I battle.¡±


    ¡°Why would you have a tune?¡±


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    ¡°Got to have a tune. All the heroes have one. Bards play them when they tell their epics. I reckon the hero always pulls through to the end, ¡¯cause they¡¯re the main character. I thought if I had a song, then I¡¯d be the hero, you see?¡±


    ¡°Where were you this morning? The hero always goes out tragically, tortured to death or beheaded by some evil king.¡±


    She frowned, ¡°If heroes die, then which one is it that lives to the end?¡±


    ¡°No one¡¯s done that yet. The end¡¯s a long way away.¡±


    ¡°So if everyone dies, then the ones that¡¯re remembered would be the ones who come out on top, right? And that¡¯d be the heroes.¡±


    Cerul wanted soldiers, not heroes, but¡­ Perhaps the only way to become sewn into the fabric of history was to become a hero. Who was he to demand his soldiers be forgotten? But today was not a day to be remembered. Heroes didn¡¯t kill their countrymen. Monks are a very heroic sort I reckon. More heroic than his own troops. But heroes didn¡¯t kill their countrymen.


    Heroes protected their queen.


    He raised his voice, ¡°You heard her! Let¡¯s sing our song! Heroes may die, but they will die saving their queen! For Vesper!¡±


    ¡°For Vesper!¡± shouted his troops.


    ¡°I know every one of you, and there are no cowards among you! No matter the cost, we¡¯ll not die with wounds in our back. We will stand firm! We will stand firm!¡±


    ¡°We will stand firm!¡±


    ¡°For Vesper!¡±


    ¡°For Vesper!¡± This time the cheering shook the walls of the fort and sent the birds at the edge of the woods awing. Cerul stepped back into the line, his chest heaving. They would stand.


    His speech seemed to have spurred on the enemy¡ªCerul noticed he now thought of them as the enemy¡ª for they had broken into a cheer of their own.


    Cerul¡¯s troops recoiled from the wave of sound.


    ¡°We stand!¡±


    The soldiers closest to him shook themselves. One of them began to whistle nervously. Those next to him took up the tune. A third began to whistle, and then a fourth. The woman¡¯s song became a melody. The line reformed. Those who couldn¡¯t whistle took to humming. The vibrations flowed around the music, harmonizing with it, carrying it high above the sounds of pounding feet. A symphony bloomed. Cerul raised his sword and shield and shouted in defiance, adding his voice to the wordless song.


    ¡°We stand!¡±


    There was a crash and a pounding of hooves. Camil¡¯s front runner came barreling towards them.


    ¡°To the front, hurry!¡±


    ¡°What, me?¡±


    ¡°No! All of you! Hurry! They¡¯re killing them!¡±


    Without waiting for Camil¡¯s reply the scout wheeled around and charged back the way she came. Camil signaled and the column doubled its pace. The forest gave way to a slaughter. Vesper¡¯s soldiers were an efficient bunch, and well trained. Camil would be a fool to deny that. The revolutionaries died in droves before the soldiers, at least a dozen to one, and yet it was the soldiers who were being forced back. Adding to the casualties was a crazed battery of slings which rained impartial death onto the battlefield.


    ¡°They are winning without us,¡± said Coldbloom, Camil¡¯s second, ¡°but¡­


    ¡°But this isn¡¯t what victory should look like! With me!¡± Camil kicked the flanks of her horse and charged to the aid of the revolutionaries. Her soldiers followed close behind, drumming a beat into the dirt. Camil heard a second beat as they approached, a song. A chant was rising from the enemy soldiers. A chant which sent shivers through her soul.


    We stand. A wave of rebels was pushed back with sword and shield.


    We stand. The soldiers¡¯ line slipped back a pace.


    We stand. A ripple went down the line. Vesper¡¯s soldiers pushed the line forward once more.


    Even as Camil¡¯s lance pierced a man¡¯s side, he added one last defiant shout to the song, ¡°We stand!¡±


    Then Camil was past, dropping her lance, folding in the lance rest, and drawing her sword. Camil¡¯s armour was a thing of wonder. Full plate. Legends claimed it was golem forged. Camil had reason to believe the legends. The records showed an acestor wearing it before King Stalwart¡¯s purge, yet it was as strong as ever. A woman thrust a spear directly at Camil¡¯s chest, but the blade skidded along the armour without a scratch. Before the woman could recover, Camil struck her in the head with her sword, ¡°We stand.¡±


    She pushed her sword through another soldier¡¯s stomach, ¡°We stand.¡±


    Camil dismounted as the momentum slowed and her troops formed around her. Despite the song¡¯s best efforts to drive her back, Camil¡¯s larger force and superior equipment soon forced the enemy soldiers to seek the safety of their fort.


    Camil gestured and four burly soldiers with a ram began attacking the gate. They were flanked by soldiers bearing shields to protect them, but no arrows fell. Camil didn¡¯t have time to ponder their strange fortune, for the gate was weak and gave on the third strike.


    The Vesperdom soldiers¡¯ song came pouring from the archway, again attempting to stay what shield and strong arm could not. Again they failed as they were slowly, painfully, driven back. They fought their way across the hall, up the stairs, to the very chamber of the queen. The fighting was fierce. Each step was bought with half a dozen lives on both sides.


    An enemy had made it past the chamber door. Cerul rushed forward to fill a gap in the line. A single chop from his sword caused the Derkdom or Talahdom soldier to fall back. Cerul pressed the advantage, swinging and dealing death with both sword and shield. Queen Vesper was in a fit of hysterics behind him, alternating between crying and shrieking about ¡®all that damnable whistling.¡¯


    Another of Cerul¡¯s soldiers fell, leaving him with three: Han, Pnina, and¡­ He¡¯s far too young to be a soldier. It was Segula. A knave girl whose training Cerul had started a few months before. Segula died even as Cerul noticed him.


    Perhaps, thought Cerul as he knocked off a soldier¡¯s helm, perhaps killing isn¡¯t the way to valour. Han fell, though not to any wound he could see. Pnina stepped over his body to defend him and was run through a moment later. Cerul knew he should feel furious, or sad, but he felt removed from the fight, as if it was happening to someone else. Perhaps I should lay down my weapon, he kicked the slayer of his final soldier. Then the enemy, this time a true enemy, not his own people, were through the door. A blow to his shoulder knocked him down, a shield rocked his helmet backward, ¡°I stand.¡±


    He pushed back. Cerul raised his sword in defiance, not for honour, nor revenge, but because he had forgotten any other options. He lashed back at them, swinging with such speed and skill that the entire group of soldiers fell back as one under his onslaught.


    ¡°I stand.¡±


    A daring blow to his knee only slowed him for an instant before he pushed himself back onto his bloodied leg. More than his mind was beginning to feel numb. It was spreading through his arms and then his tongue. He tried to whistle, but no sound came out. He sank back down, whispering to himself as he fell, ¡°I stand.¡±


    Vesper screamed in horror as her champion fell. She ran to the wall and tore down her grandfather¡¯s longsword. She gripped the haft, wrong hand forward, and held it towards her foes, point trembling. The soldiers did not advance. They didn¡¯t even notice her. They had stopped in the doorway to pay homage to the fallen captain. Ten years from now, a hundred, and the battle would be recorded. The historian would pause, lick the nub of their pen, and write a sentence about the last stand of Captain Cerul. The historian would write of his bravery, and the valour found in war. The history books would contain Cerul¡¯s last actions, not his last thoughts, for he was no longer there to help write them. The heroes never were.


    Camil motioned for her soldiers to make way. She alone passed Cerul¡¯s body.


    ¡°Stop. Stop! You have to stop,¡± Vesper jabbed her quivering sword towards Camil with each word. None of the strikes came close to landing.


    ¡°Queen Vesper, your soldiers are all dead, your people against you, and you have no idea how to use that sword. Yield.¡±


    The sword clattered from Vesper¡¯s hands and then she too collapsed to the floor.

 In Which a Healer Regrets Saving a Life

    ¡°Of course! The Breaking could refer to the betrayal of the Kineser or to the breaking of Stalwart¡¯s kingdom. What do you think?¡±


    The healer gathered the dirty dishes laying around Adal, ¡°I think I¡¯m starting to regret saving your life.¡±


    Adal leapt to his feet in indignation, casting the sheets of his cot aside, ¡°What an unbearable cruel thing to say. Every moment we have the choice to make the world better or worse, why seek evil? You saved the world when you saved me.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± she asked, her face deadpan.


    ¡°I am a historian. Historians discover and record history. Without us, the only people who had ever lived would be the current generation. No? You don¡¯t understand? Well, I¡¯ll not waste my time. I must return home with the scrolls before they tarnish any further. You wouldn¡¯t believe how hard it is to read a thousand year piece of parchment which has been lit on fire. Third or fourth hardest kind of restoration at least. Takes ages.¡±


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    The healer stripped the remaining sheets from his bed in two practiced strokes.


    ¡°That reminds me. Your friends decided to take a vacation. Probably to Moldeth in Eornostdom. The capitol is a ways south of here. You¡¯ll have to hurry if you want to catch up with them.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense. My work is far more important,¡± It was only then that Adal noticed he was naked, ¡°My trousers! Where are they? I can¡¯t be seen without my trousers, it would be indecent! Book a carriage would you? And stop staring! Ungrateful of Matthew and Stillow to abandon me like that, but what can you expect, eh? Shame about youth these days, got no head for affairs. My trousers woman! And make sure you don¡¯t forget my girdle! And my shirt! I¡¯ll not look improper in front of a lady. It¡¯s not polite.¡±

 Interlude III

    Soft wind hisses between ivory tombstones laid in row.


    ¡°So many casualties.¡±


    Hard eyes, harder words, ¡°Camil arrived too late, the people had already engaged.¡±


    ¡°Numbers alone did not prevail?¡±


    Anguish floods against set jaw, ¡°An assassin killed many leaders, preventing the majority of the revolutionaries from arriving.¡±


    ¡°Flames consume this killer. Is the assassin now dead?¡±


    ¡°No. He was only following orders.¡±


    ¡°As were the soldiers.¡±


    ¡°As am I. I sent the assassin to uphold righteousness.¡±


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    ¡°Will he obey?¡±


    A smile, sad in the shadows, ¡°For his life, he will.¡±


    Creak of leather: the bow of an iron topped head, ¡°They will attack with all haste. Talah is furious beyond reckoning.¡±


    ¡°Anger is personal. Wars are not. She will lose if she plans to lead with anger.¡±


    Tapping rings echo through the darkness.


    ¡°What is her plan?¡±


    ¡°They fear to act before they find our infiltrator. King Derk employs a most skilled spy, the best I have ever seen.¡±


    Laughter, light, though it does not lift the gloom, ¡°You saw him then.¡±


    ¡°The spies I haven¡¯t seen are the ones I fear. I remember Tsamen¡¯s scouts, they were true terrors.¡±


    ¡°You still think of those times?¡±


    ¡°More often than not.¡±


    A hand offered, invisible in the dark, ¡°Back to the present. Who do we kill?¡±


    ¡°No one. Derk is no longer a lynchpin in the alliance. Camil would become a martyr who drove Talah to fight all the more ferociously.¡±


    ¡°And Talah?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen her emblem.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ You fear to strike at her head.¡±


    ¡°Fighting has only ever caused pain, never ended it.¡±


    ¡°Hypocrite.¡±


    Eyelids open, but the view does not change, ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°Golems.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like fighting to me, Lord Glove.¡±


    ¡°Let us hope not. Let us plead fate is kind.¡±


    ¡°It never has been.¡±


    Footsteps to the door. Light stretches and fades; too weak to illuminate the king.

 The Chosen

    ¡°I am The Chosen,¡± the man was well suited to the title. He was tall and strong with a chin which looked as if it could crack chestnuts. His hair was combed and his eyes shone with a righteous vigor. All his clothes; his cloak, his surcoat, his gloves, even his belt; were brilliant white. The pommel of his sword was stylized with knots and whorls. He wore full plate, a miraculous product which people around these parts called golem-forged. It hurt Matthew¡¯s eyes to look at it under the full sun, for The Chosen had polished it till it shone like silver. Matthew squinted against the glare and could just make out a rearing lion etched into its surface.


    Broken Sword took no notice of his raiment. He extended his hand, ¡°I¡¯m Broken Sword. I just roughed up one of your champions. He might live.¡±


    The Chosen shook it. ¡°You¡¯ve travelled a long time without a squire Broken Sword. Would you like one of my sergeants to attend to you before we duel?¡±


    Broken Sword laughed, ¡°A very long time. Half a century. But I don¡¯t need any help. I¡¯m eager to get this duel started. One question.¡±


    The Chosen raised a symmetrical eyebrow, ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard there may only be one Chosen. Will I have to kill you for your title?¡±


    ¡°Death may happen in battle, but it is incidental. The Chosen follow the greatest warrior, not the greatest assassin.¡±


    ¡°Then let us fight.¡±


    ¡°To the arena.¡±


    The Chosen strode from the tent, his cloak billowing behind him. Broken Sword went after, as did Matthew. Stillow was content to stay in the command tent and rummage through The Chosen¡¯s things.


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    Once again two men faced each other across the sand. Broken Sword raised his longsword. The Chosen raised a sword and shield to match. A champion stood between them holding a red flag.


    ¡°Are you both ready?¡± She asked.


    They nodded.


    The champion released the flag and retreated to the edge of the arena. The moment the flag touched the ground the two warriors leapt at each other. Broken Sword struck first, swinging down at The Chosen¡¯s head. The Chosen raised his shield to intercept the blow, but the longsword was no longer there, it was swinging sideways towards The Chosen¡¯s armoured flank. He ignored the strike, content to trade the blow for a chance at Broken Sword¡¯s neck. Before The Chosen could strike home, Broken Sword¡¯s longsword took him in the side, lifting him from the ground and denting his armour. Gasps rose from the gathered mercenaries. Even Matthew knew armour didn¡¯t bend like that, especially not golem-forged plate.


    Broken Sword stood back, longsword at the ready, but the Chosen did not rise. The champion stepped back into the arena and raised another flag, this one white, ¡°Victory to The Chosen!¡±


    A healer ran across the sands to the former Chosen. After a quick examination he announced, ¡°He¡¯s alive! He¡¯s probably bleeding internally, but we should be able to save him.¡±


    ¡°Excellent. Let me know when he¡¯s recovered,¡± Broken Sword took off his black helm and grinned crookedly at Matthew. ¡°Glad you stuck around?¡±


    Matthew walked over, ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like it! The only disappointment is how quickly it all ended.¡±


    ¡°You scholars are more bloodthirsty than I thought! Better a quick war. More valour, less death. I can only hope that¡¯s how it goes with Otto.¡±


    ¡°Queen Vesper is going to fight Otto?¡±


    ¡°Of course! They¡¯ve been eyeing each other¡¯s border for a while now. Didn¡¯t I mention that?¡±


    An idea came into Matthew¡¯s head. He¡¯d never have dared voice if Adal was around, ¡°Stillow and I are on our way to a kingdom bordering Vesperdom, by the name of Eornostdom. It¡¯s on the way to Ganter. Could we accompany you?¡±


    Broken Sword threw back his head like a howling dog and laughed, ¡°You¡¯ll accompany me further than you think. Talahdom is former Eornostdom. Way I heard it, the king was assassinated. That¡¯s what finally convinced Talah to go to war.¡±


    ¡°An assassination? The more I hear about Otto the more of a monster he becomes.¡±


    ¡°Then you and Stillow shall march with me! We¡¯ll stop him together.¡±

 The Barricade and the Bird Tree

    Trees had been piled together on the road and lashed together with runes of binding. Runes of repair reinforced them. All had been carved in steel, the rigid tool. In golems steel was ineffective, for it made them literal to the point of uselessness. In a roadblock it was devastating in its simplicity.


    ¡°This will be difficult to move,¡± Tsamen said.


    ¡°We can¡¯t go around it. The forest is too dense for our wagons. Without them we¡¯ll have no food, no tools, and no cover.¡± Tsamen¡¯s scouts were invisible, but had image runes carved in their eyes to allow them to see each other. Tsamen hadn¡¯t the bravery nor motivation to inscribe her own eyes in silver, so the voice appeared to come from thin air.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get Por,¡± Tsamen said, ¡°He¡¯ll think of something.¡±


    Tsamen found Bren before she found the rest of the Maharal. He was standing in the center of the road, staring at his foot. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and he was swinging his other foot back and forth. He looked up as Tsamen approached.


    ¡°Tsamen! Wonderful! I was worried I¡¯d be trapped here for hours. I wanted to see how you and your scouts were coming along when this happened,¡± he pointed at his foot, ¡°I can¡¯t move my right leg. It¡¯s the strangest feeling. It¡¯s not numb, it¡¯s just unresponsive. It¡¯s like I¡¯m a tree which has been rooted in place, or like I¡¯m turning to stone.¡±


    Bren swung his left leg harder, ¡°I¡¯ve even tried falling forward, but my leg won¡¯t let me.¡±


    Tsamen looked at Bren¡¯s foot and immediately identified the problem. She couldn¡¯t be sure of the metal nor the shape, but there was definitely a rune carved there. She grabbed Bren by his swinging foot and pulled him towards her. He stumbled and landed in her arms.


    ¡°You¡¯ve saved me!¡± he cried. Bren extracted himself from Tsamen¡¯s embrace and did a little jig on the ground, ¡°I can move again!¡±


    Tsamen bent down and examined the spot where Bren had been trapped. There was a small obey rune there, inscribed with shining copper. Tsamen relaxed her gaze, allowing her to see beyond the rune¡¯s glow. It had been carved into a flat rock with a few sure strokes. It would take almost no time at all to make.


    Tsamne picked it up, careful not to touch the rune, ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like this. I¡¯ll get Por to look at it on his way to the blockade.¡±


    ¡°Blockade?¡±


    ¡°We came across a pile of lumber infused with runes a ways down the path. I have no idea how to move it.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll want our dreamer as well. Let us gather Fleysh and Por together.¡±


    The pair proceeded with caution, on lookout for more of the obey runes. Fortunately, the path to the wagons was clear. They found Por tinkering at his timepiece, as he always did when his services weren¡¯t needed.


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    The theory was that Por could link a disc to a floating golem carved solely in steel. The golem would be ordered to turn on the spot at a fixed rate, thus allowing an observer to tell the time of day by the golem¡¯s facing.


    The problem lay in getting the golem to stay the same distance from the disc at all orientations. It was one thing to rig the rocks floating above the wagons¡ªthey were just pushed to the runes¡¯ limits¡ªand another to keep an object where you wanted it. Especially if it was spinning. Previous attempts had resulted in the golem flying off into the woods, or smashing itself to pieces against the disc, but he got a little closer each time.


    ¡°Por, we found something which needs your attention,¡± Tsamen said.


    Por raised a finger to silence her, ¡°Almost got it, just a few more minutes.¡±


    ¡°The road is obstructed ahead. We can¡¯t keep moving if you don¡¯t figure out how to remove the blockade.¡±


    Por set down his steel inscription tool and gestured to the spinning golem, ¡°Look, it works already. This time I even got Zaytmos to produce a small sound every second for precise measurements.¡± The tiny golem ticked in affirmation.


    ¡°If I have figured rightly,¡± Por said, ¡°I only need two more runes of binding to allow the golem to be rotated in any direction! It will change time keeping forever. Surely our column can wait?¡±


    ¡°The Maharal have infinite patience,¡± Bren said, ¡°but our vows do not.¡±


    ¡°If I stop now my device will break. If you give me a few minutes now I will have hours spare in the future to serve you and the vows.¡±


    Bren sighed slowly through his nostrils, ¡°We will find Fleysh. Meet us when you are done.¡±


    They found Fleysh stuck to a tree.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it marvelous?¡± he asked.


    ¡°What happened? What are you doing?¡± Bren said.


    ¡°I asked myself ¡°Can human¡¯s fly?¡¯¡± said Fleysh, ¡°Birds favour one tree above others, I wondered why. Perhaps¡ªI was not sure¡ªperhaps at its highest branch I¡¯d find an answer.


    ¡°I tried the tree, but I couldn¡¯t climb. Maybe the branches were too high, but my soul was not dampened, for in me ascends the hope of man. I wrapped my arms about the tree for that is who I am.


    ¡°The first I now know is poor and sour. Birds love for tree¡¯s own self, not some power. Resin runs thickly, catches a thousand insects a day. That is why my birds come. That is why they stay.


    ¡°The second I now see is pure and sweet. Man still dreams if he does not sleep. Our houses will not drip and our boats will not leak. Take a sprig from this Sapling and I¡¯ll grow you a tree.¡±


    ¡°If we return by this path I will be sure to take a cutting,¡± said Bren, ¡°It is well to think of the future. Right now, we need you in the present. Our path ahead is blocked and our wagons won¡¯t be able to pass.¡±


    ¡°Remove me gently.¡±


    Tsamen and Bren each grabbed a shoulder and pulled. Fleysh¡¯s chest came away with a ¡®Pop!¡¯ and his arms followed soon after. His legs were trickier. By the time Fleysh was free they were bright red and mostly devoid of hair. Por arrived, announced by a low, sourceless ticking. Por had strapped Zaytmos, the tiny golem, to his wrist. The golem was spinning in place and announcing every second with a small sound which resonated in the air and seemed to come from every direction at once.


    ¡°I¡¯ve done it!¡± Por cried, not noticing Fleysh¡¯s legs in his excitement. He brandished his wrist, ¡°Seven years from when I first had the idea, within two months! Not all is dark on this long road.¡±


    He ran to hug Fleysh, then stopped. ¡°Your chest is covered in sap! And your legs, what¡¯s wrong with them?¡±


    ¡°I too have paid for victory¡¯s price. The arms of the others will have to suffice. Well done, my friend!¡±


    Bren pointed to the tree, ¡°Another miracle. Fleysh has named it a Sapling. On our way back we¡¯ll take a twig from this tree, and it shall grow into a mighty forest. One day our children will have waterproof houses and boats which can sail for seven weeks. And every spring they will remember the day we set out to gather the first Sapling, for they will hear the birds sing.


    Por grabbed Tsamen and Bren and clasped them to him, ¡°My heart is lifted, my friends! I am ready! I am ready! Take me to this road block of yours. I feel as if I can solve any puzzle!¡±

 In Which I? Learns how to See Runes

    ¡°Close¡­ your eyes¡­


    ¡°You will¡­ remember¡­ glimmers around runes¡­¡±


    I? nodded. She had seen strange, copper coloured sparks rise from her dress on several occasions, but had never thought to ask about it.


    ¡°My dress sometimes glitters with copper¡ªI used copper to write the runes! Do the sparks show which material was used?¡±


    The shadows in Emet¡¯s eye sockets danced, ¡°Look¡­ to my face¡­ Concentrate on¡­ keeping¡­ your eyes closed¡­¡±


    I? closed them. All she saw was darkness. She wasn¡¯t sure what she was supposed to concentrate on. Emet had told her on one of their first meetings that all a kineser needed to do to restore a rune they had carved was touch it and remember that they were a kineser. So I? reminded herself.


    The glass ball had led her to Emet. Lord Glove had chosen her. She had created golems, her dress, repaired the improbable watch tower, the floating bridges, and a knife which never grew dull.


    In her mind¡¯s eye, Lord Glove spoke to Lanet.


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    ¡°I? is a kineser. I need her.¡±


    Then he struck Lanet down, his hand made of fire. Lanet fell onto a hamlet, which quickly grew into a city. The city burst into flames and Lord Glove strode away. A massive figure rose behind Lord Glove, carved from darkest onyx. With a single blow it sent Lord Glove spinning away into the endless night. The specter turned to face I? and smiled.


    ¡°Death,¡± it said, and I? knew it spoke its name.


    I? gasped and opened her eyes. She knew that face. It was from her nightmare. The one she had every night. The one she forgot before she woke. I? shuddered. Tears dripped off her chin. They splashed onto the ground and were absorbed, leaving no trace of their falling.


    ¡°What¡­ is wrong?¡± The stale wind whistled past I¡¯s face, drying her tears.


    ¡°Lord Glove. I saw him hurting Lanet.¡±


    ¡°That¡­ did not happen¡­¡±


    ¡°I saw Death. It smiled at me.¡±


    ¡°Why¡­ do you see¡­ such visions?¡±


    ¡°I remembered a dream. I keep having it.¡± I? bit her lip, trying to keep the fear from her face. She didn¡¯t want Emet to yell at her again. She knew she shouldn¡¯t have mentioned Lord Glove. Emet didn¡¯t yell, however, she just sighed a weary sigh.


    ¡°Dreams¡­ are dreams. Memories¡­ of what is to come. Learn to concentrate¡­ An hour¡¯s walk to¡­ the east¡­ is a wooden bridge¡­ Repair it¡­ and look for runes¡­¡±


    I? nodded, hiding her face behind her hair, and headed for the stairs. Alisa gathered I?¡¯s inscription tools into a small satchel and followed.

 Adal’s Horse Escapes

    Adal¡¯s horse had escaped during the night.


    Naturally, he blamed the healer. When that didn¡¯t work, he glared at her. Four hours later, his efforts still hadn¡¯t recovered his horse. He was about to stop glowering and ask for a bit of lunch, when the healer handed him a sack filled with his things and his red travelling leathers.


    ¡°Your case was still attached to the horse, so I placed as many of your books as I could in here, along with some cheese and a loaf of bread. I doubt you¡¯ll be moving that cart anywhere soon, so I¡¯ll take it as payment for the bread,¡±


    ¡°You owe me a horse! I put a horse in your care and did not get it back! I demand compensation!¡±


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    ¡°That¡¯s why I threw in some of my cheese,¡± she said, ¡°It¡¯s a bit of a walk to get back, but if¡ª¡°


    ¡°What kind of cheese?¡± He asked, tugging the sack open, ¡°A cheese worth its weight in horse would be a fine cheese indeed. Cheese is an investment, I grant you, but so is a horse. Cheese grows in value as it ages, but you can¡¯t bind your books with a twenty year old cheddar! Now how am I supposed to get out of here? It¡¯s a long walk, don¡¯t you know?¡±


    ¡°As I was saying, there is a small footpath northwest of here which goes through Glovedom. If you¡ª¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t you think for an instant I haven¡¯t forgotten my horse! Even if I do manage to bind these pages with your hirtenk?se, I can¡¯t eat it can I? Now which way do I go? Speak up woman!¡±


    The healer jabbed a finger northward and then slammed shut her door. There was the audible sound of a bolt scraping across wood, and then silence.


    ¡°Well, I never. The nerve of today¡¯s youth. I¡¯ve been robbed blind and that¡¯s a fact. I hope the cheese has got figs in. Love a good fig.¡±

 In Which David Learns how to Fly

    David sat in the middle of the field, his arms limp by his side. Tall grass swayed above him, birds danced in the breeze. He would have laughed if he could. He even would have cried. The chisel belonged here. It was happy to do its duty, stuck in the earth. David was not happy. He wanted to be free. Walking was no good. He needed to fly, or there was no point to it at all.


    He lay back to watch the birds. They knew how to escape. He needed to build, but he needed to smile. How could he smile without teeth? How could he laugh while he slaved away?


    His arms. That was where he should start. He couldn¡¯t fly with arms. It was so obvious once he thought of it. If he didn¡¯t have arms he couldn¡¯t work. Then he could laugh. He would worry about the tears later.


    David wrapped the fabric of his left arm around the right and pulled. The stitches gave with only a little work. They had been sewn too close to the cloth¡¯s edge. David spun about with the force of it. He dropped his right arm and rolled away in the same action so the runes of repair could not snare him.


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    Now David had a problem. He needed his right arm to remove his left. He tried to wrap his legs around his arm, but they couldn¡¯t reach. He considered removing his legs with his arm, but he needed those. Birds used their legs to fly.


    One was flying toward him on its yellow legs. A raven. It landed beside him, head cocked, one large amber eye staring down. David tried to wave, but his arm was missing.


    The raven opened its beak. It didn¡¯t have teeth either. It flipped David over and pecked at his back, trying to tug loose a bit of wool. David¡¯s runes of repair pulled the wool back into place. The raven let out a surprised ¡®Caw!¡¯ and hopped backwards.


    Its cry alerted a second raven, who, thinking David to be something the first raven wanted, swooped down and picked him up in its beak. Then it took to the skies, circling higher and higher. David turned his head to get a better look. The raven dropped him, surprised.


    David nearly laughed this time.


    He was flying.


    He was free.

 Dead Scouts

    Tsamen¡¯s scouts were invisible. This made it hard for them to be included in society, and so those who hid were most often already rejects. The bald, the deformed, the sickly, and the weak were all invisible under Tsamen¡¯s knife, all equal. The lie was not sustained in death.


    In front of the jumble of logs lay three bodies. A hunchback, a cripple, and a man with one arm. Bren looked down at his people and remembered the shape of them. It was his duty as chieftain to paint those who had died under his leadership.


    Fleysh was the first to break the silence. He spoke crookedly, without his usual rhythm or care, ¡°What happened?¡±


    A voice rose from the air beside him, sad and weary, ¡°A demon wearing the shape of a man came this way and we were deceived. At first he did not see us. The demon approached the blockade and began doing something with his hands, though we could not see what.


    ¡°We attacked, thinking him to be an enemy. I cannot say what alerted him, but in an instant, knives were in his hands and he was amongst us. He was impossible. He matched our speed. He was faster than us. The slightest sound alerted him, and before we knew it, two of our number were dead and one was dying. The rest of us ran or hid. I froze, and so was spared. He left back the way he came. Back to Glovedom.¡±


    ¡°A demon?¡± If Rebeka had joined forces with a demon the Maharal had already lost. Bren would not accept the possibility. It was pointless to plan for defeat, ¡°Such loyalty is hard won. I doubt this lord who impedes us could do it, nor Rebeka. To summon a demon is beyond the power of all but a select few.¡±


    ¡°Have you known any to match the speed of Tsamen¡¯s scouts? We are elite. Our strength is greater than even the strongest of men.¡±


    ¡°Por, Kolek, Bren, and myself have the same runes. The man could have also been enhanced,¡± said Tsamen.


    ¡°Your forms are far faster, so too are your senses?¡± Fleysh¡¯s voice had regained some, but not all, of its musical qualities.


    ¡°No. The runes do not effect reflexes. But moving so much faster all the time does improve them.¡±


    ¡°You may speculate, but speculation does not bring us closer to the problems at hand,¡± said Por, ¡°If we overcome this obstacle, we may yet win. Come Fleysh, let us solve this puzzle while they talk.¡± The two men left to study the wooden barrier.


    Bren met Tsamen¡¯s eyes. They had turned dark upon seeing the bodies and had grown darker since.


    ¡°Say what you must say,¡± said Bren.


    ¡°We go to punish one girl,¡± said Tsamen, ¡°We have lost a dozen golems and now three lives. I have considered myself the most grieved by Rebeka¡¯s betrayal, but now even I must ask: Is Rebeka¡¯s betrayal worth this?¡±


    ¡°We punish those who break the vows. It is our way. There must be no exceptions.¡±


    Tears threatened the rim of her eyes and her hands trembled.


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    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t pretend you are a girl. We obey the vows.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because all people need something to hold to. It gives them security. Without our vows our lives have no purpose.¡±


    ¡°So our purpose is to kill girls?¡±


    Bren ground his teeth together, ¡°Rebeka is not a girl. She knew enough to prevent what she did. Need I remind you? A people chopped to the base of their roots. Think on what that means. We have lost lives, yes. But we go to prevent one who, in their short time on this earth, has killed hundreds. Without our action, she will live to kill hundreds more, or thousands. Our vows are not meaningless, they sustain all life. They are to protect, even if it means killing.¡±


    Tsamen hung her head.


    ¡°I think she has changed.¡±


    ¡°Then why are your scouts dead before us?¡±


    The tears brimming in Tsamen¡¯s eyes overflowed and began trickling down her cheeks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Because Lord Glove willed it, or because we seek to kill her. What rat, when cornered, will not fight?¡±


    ¡°Or lie. She has not changed. We must continue.¡±


    ¡°Not at this cost. I won¡¯t go on.¡± Tsamen said.


    ¡°We were surprised, there will be no more deaths.¡±


    ¡°There should have only been one. That of a girl I helped raise. A girl we all helped raise. And then we sold her,¡± she didn¡¯t try to disguise the disgust in her voice.


    Tsamen turned and began running back down the path. She may have just been returning to the wagons, but Bren knew she planned to go much further. There was a sob and then the pattering of a second pair of feet. Her scout followed.


    Por and Fleysh returned. ¡°We¡¯ve examined the blockade, come. Worry not, there is always desertion during one of these hunts. It is hard on us all, whether or not we show it,¡± said Por.


    A coldness seemed to have settled around Bren. Por¡¯s words seemed distant, as if spoken on the other side of a very thick wall.


    ¡°I have lost my scouts. I¡¯ve lost my kineser,¡± Bren mumbled.


    Fleysh lay an arm on Bren¡¯s shoulder, sticky, but well intentioned, ¡°Do not forget the many who stayed, in pursuit of the few who left.¡±


    Bren needed to start moving. If he didn¡¯t he feared the cold would take him, and he¡¯d stand there until he died. He started walking, pacing on the spot.


    ¡°Tell me what you have discovered.¡±


    Por gestured to the jumbled structure, ¡°It appears haphazard and hastily done, but this required planning. A lot of planning. Rebeka would have had to start its construction before she broke the vows. She knew we would come.¡±


    ¡°I do not wish to consider such things now. One betrayal by Rebeka is enough. Tell me how this wall may confound a kineser.¡±


    Fleysh¡¯s eyes glimmered, ¡°It is wonderful and full of wonder. Neophyte kineser play this game.¡±


    Por jumped in, quicker to explain than Fleysh, ¡°The goal of the game is to place three stones inscribed with runes of binding in such a way that they do not move towards each other. It is impossible to win with the stones as they are, but there are numerous solutions nonetheless. You can place the stones so far apart the binding runes lose effectiveness. You can anchor a stone or three so they cannot move. Or you can mar the Bind runes and then try to find a combination of pushing and pulling to make the whole thing work.¡±


    ¡°So this whole mess is like that game?¡±


    ¡°With more stone, or in this case, rocks. Some anchored, some placed in opposition to one another. If we make one mistake, or maybe no mistakes at all, it will explode. Fortunately, it¡¯s reinforced with Strength. Even if we ordered all our golem¡¯s to throw stones at it I doubt it would shift.¡±


    Can we burn it?¡± asked Bren.


    Por shook his head, ¡°Repair runes. Our torches and campfires are much the same. If we burn this, it will stay burning forever.¡±


    Bren looked at the dense woods to either side of the blockade, ¡°Can we build a road around it?¡±


    ¡°Possibly. It would take time unless we used Ice, but we are worried. We found Obey runes carved in the trees on both sides of the path. If we send the golems around, we don¡¯t know what would happen. At best we would lose them, at worst¡­ they might come under Rebeka¡¯s control. There¡¯s Obey runes in the barricade as well.¡±


    ¡°So what is to be done?¡±


    Fleysh smiled, ¡°We can throw a stone at the trees.¡±


    ¡°I thought Por said that the strength runes would make even our golems ineffective.¡±


    Por was grinning too, ¡°You must think bigger.¡±

 An Old Path

    It was easy to find when you were looking for it. Adal had only been walking for several hours when he came across the footpath to his left. Unlike the well-worn dirt road he currently tread, the trail into Glovedom was ancient and unused. It had once been paved, but that time was long ago. Grass grew between the cobbles and trees wrapped their roots around the stones.


    Adal fell in love with it at once. It was old.


    When Adal was young, his mother used to tell him stories of extraordinary places. There were places, she had said, where red barked trees transfixed the clouds with their canopies. There were places where packs of leopards roamed across deep green fields like seals swimming through the sea. They hunted the cows¡ªno¡­sea cows¡ªno wait, that was the manatees¡ªthe cows swum through the fields like leopards hunting manatees.


    Adal¡¯s mother had never been very good at telling stories. Even in her more lucid moments, Adal had not been impressed. What impressed him was old things. Old wasn¡¯t good enough, and neither was ancient. Things needed to be old.


    Leopards, though twelve feet tall and breathing poisonous gas, only lived a paltry 200 years. (Adal had disputed the point, claiming that if such large leopards moved in packs they wouldn¡¯t be able to survive off cows. He figured they ate the grass and lived the typical 20 or so year life span of herbivores. His mother had said if he removed the bloodied muzzles and dead cows, he removed all the romance from her story. She¡¯d sent him to the archives shortly after.)


    Neither did the fields hold Adal¡¯s interest. Grass died annually, never reaching its first year. No, Adal had always asked about the interesting part of the story. The soil. What colour was it? What was buried in it? How old was it?


    The stories found in soil were the most interesting part of any life. Adal had known this even as a youngster. He had consumed the tales. And his fair share of dirt.


    A notch in a tree bespoke conflict, but the colours of soil, they spoke lives. The earth whispered its mysteries into Adal¡¯s ear and he would listen for hours, enthralled. Those hours had turned into days as his interest deepened. He¡¯d forgotten to eat and to sleep. The present didn¡¯t interest him. Now wasn¡¯t old enough.


    But these trails were. These trails brought the past into the present. The dirt about the cobbles had been packed by a thousand travelers. The bridges he crossed were several hundred years old. He stepped on stones to cross the stream, and the moss covering them whispered into his ear like he was a girl again. They told him they had been there for eons.


    Adal smiled, no longer furious he had been abandoned and shuttled around by his companions. He was no longer tired from carrying his sack of scrolls. He had even nearly forgotten about his horse, though not entirely.


    This trail was a reminder, or rather a first lesson, that the world was a worthwhile experience to be lived in, rather than just read about.


    Adal approached a chasm, small enough to leap over if one were bold, but deep enough to ensure the bold would not propagate at any great rate. The chasm was spanned by a blackwood bridge. Adal marveled at it. The tree had gone extinct hundreds of years ago for its beauty. The wood was rich and deep, bespeaking a smoothness that begged to have fingers run over it. (Adal liked to claim that the young wood was actually white and darkened with age. He had no idea if this claim was true, but it made him feel better to say so.)


    On the bridge was a second marvel. A statue knelt in the pose of pulling something up from the depths of the chasm. It was made from a deep red pottery. On its forehead was inscribed a single rune; Image, if Adal wasn¡¯t mistaken. The statue had been formed into the likeness of a girl, though it was crudely done. But it was not the colour, nor the penmanship, nor even the shape of the child statue, which opened a venue for itself in Adal¡¯s heart. No, what he cared about was the material. This statue had been formed from an earthenware fine enough to stand the test of time. This statue would become old.


    His pace quickened in proportion to his desire to see the statue. The statue had a rope in its hands. Adal moved to the statue¡¯s shoulder and peered over the edge. He wondered what it held at the other end of the rope. A lantern for the wayfaring stranger who did not wish to experience the base of the chasm firsthand? Or did the statue anchor some quaint traditional bauble; a basket full of fish? a set of chimes? or another statue to symbolize trust and support? Adal did not see a basket or a bauble or even a single fish. He saw a leg.


    He then thought that he remembered another quaint tradition. It involved hanging strangers from bridges. He recoiled from the edge and moved to the opposite railing for some fresh air. He knew he would have to look eventually. It was his duty as a chronicler to observe all parts of history. Besides, he was curious.


    Maybe he would just find a leg he told himself. That wouldn¡¯t be so bad. A severed and bleeding limb spun through his mind. No. A body would be better, blue of tongue and¡­ and¡­ Adal took a few more breaths to steady himself. He could take the long way home. It wasn¡¯t much further. Well not from the start. Truth be told it would involve backtracking along almost the entire length of the journey, but he had time. It was the stuff historians were made of.


    He smiled weakly at nothing in particular, and then looked back the way he had come. Yes, the scenery had been quite lovely and he hadn¡¯t paid enough attention to it. It would be a shame not to go over it once more just to make sure he hadn¡¯t missed anything. Then, as his foot took its first step away from the bridge, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. Terrified, yet unable to look away, Adal waited for whatever horror swung beneath the bridge.


    The movement, it turned out, hadn¡¯t been beneath the bridge, it had been on it. The statue was alive. It pulled in the rope and helped up a small girl in a red dress. Her long hair was in a demented disarray about her, but her face was red rather than purple.


    ¡°Alisa, I saw the glimmer! It wasn¡¯t very bright, but I saw it. The bridge was made in lead originally. I¡¯ve redone the bottom in copper though because the chasm is expanding.¡±


    The maiden child brushed her hair from her eyes and started as she caught sight of Adal. He waved uneasily.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± she demanded.


    Adal considered the dark sockets of the animate statue. He could only dream of strength enough to lift a small girl without strain, ¡°A friend.¡±


    ¡°Do not say that word again in my presence. Are you a peaceseeker?¡± the girl asked, glancing at his pack.


    ¡°No. No, nothing like that. An honest person I am. An honest man.¡±


    ¡°Lanet is a peaceseeker,¡± the maiden child glared.


    ¡°Is that a good thing or not?¡± Adal asked, bewildered, ¡°I¡¯ll not harm you by the way. You can tell your golem that.¡±


    The statue, who Adal assumed to be named Alisa, started laughing. The sound was so genuine it filled him with relief.


    ¡°I can decide that for myself, comrade,¡± the golem replied warmly.


    ¡°Comrade? Yes, yes indeed. You are a kineser then? Didn¡¯t know they still existed. Fascinating. What are you doing?¡±


    The girl held up the hooked metal tool in her hand, causing Adal to flinch, ¡°See this rune? I made that. It repairs the bridge. Lanet taught me them,¡± She added with a flourish of the hook.


    Adal spared a glance away from her weapon to look at the rune. It was an older script, so he recognized it: Repair.


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    ¡°Quite straight forward. Are you from around here?¡±


    She nodded, ¡°I¡¯m from Glovedom. It¡¯s a little ways down the road from here.¡±


    ¡°I live just North of Glovedom actually. Thought I¡¯d stop by the town for a rest on my way home. Would you welcome an escort?¡±


    The maiden child hesitated, then nodded, ¡°I¡¯m I?.¡±


    Adal frowned, ¡°You¡¯re what, sorry?¡±


    Alisa broke into a new round of laughter. The girl complimented it with giggles, ¡°My name is I?.¡±


    She held out her hand. Adal carefully took it. He attempted to shake it, but instead his arm followed the girl off the bridge and down the cobblestone path. In turn, Adal decided it was best to follow his arm.


    They walked in silence for a while. I? felt the silence was amiable. Adal found it uncomfortable.


    ¡°I¡¯m researching King Stalwart. That sounds exciting I bet. Want me to tell you about him?¡± Adal asked.


    Much to Adal¡¯s horror, I? shook her head, consigning him to continue awkwardly walking beside her. After another unbearable stretch of silence, Adal said, ¡°King Stalwart wanted to stop Ganthiel from being taken over by the Kineser. He started a system of genocide to betray and eventually eradicate them.¡±


    I?¡¯s grip tightened.


    ¡°What do you know of this?¡± Adal asked.


    ¡°Emet said Otto wanted to complete Stalwart¡¯s Legacy so Otto will be made immortal.¡±


    Adal blinked. What may be legend in one place was reality in another, and what was common where you lived might not exist outside the borders of your cozy village.


    ¡°Immortal? You cannot become immortal by killing people. Can you? Perhaps I should test. Would you be willing¡ªno, perhaps not? Ah, Emet said they would be immortalized ¨CRemembered forever in the history books. Good method that, genocide,¡± Adal pondered his words, and decided to change the subject, ¡°Who is Emet? A historian?¡±


    I? stared up at him, big eyed, ¡°What¡¯s a historian?¡±


    Adal drew himself to his full height and threw out his chest and then his back. Wincing, and leaning on Alisa for support, he gasped, ¡°Someone¡­ who remembers¡­ the¡­ past¡­¡±


    I? smiled as though in sudden comprehension, ¡°You sound just like Emet! I bet you¡¯ll like her.¡±


    ¡°Indeed¡­ I shall,¡± Adal pulled himself straight, ¡°if your lord permits it. Do you think that¡¯s likely? What¡¯s¡­ well reason would suggest his name is Lord Glove¡ªwhat¡¯s he like?¡±


    Lord Glove. Now why did that name sound familiar?


    I? nodded, ¡°That¡¯s his name. He seems nice. He is always leaving though. And he works for Otto. And he did something to Rebeka.¡±


    ¡°Who is Rebeka?¡±


    ¡°Rebeka was the old kineser. She died.¡±


    ¡°Did Lord Glove kill her?¡±


    A spark of horror lit in her eyes, ¡°Maybe,¡± I?¡¯s lips started trembling, ¡°he killed all the others.¡±


    As a historian, Adal considered it his duty to take the trusty shovel of truth and dig for the moldering truffles of understanding. Only then could they be tossed into the cauldron of intellect and prepared into a delicious feast of knowledge.


    ¡°How do know that?¡±


    ¡°Emet told me. She said he killed them after he took Rebeka from her village.¡±


    Adal lifted an inviting brow, ¡°Lord Glove stole her?¡±


    ¡°No, he bought her. He made Rebeka kill them.¡±


    Adal was intrigued by the girl¡¯s breadth of knowledge, but it was clear she was wearing thin. Conversation would better be had with this Emet fellow. As for Lord Glove¡­ Surely not the legendary general? The one who had burned the very city Adal had gone to for scrolls? It had been destroyed fifty years ago. If he was the same Lord Glove he¡¯d have to be at least Adal¡¯s age. Now there was a man worth talking to. Not like this young generation. Matthew didn¡¯t understand history. He¡¯d just accuse Lord Glove, young or old, of serving Otto.


    ¡°Who¡¯s in the right in a war?¡±


    It had been a bit of an awkward question. Better to ask, ¡°Is King Otto a good man?¡±


    Of course not, he¡¯s a king. Just, yes. Caring, maybe. But never good. A ruler couldn¡¯t afford to be good. And if you must be cruel, why not complete Stalwart¡¯s Legacy? Why not be remembered for your cruelty?


    It had worked for The Black Dread. Their last banner had been burned a thousand years ago, and still it was forbidden to display the shattered hour glass anywhere but history books. Torture, pillage, and salting of the earth. Entire peoples reduced to dust for coin. Their name was a curse and their legacy one of unimaginable cruelty. And everyone knew their name.


    The trio reached a stone bridge. Across the bridge was a grove of empress trees, beyond it, a small village.


    The empress trees gave Adal an idea, ¡°Could I speak to the grove keeper before we enter Glovedom?¡±


    I? shrugged.


    ¡°Do you know where to find him?¡± Adal said.


    ¡°No.¡±


    If Adal had been I?¡¯s age he would have explored the entirety of Glovedom by now and then some. Where did I? spend her days if she didn¡¯t even know her own empress grove?


    A soft pink hue caught his eye: robes fluttering in the trees. Adal trotted towards them. The grove keeper was pruning a branch with shears the length of Adal¡¯s leg and torso combined.


    ¡°Avid is ready to give strength for the twelfth time,¡± the keeper said without turning from his work, ¡°and strong he is. I may need to get longer shears. Though the limb is thin, it will be enough to support many burdens.¡±


    ¡°Has someone died, Grove Keeper?¡±


    The man gave up on the shears and turned to Adal, extending his hand.


    ¡°My name is Rezel. There has been many deaths, for this is a time of war.¡±


    ¡°What? Who?¡± I? asked, worried.


    Rezel smiled gently at her, ¡°Not in this village child, fear not. I speak in much broader terms. No, for this grove there will be no burdens accepted. I collect the branch now for what will come. The stake of support may be chosen before death. It is all others which come after.¡±


    Adal had only been half listening, his attention had been diverted by one of the empress trees growing at the edge of the river. It was massively thick, at least five arm spans in width. It supported the clouds, at least three times the height of a watchtower. All around its incredible girth were knots and gnarls; scars from countless thousands of prunings.


    ¡°It looks old,¡± he whispered rapturously.


    ¡°That is Altar. Oldest of the trees in my grove. Perhaps the oldest in any grove. It was here long before I was, and shall no doubt be here long after I am gone. What is it you seek?¡±


    Adal wanted to talk about the tree, but I?¡¯s grip on his hand reminded him of his original inquiry. Another day.


    ¡°I was hoping you could tell me about Rebeka.¡±


    Rezel gestured for them to follow, and began to thread his way through the trees.


    ¡°Rebeka is no more. Her rights of funeral were done in the old way, as per Lord Glove¡¯s wishes.¡±


    Adal nodded, though inwardly he wondered. He was well acquainted with the old ways, of course, but had Lord Glove chosen them to honour her, or to erase her memory?


    ¡°What is her name now?¡±


    ¡°Verse. A name which speaks of qualities she once hid,¡± he shook his head sadly, but then smiled, ¡°Now they are revealed to us all. Verse stands as proud as any other tree in my grove. Whatever our burdens in life, they are far less than we may think. I have yet to see a tree fall.¡±


    ¡°Are you taking us too her?¡±


    ¡°Yes, though be warned. It has been less than a month since Averse¡¯s passing. Verse is not a pleasant sight to behold. Even some of the older trees have bones sticking out of them.¡±


    He turned down a lane.


    ¡°And here we are.¡±


    Adal had never visited an empress grove. Any funeral he¡¯d attended he¡¯d had to leave before the vigil. Even for his own mother¡¯s funeral his work at the archive had called him back and away. He didn¡¯t begrudge his work, but he¡¯d always wanted to see the inside of a grove all the same. He liked the idea of being surrounded by history. He had wanted to hear the white watchers and see the pink petals fall to the ground. One glance at the decaying body leaning out of the tree was enough for him. His sightseeing was best done elsewhere. Adal turned away. I? did the same, as did Alisa.


    Rezel alone addressed the tree, ¡°Verse, we would speak of your past, but will not do so outside of your presence.¡±


    Adal thought he would be perfectly happy to talk outside of its presence. As it was he¡¯d given up on lunch, and probably supper. Even if it did have figs in it.


    Unfortunately, he knew the customs of the grove. Adal turned and bowed to the tree.


    ¡°Verse, I am honoured by your presence. My name is Adal. I am a historian seeking truth.¡±


    ¡°I have heard that historians have a fascination with grove keepers, though I personally have never been graced with one¡¯s presence,¡± Rezel gestured to the ground in front of the tree and Adal uneasily sat, ¡°Let us begin.¡±


    ¡°Glove brought Averse to this village when she was a young woman. Glove was not yet a lord back then¡ªhe was only a few years older than Averse. She was to be his kineser. Upon seeing the change Averse brought in a few short days, King Tate, the ruler of Ganter at the time, awarded Lord Glove with the titles and dom he holds to this day.


    ¡°Soon after, the dom was attacked by a neighbouring monarch.¡±


    Adal ran his hands through the brilliant green grass at his feet, ¡°I was led here by the ruins of the Burned City.¡±


    Rezel sighed, ¡°After the war, the threat was destroyed, but Averse was near about destroyed as well. Unfortunately, she was not done with hardship. It was just beginning. Her people turned on her. In order to survive, and to ensure Glovedom survived, Averse had to kill those who raised her.¡±

 The Barricade Broken

    The Maharal released their wagon and dived for cover, whooping as they ran. A moment later the wagon struck the barricade. There was a loud crash. A screech tore through the air. Marred strength runes carved down the length of the wagon gave way. Boulders began to fall.


    The first stone thundered home. The blockade did not so much as shiver. A second crashed down. Bren held his breath. Nothing. How strong was the¡ªCrash!


    The world exploded. The ground shook. Logs crashed through the woods, knocking over trees and sending up great sprays of dirt. Sticks the length of spear flew in every direction, hammering the roofs of wagons and shattering against the bodies of golems.


    When the barrage finally ended a great crater was left in the road and surrounding woods. Bren left the oak he had been crouched behind to survey the damage. It would take the golems ten minutes at most to clear a path. The torn and pitted road was a large concern, but Ice could get the wagons over as long as they were careful. All in all, the setback would only cost them a few hours.


    A groan distracted Bren from his thoughts. Someone was in pain. The person groaned again, this time fainter. Bren ran after the noise. It sounded like they were dying. By the time he got there it was too late. Por was lying against an upturned wagon. A large shard of wood jutted from his chest.


    ¡°Por!¡±


    Bren ran to his side, ¡°No! No. My friend, my friend.¡±


    Bren clutched uselessly at Por¡¯s hair, brushing it from his eyes. Por took a small quick breath.


    ¡°Fleysh! Fleysh I need you!¡±


    Kolek and Fleysh arrived together.


    ¡°No injuries to report,¡± said Kolek as they wound their way past a log the size of a ship¡¯s mast, ¡°Even my golems are fine.¡±


    He gasped as Por came into view, ¡°What happened? What went wrong? Does he still live?¡±


    Fleysh was already crouched beside Por. ¡°With steady hand he will. Tsamen could have mended his wound in a trice. I¡¯ll try, but I have not her careful hand.¡±


    Fleysh ran his hands along the tools in his belt. He hesitated, then chose the dull weight of lead. Fleysh¡¯s knees trembled, but the hand he placed on Por¡¯s chest was steady. He was a master.


    ¡°Loop, loop. Like a rabbit¡¯s hole not a fox¡¯s. A fish hook. Closed at the end. One, two, one two three. Now run on home, fast as you can. Loop, loop¡­¡±


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    Fleysh muttered under his breath as he carved. The words were for children. They were often discarded as confidence and skill grew, but now was the time for gentle familiarity. With a final stroke, Fleysh set back on his heels and let out a sigh.


    ¡°How long does it take?¡± Bren asked. The wound was not closing


    Fleysh frowned, ¡°It should be instant.¡±


    He ran his fingers along the rune. Repair itself had become a scar, but blood still pooled about the spear in Por¡¯s chest.


    ¡°Perhaps the splinter is preventing it from healing?¡± Bren said.


    Kolek¡¯s eyes widened. Before he could warn them, Fleysh tugged the spear from Por¡¯s chest. A rush of blood greeted him, and the flow did not abate.


    ¡°The rune! It won¡¯t let him heal!¡± Kolek cried.


    ¡°Destroy it!¡± Bren tore off his loincloth and stuffed it against Por¡¯s wound.


    Fleysh grabbed an inscription tool at random and slashed it across the rune on Por¡¯s chest. The flow of blood slowed, but did not cease. Fleysh grabbed an iron tool from his belt. It was a safer choice, but far less likely to succeed. Fleysh hastily began another repair rune. As he reached the last line he slowed, and, drawing a deep breath, drew it straight and true. Kolek let out a sigh of relief, but again the wound did not heal. Through a slick of blood or twitch of Fleysh¡¯s hand, the outer circle had been drawn imperfectly.


    Before the men¡¯s eyes Por¡¯s chest began to dissolve. The skin peeled away, muscle unwound from bone, and then his exposed ribcage began to crumble.


    ¡°Mar it!¡± Bren cried.


    Fleysh struck it with his iron tool once, twice, and still Por¡¯s chest continued to melt. Kolek knocked his hand aside and grabbed the lead tool from the ground where it had been discarded. He frantically scored another mark across the already lacerated rune, ending it. Por groaned in pain, shuddered, and was still.


    Fleysh flung himself backwards in horror. He wrapped his arms tightly about his sides and began to sob, rocking back and forth where he lay. Kolek dropped the tool and stared, unseeing, down at Por¡¯s face. All was silent except for Zaytmos, still strapped to Por¡¯s wrist, still ticking.


    Bren turned away, refusing to look at Por¡¯s body. Bren staggered back to where the Maharal waited.


    ¡°Let us mourn,¡± he said hoarsely. Before anyone could comment on his state or his nakedness he turned and stumbled away.


    In the seventh of a day required for mourning, Bren had managed to find himself a fur skirt to replace his loincloth. The furs dispelled the cold of the setting sun, but not the cold which had been growing since Tsamen left. Bren shook his head, as though chasing off flies. It was best not to think of such things. Best not to think at all.


    Bren walked to the spot where Fleysh had remained, unmoving, since Por¡¯s death. He attempted to pull Fleysh to his feet, but failed. Neither man tried hard enough to succeed.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving,¡± said Bren.


    Fleysh nodded rhythmically to the golem¡¯s ticking. ¡°I am too.¡±


    A branch lay by him, smote from a tree as it fell. Fleysh grabbed it and forced himself to his feet. He turned, not to join the Maharal, but back down the road they had come.


    ¡°Fleysh. You must come with us.¡±


    ¡°I am useless. My heart is creased beneath the cruelties of endless defeat. My hands only shape pain and abuse. Victory was always only bittersweet. We have been mislaid.¡±


    ¡°We need you to restore your runes.¡±


    Fleysh started walking, leaning on the staff for support. ¡°You¡¯ll arrive before my runes fail. They do not feel as I do. They do not despair.¡±


    ¡°Fleysh, you are our crafter, we need tools.¡±


    Fleysh raised a trembling hand into the air, then dropped it despondently.


    ¡°You are our dreamer!¡± Bren yelled.


    Fleysh turned back one last time, ¡°I will dream no longer, for my dreams have become nightmares.¡±

 Talah Meets the Chosen

    Ricktor had said that the pure white banners of The Chosen were a deliberate tactical choice. A cornered army fights the hardest. If they could not strip their flags of their colours, they could not surrender. Talah thought their banners looked like sails. Sails which pulled the army from place to place, drifters on the seas of war.


    The Chosen halted a respectable distance from her castle, close enough to announce their presence without being so close as to declare siege. A warrior in shining chain and white tabard separated from the army, approaching on foot. He was accompanied by an unarmoured youth on horseback. Talah recognized the warrior, though not the shining mail.


    ¡°Broken Sword,¡± she said, as he came within range of hearing, ¡°you have returned.¡±


    His twisted smile did not reach his eyes. They were as troubled and as grey as the sea.


    ¡°I keep my promises. Do you keep yours?¡±


    ¡°I have money and enough supplies for all your troops¡±


    The corners of Broken Sword¡¯s eyes crinkled into a true smile. He scratched his chin, which was bright pink. He¡¯d shaved recently, ¡°We are yours to command. What would you have us do, my Queen?¡±


    ¡°My first concern is the man beside you. Who is he?¡±


    The rider swung down from his horse and bowed low before Talah. ¡°I am Matthew; student of history and seeker of freedom.¡±


    Though he waited like a servant, Matthew spoke like a lord. His voice was calm, his words were measured, and he had an air of¡­ of majesty about him. It was in his voice, but it was also in the way he stood, and the way his gaze slid from face to face. The gathering amused him. What did he know that she didn¡¯t? Was he a prince in disguise? Or perhaps even a king? She dismounted her own horse and touched Matthew¡¯s shoulder with her uninjured hand, bidding he rise, ¡°What freedom do you seek Matthew?¡±


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    ¡°The freedom of all doms and all people. Freedom from Ganter. I wish to join your cause.¡±


    ¡°You wish to pledge allegiance?¡±


    So he was a lord then, for neither prince nor king would bend the knee. But Matthew surprised her again. He clapped her on the shoulder, hard, like a soldier, and smiled down at her. He was very tall. Matthew seemed to tower over the heads of lesser men. Even Broken Sword, who was taller, was diminished by his presence. Talah, tall in her own right, felt like a child before him, like she stood in front of one of the kings of old.


    ¡°I cannot do so. I will, however, be your friend as long as you stand against Ganter. Let me aid you. Give me supplies and an escort and I will find you other friends. You will need many.¡±


    Now that was strange. Did he mean to suggest that he went without retainers, even in the company of The Chosen? ¡°What of your own escort? Surely you do no travel alone?¡±


    ¡°I must leave my escort in Broken Sword¡¯s care to advise him.¡±


    Broken Sword snorted.


    Talah addressed Broken Sword, ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. Nothing.¡± Broken Sword rubbed his pink chin and turned to study the horizon.


    Matthew smiled, ¡°Broken Sword doesn¡¯t think he needs anyone¡¯s advice, but I would offer every resource at my disposal to this war.¡±


    Talah sympathized with Broken Sword, but advisors were a burden which needed to be borne. Matthew had the right of it. She decided at that moment to trust the strange young man. He would have what he asked for. More, for she would give him Camil. Anything less would be risking an insult.


    ¡°If you are truly dedicated to my war, to our war, then I shall give you your escort. My Queen consort and several of her elite soldiers will accompany you.¡±


    Broken Sword and Matthew sat in the command tent of The Chosen, sharing a small platter of deer. Broken Sword shook his head slowly, ¡°In a century of life, I¡¯ve never seen anything like it. How did you do that?¡±


    ¡°No idea. I¡¯m having troubles believing it myself. I wonder what she thinks of me? I think it¡¯s Stillow¡¯s fault. He taught me that leadership is like standing on a mountain high above the mists. Nothing exists but what you have your eye on, and all is below, yours for the taking. Well, he didn¡¯t say that exactly, and maybe I haven¡¯t said it right myself, but it¡¯s something like that. I simply told the truth and asked for what I wanted while acting as though I was entitled to it.¡±


    Broken Sword parted his thin lips into a brief grin, ¡°There¡¯s more to Stillow than meets the eye. I¡¯ve often wondered if wisdom is earned near the end of life, rather than by the years spent in it. Between the two of us, I am the older, but I may not be the elder.¡±

 A Story about Golems

    Every space in the library not taken by a lantern, door, or window contained a shelf filled with books. Adal perused them at random. The first dozen he came across were on the raising of sheep, the next three were a collection of papers on farming, and the one after that was dedicated to the finer points of fishing. The next book was small, quite old, and bound in red leather. He found the title on the first page, Tales Guaranteed to Lure Your Children into the Clutches of Sleep: Youth Addition.


    Adal turned the page and found himself presented with an index.


    ¡°¡®Titans and Terrors¡¯, ¡®The Witch¡¯s Curse¡¯, ¡®The Thumb Collector¡¯,¡± he muttered, scanning the index, ¡°¡®The Child Snatcher¡¯, ¡®Hanz Meets Holda¡¯, ¡®A Story about Golems: Machinations of Terror.¡¯¡±


    Intrigued, Adal found the page and began to read.


    Treacle was on his knees buffing the border of Glovedom with a stained cloth. Behind him the border glinted in the sun, polished to a glare. Ahead of him it smoldered dully from years of lying in the dust and ill ventured schemes involving washing and drying.


    He was working with a particularly virulent stain when he heard Lord Glove¡¯s boots striking the dust road.


    ¡°Welcome back, My Lord!¡±


    ¡°Thank you Treacle! It is good to be back. May I ask what you are doing?¡±


    Treacle raised the rag in his hand and pointed to the pot of grease beside him.


    ¡°I¡¯m polishing the border.¡±


    Lord Glove chuckled, ¡°Whatever for?¡±


    Treacle pushed himself to his feet and drew himself up proudly, ¡°It¡¯s for their sake, you see.¡±


    ¡°Whose?¡±


    ¡°The intruders. This way they know when they¡¯re intruding. Can¡¯t have them walking past and getting arrested just because they didn¡¯t see the border.¡±


    ¡°Is that a common problem?¡±


    Treacle wiped some sweat from his brow with the cloth.


    ¡°Two days ago an old man entered the town. Claimed he had access to your libraries on account of him being a historian. I said you didn¡¯t want people in there, but he was very persistent. My arms grew tired of his weight before he grew tired of the cobbles. He¡¯s still there I expect.¡±


    Lord Glove grimaced, ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it. And Treacle?¡±


    ¡°Yes my lord?¡±


    Lord Glove handed him a handkerchief, ¡°Your face is as likely to blind trespassers as you are to arrest them. You should see to cleaning it.¡±


    Treacle scratched his brow and brought back a glistening finger. A light sparked in his eyes. He threw his head back in laughter, ¡°Sooner rub it in than wipe it off. This old leather needs all the help it can get.¡±


    Lord Glove was still laughing when he came across I?. She was sitting at the base of the village¡¯s central watchtower, her dress billowed about her. Her face was scrunched up, as if in pain, and her eyes were closed.


    The historian no longer felt so important. Lord Glove approached her quietly, but not so quietly that she couldn¡¯t hear him. He stood beside her, waiting to be noticed. I? opened her eyes. Lord Glove offered her a reassuring smile. Strangely, her face fell when she saw him. Had she done something? He noticed her glance at the keep before quickly looking down at her bare feet.


    ¡°I already know about the historian,¡± said Lord Glove, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll deal with him.¡±


    I? continued to stare at her feet. Lord Glove crouched beside her and raised her chin to look her in the eyes, ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    Tears began pouring down I?¡¯s face. Lord Glove reached out and embraced her. I? clung to him, holding on as hard as she could. She gasped several times, catching her breath, ¡°Rebeka killed her family.¡±


    Lord Glove slowly pressed together his eyelids. I? had to learn some day, ¡°She did. They wanted her dead, and so she defended herself. There was nothing else she could have done.¡±


    I? was now crying with her whole body. Sobs wracked her and her eyes and nose ran freely.


    ¡°That was long ago. We cannot change the past. We can only learn the lessons those hardships have given us.¡±


    I? rubbed her eyes and wiped her running nose. Lord Glove released her. He stood and offered her his other handkerchief. I? blew her nose and returned it. Lord Glove offered her his hand. She took it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go meet the historian,¡± he said.


    I? bit her lip, as if to say more, but was silent.


    Adal sat on the floor with one hand pressed to his throbbing forehead. He was shocked, in disbelief. ¡°A Story about Golems¡± lay before him, held loosely in one hand. How had the Reliquary of Medical Aliments fallen from the shelf, and why did it have to land on his head? In accordance with the laws writ at the beginning of the universe, the Reliquary had fallen open to the page on headaches and their causes.


    ¡°A Story about Golems¡± had not been nearly as stunning. Probably. He didn¡¯t remember what it had been about. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog, but only succeeded in making it throb. With a wince, Adal lifted the Tales for our Youth to his wobbling eyes and read the wobbling text again.


    Once upon a time, girls didn¡¯t know what was good for them. Of all the girls, only seven of them were good, and only they re?pected their mothers and fathers. One day, the well ran dry and all the girls were thir?ty. They withered and became ?hapeless and weak. They called out for help and a man heard their little piteous cries echoing into the night. The man was hunched and horrible, with one eye a ?ickly green and the other a weak and watery blue.


    He ?tared at them a long moment with his ugly eye, then a long moment more with his watery one. Then he let out a low chuckle and clutched his ?taff to him, ready to walk away. One of the good girls, a brave little knave girl, ?tepped forward. He ?aid plea?e could he and the other girls have ?ome water, for they were very thir?ty. The man nodded to the little knave girl, and then ge?tured behind him where a great ?tatue stood.


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    The man told the girls that the ?tatue would dig water for them and they could drink to their heart¡¯s content. The good little girls, all ?even, knew at once what the man was. They warned the others to not be lured over to the Kine?er, but they did not li?ten. The golem led the bad girls to a hole it had dug, and the hole was filled to the brim with clear water.


    The naughty girls let out whoops of laughter and jumped into the hole. Soon all the girls were drinking and bathing merrily. So merry were they, the naughty little girls did not ?ee the golem approach the hole and drown them, one by one.


    The good girls were horrified, and they all picked up ?tones. Rai?ing the ?tones high, the girls caved in the head of the bent ugly man. When the dreadful Kine?er died there was a great ru?h of blood and the blood turned into water and all the good little girls were ?aved.


    Thus all Kine?er found ?hould be killed and all parents ?hould be obeyed.


    ¡°Excuse me, but what are you doing in my library?¡±


    Adal leapt to his feet, wincing as blood rushed to his head, ¡°Lord Glove; ruler, slaver, general, slayer of a people, and Conor to King Otto. It is an honour to make your acquaintance. I¡¯ll not let you keep the advantage of not knowing who I am. I am Adal the historian: writer of books and master of the arcane. I have much to ask you, and you have much to account for.¡±


    ¡°I shall do my best to answer. One second.¡±


    The request was so polite Adal found himself stopping mid rant. It wouldn¡¯t do to let Lord Glove think he could order Adal around. He crossed his arms and tried to look cantankerous. Or cankerous. Whichever one didn¡¯t involve sores. Lord Glove leaned out the door, ¡°Gar! Ah, there you are. Come here.¡±


    A large man entered the room, followed by Alisa. In one hand he clutched a spear, in the other, a carving.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Lord Glove asked. He wasn¡¯t even paying attention to Adal¡¯s arms. Adal decided to tap his foot for good measure.


    ¡°I just came back from the new shack. Alisa here was helping me varnish it,¡± he gestured with the carving, ¡°and once we were done there was a bit of varnish left over. Well I thought, thing is, I? and I were carving horses together and I lost hers. I thought I¡¯d put a coat on this one and give it to her. As a replacement, you know?¡±


    Gar held it up for inspection. It was made from linden. The varnish had thrown Gar¡¯s lines into relief rather than darkening the creamy-brown wood. The horse was carved standing, all legs on the ground with its head to one side, looking back. The detail was fine; every hair could be counted and you could even see the lines in its irises.


    ¡°Beautiful,¡± said Lord Glove, ¡°I had no idea you were such an artist.¡±


    Adal coughed.


    ¡°I like to think myself an amateur carver. It¡¯s a fine thing to do after a day¡¯s work. Passes the time better than anything.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just a carving though,¡± Gar hastened to add. He ran his thumb along the horse¡¯s belly. A thin piece of wood slid out of a cleverly hidden groove. The horse was hollow, with enough space inside to fit something the size of a finger joint.


    ¡°I thought I? could make a golem out of it. The girl, not me,¡± Gar said gesturing to her.


    Adal coughed again, more loudly. What did he care of girls and golems? Golems? Actually, now that he thought about it, he¡¯d quite like to see a golem getting made. Perhaps after he was done speaking with Lord Glove he¡¯d go take a look.


    ¡°That works perfectly,¡± Lord Glove smiled at him, ¡°Can you take I? and her new horse somewhere to play? Meet me back at the dinner table in a few minutes and we¡¯ll all have it together, our guest included.¡±


    Adal wouldn¡¯t say no to dinner. Unless it was poisoned. Lord Glove had been an assassin hadn¡¯t he? Or maybe that was someone else. He wouldn¡¯t be a very good assassin if everyone knew about it.


    Gar handed Alisa his spear and took I?¡¯s hand. Alisa closed the door behind them, leaving Adal and Lord Glove on their own.


    ¡°I am ready,¡± said Lord Glove.


    ¡°Young people these days! They¡¯re up to something I tell you. Going on and carving. Doing the arts. It¡¯s not natural is what it is. Like the Kineser. Building golems left right and center. Not in my back yard! It¡¯s no wonder Stalwart sought to eradicate them. Best to get rid of what you don¡¯t understand. Keeps things simple. Or maybe it was his rule he was worried about. My studies suggest he was afraid of them. The Kineser¡¯s mind, not the young folk, though I¡¯d wager there was nary a difference. King Stalwart, afraid of anything, can you imagine? Genocide they called it. Stalwart¡¯s Legacy.


    ¡°Of course, you have your own legacy. Finishing the job Stalwart started. You killed every last kineser but Rebeka herself¡ªwhoever that was--did you know that? And let us not forget Tatenhiem. Most try to forget the past, but I remember. I was there. The Burned City. Well, I was there a few days ago. I was a young man when you razed it, but I didn¡¯t serve in the army. I lived in a neighbouring dom you see, but it was all anyone would talk about. Lord Glove burned this, Lord Glove burned that. Nobody praised me when I set those ants on fire!¡±


    ¡°I did everything you said and more,¡± said Lord Glove, ¡°What of it?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t deny it!¡± Adal shouted, ¡°I¡ªoh. Terribly sorry.¡±


    He had expected Lord Glove to defend himself. To shout at him. Adal was out of sorts when people were shouting. He decided to start, just to get his feet under him.


    ¡°Immortality! Sure sounds tempting! Even ageless don¡¯t last forever do they? And King Otto isn¡¯t ageless at all. He¡¯s a young¡ªold¡ªmiddle aged? man by now¡­ Matthew, how old is Otto?¡±


    Adal cast about for the boy, ¡°Never around when I need him. Oh, that¡¯s right, he abandoned me. I must have been trying to forget. Where was I?¡±


    ¡°King Otto. He¡¯s fairly old by now, though younger than either of us.¡±


    ¡°Right, right, thank you.


    ¡°Immortality!¡± Adal shouted again, brandishing the small red book like a rolling pin, ¡°You want to kill all the kineser, don¡¯t deny it. This story has it all laid out. Kill the kineser, and King Otto can claim he completed the legacy of the greatest ruler in history.¡±


    Lord Glove plucked the book from Adal¡¯s fingers, ¡°The Dourr Sisters wrote this collection. These are stories for girls. Do you truly believe they guide my king¡¯s hand?¡±


    ¡°Ancient stories contain far more truth than you would suspect. Remember ¡°The Glass Coffin¡±? There¡¯s a story all nobility wish was buried. Unlike corpses, those are for kissing! Never looked at a prince the same way twice. Lips as red as roses? Bury it, bury it! It¡¯s just a story. Honest. Nobles have always been insecure about their rule¡­¡±


    Adal trailed off. A thought had struck him. Only a handful of villagers knew about I?. If Otto wanted to claim Stalwart¡¯s Legacy he would have done so by now and no one would be the wiser. Adal was wrong. I? had been wrong. Otto wasn¡¯t a narcissist, he was afraid. Tatedom had been eradicated and it had only taken a single kineser to do so. Stalwart¡¯s purge had failed, but Otto¡¯s wouldn¡¯t. He would learn from Stalwart¡¯s mistakes. I? would be killed the moment her usefulness ended. People who knew the ancient runes would be next. Lanet, who I? had mentioned, was probably already dead.


    A second thought struck Adal. He knew the ancient runes. His heart began to pound and he felt sweat beginning to form on his forehead.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± asked Lord Glove.


    ¡°What? Yes! Yes. Yes yes yes. It¡¯s the heat. I¡­ I get hot when I¡¯m hungry. Is it supper time yet? As the great philosopher Stillow once said, ¡®I¡¯m so hungry I could eat everything in a hippodrome but the bleachers.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Yes. Let us eat. But first let me assure you that if Otto wishes to be remembered for anything, it will be for uniting the doms. A King Stalwart for our times, true, but not one who is murderous.


    ¡°Anyway, do I not employ a kineser?¡± Lord Glove laughed, ¡°Should I execute the healer who stitches my wounds?¡±


    Adal thought it wouldn¡¯t be a bad policy, given what he had suffered at one¡¯s hands. Stillow had gotten the entire bottle of wine, and then the healer had washed it. She had not even left its smell to sustain him. He swallowed loudly, partly due to fear, and partly due to thirst, ¡°Yes. I mean no. I mean, quite right. My earlier slander may have been a little hasty. I don¡¯t know what came over me. Hunger most likely. Shall we eat?¡±


    ¡°There was no slander, for nothing you said was untrue. You know the war as well as I do. I only wish you had not spoken in front of I?. She already worries too much for one her age,¡± Lord Glove sighed, ¡°Come, let us go and speak of nicer things.¡±


    ¡°I look forward to it my lord,¡± said Adal, ¡°May I speak with your historian after dinner?¡±


    ¡°We have no historian,¡± said Lord Glove, ¡°Whom do you speak of?¡±


    ¡°No historian? Can¡¯t trust her to get anything right¡ªnot that I mean anything by that. I? mentioned someone by the name of Emet.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ I see. I am afraid Emet is indisposed, and generally refuses to talk to strangers.¡±


    I? hadn¡¯t mentioned anything of the sort. Lord Glove was hiding something. Adal would feign ignorance for now, but he needed to slip away as soon as possible.


    ¡°But enough of the past. To supper!¡± said Lord Glove, ¡°And afterwards you shall sleep in the guest bedroom. I insist.¡±


    Adal clasped his hands behind his back to hide their trembling and bowed, ¡°It¡¯s an honour Lord Glove.¡±

 Troubled Sleep

    Adal¡¯s sleep was troubled. He dreamed he was a rabbit hiding from a hawk, but no matter where he hid, the hawk could see him. He dreamed he was a deer hiding from a hunter to much the same effect. He dreamed he was a rabbit hunting a deer and the deer was drinking all his wine. He bolted upright in the dark. He knew he shouldn¡¯t have tried the parsnips. Adal hadn¡¯t even known they were edible. He¡¯d been right too. They¡¯d tasted like splinters.


    Adal straightened his blanket and tried to get comfortable. His dreams had been right about one thing, even if they were laying it on a bit thick: he needed to escape. Lord Glove had been friendly enough, but Adal was sure Lord Glove had seen through his fabrication. He flipped over his pillow and rested his head. Adal would wake at dawn, warn I?, and leave immediately. He wouldn¡¯t even stay for breakfast.


    With that decided, Adal closed his eyes. He would need to be rested for the journey ahead. The pillows were very comfortable. Goose down, Adal thought, before he lost consciousness, I¡¯ll need to tell Matthew to get some goose down.


    The second set of dreams was worse than the first. A cruel faced giant in an iron crown lounged atop an onyx mountain. He had a bowl in his hand, brimming to the top with people. One by one he popped the screaming unfortunates into his mouth. When the bowl was empty the giant let out a roar and tossed it to the ground where it became a hill. A castle stood atop the hill, several days journey from the giant. The banner, red, white, and blue, caught the giant¡¯s eye. He reached out and tore the castle from the ground. The giant was bigger now, the castle a mere morsel to be consumed. Unsatisfied, the giant reached further afield to other castles, manors, and farms. One by one he threw them into his mouth, each less fulfilling than the last. Flames of fire and shadow rose around the giant, burning what he did not consume.


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    ¡°Subtle,¡± Adal cracked one eye open. Next time he¡¯d just club himself over the head with the parsnips and save them the effort.


    A weak ray of light had fallen across his face. Dawn. Adal leapt from the bed, blankets clinging to him like a philosopher. He struggled free of their grasp and emerged fully clothed in red travelling leathers. He had been ready to make a getaway, just in case. Thankfully, his sack of scrolls had been brought in to his room. He tugged open the bag to make sure it was all in order and was relieved to find it completely untampered. The cheese hadn¡¯t even moved an inch from between the covers of a particularly interesting book he had been reading.


    He needed to find I? and get her out of here. He would have to find a place for her. She could become his apprentice. Not an apprentice like Matthew, but a person he cared about and taught the important things in life. How to write, copy text, read ancient languages, get ink out of your skin. And if she was doing all that, Matthew could focus more on the cooking and cleaning and tending to the horse. Yes, he could find space for another pair of hands.


    Adal crept to the door and peeked around the frame. The coast was clear. He tiptoed halfway down the hall, then flattened himself against a wall, breathing hard. Tiptoeing was a lot of work. Adal felt for sure his ankles had been about to snap. He wouldn¡¯t try that again.


    He made the dash to the outer door as stealthily as a man dressed in red and carrying a bulging sack could be. He tried the handle, and it opened. Adal slipped through. Now all he had to do was find I?.


    During dinner he had learned she spent her days in some sort of workshop in the basement of a small shack. I? had said the workshop was off a ways from the town proper, so Adal squinted at the horizon. He found it in short order, freshly varnished wood glinting in the dawn sun. He would start there. If she was not at work already, he would wait for her. Then the two would flee.


    Adal placed his bag on his shoulder and set off for the shack in the distance.

 Fet

    Travel.


    Grow.


    Stay.


    DieDecay.


    I? set down her quill. She held the scroll for Emet¡¯s inspection.


    ¡°A sad word¡­ of death¡­ To slowly lose¡­ your power¡­ and memories.¡± Emet sighed, ¡°Still¡­ it is a¡­ lesser vulnerability¡­. and¡­ prevents the word¡­. Grow¡­ overcoming¡­ Place the scroll.¡±


    Runes of speed and strength now covered the horse¡¯s legs and back. An incomplete binding rune circled the hidden cache in its belly. Most importantly, I? had used silver to carve an image rune on its head. I? had felt guilty about defacing Gar¡¯s horse, so she had also added a lead image rune on each hoof to hide the other runes.


    She rolled the scroll and placed it into the horse. A short stroke with her steel inscription tool completed the binding rune.


    ¡°I name you Fet. A name of Freedom.¡±


    A mournful moan whistled past I?¡¯s ears, ¡°Yes¡­ Freedom¡­ I remember¡­.¡±


    I? placed Fet on a table. It rolled its shoulders and tossed its head. It danced in a quick circle, a sharp ¡®tap tap tap¡¯ as wood met wood. Fet began at a canter, accelerated to a gallop, and then leapt off the table. He flew through the air and landed in the middle of the next table. From table to stack of papers and back again the horse jumped. He dove off the table, ran under another and leapt ten times his height to an iron cabinet wrapped in string.


    ¡°Say¡­ words¡­ Rebeka would speak¡­¡±


    ¡°Fet,¡± I? called to him, ¡°you are free, but you are carved in copper and bronze. Seek what I must know, and show it to me.¡±


    Fet cantered down through the cat¡¯s cradle. He stepped quickly, as though careless, yet did not make a single misstep, nor snare himself in the web. His feet briefly graced the earth like a bee landing on a flower, then he leapt back into the air, clear over I?¡¯s head. He landed on a row of stuffed geese. They watched in starry eyed fascination as he stepped from beak to beak without ruffling a feather.


    Fet was a blur of motion, one moment dashing behind a stack of model ships, the next racing a slime mold across the row of hammers nailed to the wall. He never took the most efficient route, and often doubled back, but still made it to the door in half the time I? could have. At the door Fet paused to rear and toss his mane which flowed like a flag.


    He was gone before I? realized she should have carved him a rune of voice. She wanted to hear the horse whinny.


    Clippity-clop clippity-clop, Fet¡¯s footsteps faded away. I? sat, exhausted. The horse had been so exuberant, I? felt sluggish by comparison. All the energy in the room had left with him.


    Tap, tap, tap; footsteps on the stairs. I? wondered who would possibly be up this early in the morning.


    ¡°I?! I met your horse on the way down. Beautiful creature, well made. I must talk to you.¡±


    Lord Glove stepped through the door and made his way down one of the lanes Tool maintained.


    ¡°I need you to make me golems. Lots of them. You can craft simple golems to make the bodies of the more complicated ones. Any kind of golem will do, though the bigger the better.¡±


    I? nodded uneasily. She was not sure if she understood what Lord Glove was saying, but was too afraid to ask for clarification.


    ¡°What should I make them do?¡±


    Lord Glove picked up a jar, examining it. It was full of dust. He placed it down, coughing and waving his hands, ¡°I need them to obey me, to be strong, and to be able to fight. The kingdom will soon be under attack. I will avoid battle if I can, but we need to keep the people safe. Can you help me?¡±


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    Lord Glove¡¯s eyes reminded I? of the forest. Not a young forest like the one at the edge of Glovedome, but the old forest surrounding the cabin I? had been born in. It had been dark. Aged. Depthless. In the dim light of the workshop Lord Glove¡¯s eyes were as black as a mirror.


    I? saw herself reflect there. Her brown skin had faded to beige. Her eyes were ringed with shadow. They quavered and shone as though on the edge of tears. There was fear in them.


    I? didn¡¯t know if she could help him. She didn¡¯t know if she wanted to. She didn¡¯t know what would happen if she refused. She nodded.


    Lord Glove smiled and patted her on the head.


    ¡°You¡¯ve grown I?. Only a month here and look how tall you are. At this rate you¡¯ll be taller than me before the year¡¯s over!¡±


    He looked around the workshop, ¡°What do you need to make the golems?¡±


    I? looked to Emet for advice, but the golem was frozen, as if she had never moved, ¡°Clay. Dirt. Carvings and statues are quicker.¡±


    Lord Glove nodded, ¡®I know the sort. It will all be brought round shortly. I can also spare a few craftsmen to help make the unruned bodies if you¡¯d like.¡±


    I? nodded again.


    ¡°Excellent. I¡¯ll see to it at once,¡± Lord Glove spun on his heel and was off, walking back up the stairs. Only after his footsteps faded away did Emet breath back into life. The breeze lifted I?¡¯s hair from her ankles, ¡°Door¡­ what¡­ do you¡­ see?¡±


    A shriek like nerves being scratched at by an unsanitary fingernail filled the air around I?, raising goosebumps along her arms and the back of her neck. ¡°Lord Glove is gone. I will guard the entrance.¡±


    With that, for the first time in I?¡¯s knowledge, the door closed.


    Emet¡¯s voice died to a wisp and a whisper, forcing I? to move closer to her gargantuan face, ¡°Why does¡­ Lord Glove¡­ golems¡­ What use¡­ are they¡­ him?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Emet?¡± In I?¡¯s mind Lord Glove once again pushed Lanet into a fire. She flinched. Her words became a squeak, ¡°What do I do?¡±


    ¡°Lord Glove¡­. cannot¡­ complete Stalwart¡¯s¡­ Legacy. Needs to¡­. control¡­ doms¡­ must not¡­ be¡­ united. You will¡­ construct¡­ golems. They will¡­ betray him.¡±


    I? didn¡¯t want to betray anyone. The rest of the kineser or Lord Glove. She wished Lanet was there. He always knew what to say. He even knew what not to say. I? grabbed one of Alisa¡¯s arms and wrapped her own about it. Maybe she had answers. She needed Alisa to have answers. There was no one else left, ¡°Help. I don¡¯t know what to do.¡±


    Emet let out a long sigh, but did not interrupt Alisa as she spoke.


    ¡°I am carved in bronze. I am noble. Nobility does not always come from actions which are kind, just, or honorable. Sometimes noble actions are their exact opposite. Doing what is right is far harder than doing what is liked. But I am not based in nobility.


    ¡°I am named for joy. Joy is not avoiding pain. Joy comes from peace. Build the golems if doing so will offer you the most peace.¡±


    I? heard Alisa¡¯s words, and did not understand them. For once, she did not nod. She did not need to. It was enough to hear Alisa speak. Alisa who laughed in defiance of hardship. Alisa who stood as firm as the earthenware from which she was made against despair. Alisa who was warm. Alisa who was her friend.


    I? clung to her tighter. It was enough. I? felt her courage return. Her heart swelled.


    ¡°I-¡±


    Lord Glove stood among flames. The flames had a face. One face, mirrored a thousand times. It was cruel and mocking. It surrounded I?, leered at her, glared at her. It turned to Lord Glove and its expressions changed. Now it fawned and capered about him and lapped at his feet. Behind the flames crouched a black mass, nearly out of sight. Death.


    Separate scenes played simultaneously in I?¡¯s mind. One showed her crying as she crouched by Lord Glove¡¯s bleeding body. Around him people smiled and went about their lives. In the other, Lord Glove was kneeling, hugging I? in his strong embrace. Around them people burned. A flaming man with wild eyes ran into a crowd of equally terrified people, setting them alight. A woman with long dark hair, her arms wrapped behind her about a tree, screamed as she watched everything burn.


    I? started. Her eyes flew open and the images faded. Her voice was a whisper, so faint she herself did not know what she had said. Alisa freed her arm from I?¡¯s grasp and wrapped it around her shoulders.


    I? tried a second time. Her lips moved and air whistled between them, but her throat clenched against her will.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± Alisa¡¯s warm hand moved up and down her back. Something gave in I?. She gasped and let out a high pitched whine.


    ¡°I can¡¯t choose.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ must¡­ Seven time seven days¡­ Alisa will fade¡­ Choose¡­ and¡­ I will teach¡­ how to restore¡­ a golem.¡±


    I? clung to Alisa, horrified. Did Emet mean she would not teach I? unless I? chose one of her options, or that she would only teach I? if she chose correctly? She looked at Emet, but the golem¡¯s face was impassive.


    ¡°You must¡­ choose.¡±

 Ice

    Without Tsamen and her scouts Kolek and Bren had been forced to become the eyes and ears of their army. They were far less effective than Tsamen. Every time Bren left his Maharal for more than an hour, some of them would desert, and follow the kineser back home. Kolek couldn¡¯t stay out any longer, for they had both agreed it was far too dangerous to scout alone.


    Still, Bren tried to look at the positives. Only one obey rune had slipped them by, and although they¡¯d lost the golem it had been subdued before any others were harmed. No more spears rained from the sky, and no more infernal blockades barred their path. Rebeka had finally run out of tricks.


    He damned himself for the thought as he and Kolek came around the bend. Hundreds of corpses lay across the road.


    Bren began to examine the bodies. Kolek did the same. Neither spoke. It felt as if their silence was respectful, or that sound would defile the place. Flies buzzed maddeningly. The bodies were in such an advanced state of decay Bren wouldn¡¯t have recognized anyone even if he knew them. However, he was fairly certain by their proportions and dress, that the corpses were from these lands and not his own. Bren had seen enough. He went back down the road, away from the bodies and the flies. Kolek followed.


    ¡°What do you make of it?¡± Bren asked, swatting at a cloud of flies which had followed him.


    ¡°They were put here. If they had rotted in place they would have sunken into the ground. Some of the highwaymen we killed are among them. Rebeka did this.¡±


    ¡°What has she done?¡± Bren asked.


    ¡°This has been a war against our minds from the beginning. Perhaps she hopes we will flee rather than disturb the sanctity of the dead.¡±


    Bren felt sick. Did Rebeka hold anything sacred? His eyes burned, whether from the smell or from sorrow he could not say, ¡°We already lose a handful of soldiers every day. This will destroy the morale of those who remain. Let us run back and call for a break. We¡¯ll send your golems ahead to clear the path. There is no need to subjugate our people to this horror.¡±


    Soon a lamentation of golems were at work clearing the road. Bren noted one golem, Dull, struggled with a larger body.


    ¡°Did you forget the runes of strength on Dull?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No. Dull was made the same as all the others. Look, it has no troubles lifting the body. It just can¡¯t find the center of balance. Perhaps when it fought with Rage one of its speed runes was damaged.¡±


    Realization rose with the bile at the back of Bren¡¯s throat, ¡°Dull isn¡¯t clumsy, the body is moving.¡±


    As though Bren¡¯s understanding was a signal, all the bodies lying on the road rose as one. The bodies in the golems¡¯ arms struck out at their bearers, destroying half a dozen before they could react. More bodies poured in from the woods at the edge of the road and sprinted toward the two men.


    ¡°Ready your weapon Kolek!¡±


    Kolek leveled his spear as Bren pulled his sword from its sheath about his skirt. Bren saw Kolek take a deep breath, as though he was about to start carving. He took another. And then another. Kolek was trembling. Eight half-rotten corpses charged towards him. His spear wavered.


    ¡°Hold!¡± Bren ordered, ¡°Obey your chieftain. You can feel fear later. Fight!¡±


    Corpses were fast approaching Bren as well. He could no longer pay attention to Kolek. The first strike of Bren¡¯s blade was echoed by a score of clashes in the distance. Cries could be heard. Hundreds of voices were shouting in pain and fear. The Maharal were under attack.


    ¡°My people!¡± Bren shouted. He broke free from the nearest corpse and leapt over their heads to land at Kolek¡¯s side. Bren swung about in a fury, driving back the surrounding corpses.


    ¡°Go!¡± Bren shouted, ¡°Save them!¡±


    Bren wanted to go with him, but if the golems fell here his people would be fighting on two fronts. Kolek would have to be enough.


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    ¡°Run!¡±


    Kolek could not resist looking back as he ran. Dull was torn to pieces by the corpse it had carried. Bren let out a bellow before disappearing behind a vast mass of bodies. His cry cut off abruptly. The battle was now fought in silence, unbreathing corpses against mouthless golems. Kolek forced himself to turn away. His people needed him.


    He ran faster than he had ever before, faster than the fastest deer would ever run, faster than the fastest bird would ever fly. He leapt twenty paces in a stride, unable to see where he would land. If he stumbled he would die, but he didn¡¯t have time.


    He arrived upon a scene equally as chaotic as the one he had left, but this one was rife with sound. Soldiers bearing the banner of Ganter surrounded his people on all sides. His friends, the warriors and volunteers of his village, screamed as they died. The Maharal closed ranks time and time again, pulling their wounded away as they fell, but the wounded fell faster than they could be brought back to safety. Kolek had never seen the likes of the force which streamed from the forest. Each soldier bore a sword and an iron-bound shield. Kolek had never seen so much metal in his life. Next to the full plate each soldier wore, however, it was nothing. A single suit could have bought every house in his village. The spears were worthless against them. They bounced, slid, and shrieked against the metal, but could find no purchase.


    Fleysh had made Kolek¡¯s spear, it would not be turned aside. He leapt into the center of the soldiers. Three times he pierced their armour and three times he killed them before they could react. Two more went down as they turned to face him. A hole opened around Kolek and he began to deal death on all sides.


    Then a young man with light blond hair flowing in a wild mane was in front of Kolek. He wore a pin depicting Ganter at his breast, but was unarmoured. In his hands were two daggers. The daggers disappeared, reappearing in the throats of two Maharal who had fought their way to Kolek¡¯s side. They stumbled back, dead. Even as Kolek was taking this all in, the man tore Kolek¡¯s spear from his grasp and snapped it in half with appalling ease. Kolek grabbed one of his fallen comrade¡¯s spears and leapt at the man.


    As Kolek flew through the air he whispered two words, hardly daring to believe they left his lips.


    ¡°Ice. Kill.¡±


    Even Rebeka couldn¡¯t have planned for Ice. Even Rebeka couldn¡¯t have stopped it.


    Behind the blond haired man the road lifted. Soldiers collapsed towards each other in all directions, landing in a heap which broke bones and crushed skulls. The edges of the road wrapped around the pile of dead and wounded and crushed them. No sound was produced during the entire spectacle, the soldiers in front of the horrifying scene did not react in the slightest. The colossal golem released its victims and crashed down, crushing dozens more.


    Meanwhile, the pale haired youth had avoided Kolek¡¯s leap, drawn the sword from his belt and attacked Kolek. Even if Kolek could match his speed he wouldn¡¯t be able to guide his limbs into the right place at the right time. The youth scratched his temple. Kolek hastily avoided another strike, leaving himself open to a cut across his leg. Blood began to run into his eyes.


    The soldiers behind the blond haired demon had begun to scream. They¡¯d finally seen the golem massacring their comrades. Ice flowed like a wave over the soldiers¡¯ heads, crushing them where they stood, robbing them of their voices. The golem was antithetical to sound itself.


    The youth turned, distracted by the screams. Kolek stabbed at his back, putting all his strength behind the thrust.


    Faster than a greased arrow, the man dropped his sword, twisted deftly to one side and tore the spear from Kolek¡¯s grip. Kolek could crush a rock to powder with his bare hands, yet he¡¯d had his weapon stolen twice at a whim. The man turned, spear lashing. The butt connected with the side of Kolek¡¯s head and he knew no more.


    Be ready. Rebeka¡¯s words came back to Glove as he shouted for his soldiers to retreat. His soldiers. Glove was a lord now, but the title felt wrong on him. He suspected it always would. All he¡¯d done since he got it, all he¡¯d ever done, was follow orders.


    His soldiers began to pull back, but they were too slow. The golem rolled across their heads, crushing them like blueberries. Their panic emboldened the Maharal, who leapt on them from behind, claiming even more lives.


    The golem needed to be stopped. But¡­ Even if Glove could kill it, and he doubted that, would that be the end of it? If he died in the attempt who would stop the second one they built, or the third? There might already be more of these golems hidden along the road. When he¡¯d asked Rebeka to build her metal golems he hadn¡¯t stopped at one invincible monstrosity, he¡¯d asked her to build ten. An idea was blooming inside him. An idea which, for the first time in his life, was entirely his own.


    The last of the Ganter survivors made it into the forest. The massive sheet of earth surged towards the trees then flowed back, unable to fit between the dense trunks. Glove was alone. The spear he had stolen from the rune enhanced warrior tumbled from his fingers. He followed it to the ground a moment later.


    One of the Maharal, a warrior named Merea, approached the fallen demon. He lay there, panting, but otherwise making no movement.


    ¡°Kill me then,¡± said the demon in Merea¡¯s own language, ¡°I¡¯m too tired to keep fighting. There¡¯s no point in killing those who have already won. I surrender to your judgement.¡±


    The warrior, Merea, looked to his companions. They stared back. He swallowed.


    ¡°Right. The vows have been broken. I don¡¯t know who you are or why you fight, but our quarrel is with Rebeka and none other. On behalf of the Maharal, we accept your surrender.¡±

 The Woman by the side of the Road

    She had iron hair and iron eyes. Her face was drawn and pinched. She towered above him, twice again his height. One of her weathered hands gripped a bundle of leashes, the other held an elder-wood scythe set with a wicked blade. And, Adal noted, she also had quite a nice floral pattern on her dress.


    Only once Adal had finished taking in the woman did he notice what she held at the other end of her leashes. They weren¡¯t dogs, which was unfortunate, for Adal liked dogs. If he hadn¡¯t gone to the archive he¡¯d have owned several. Dogs had floppy ears and lolling tongues. A dog would look after you. A dog would be your companion through thick and thin.


    These were hounds. Hounds were not your friend. They were only companions through sick and sin. Instead of walking they slunk from shadow to shadow, spreading out from the woman like tendrils of ink snaking through water. Some wound about her as though to constrict her with their leashes, others lunged at the end of their tethers, baying at prey in the distance, trying to break free.


    Adal¡¯s eyes flickered from the hounds to the woman, and then back to the hounds. Just in case he had missed something, his eyes flicked back to the woman, then, thinking she might find his staring offensive, they went back to looking at the hounds. Then Adal decided he would rather offend the woman than the creatures covered in fangs and claws and red glowing eyes.


    He began to notice an ache in his back below the left shoulder. He¡¯d have asked it to stop, but he was afraid the woman would misunderstand him. People sometimes did that. Instead, he forced a smile. Upon considering the dark sky, oppressive forest, circling hounds, and granite faced woman, he decided a smile was not entirely appropriate and adopted a grimmer expression.


    ¡°Is something wrong with your face?¡±


    The woman¡¯s voice was stern, but not so stern as to completely frighten Adal. It just made him feel young and foolish and desperate to please. The scythe and hounds were incidental, ¡°Excuse me madam, but I don¡¯t know where I am.¡±


    ¡°I said, is something wrong with your face?¡±


    Adal winced in fear, then thought better of it and quickly smiled, before remembering not to smile, ¡°No.¡±


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    ¡°Are you sure? You did it again.¡±


    He raised his hands in a shrug, which caused the pain in his back to multiply tenfold. Adal screwed up his face in concentration to prevent himself from yowling in pain.


    ¡°No,¡± he gasped, ¡°perfectly fine. Just dandy. So¡­ where am I?¡±


    She rested the scythe on her shoulder, ¡°The side of the road.¡±


    Adal looked around at the dense forest surrounding him in all directions for as far as he could see.


    ¡°What road would that be?¡±


    One of the hounds snuck behind Adal and snapped at the base of his leg, causing him to leap forward in fright.


    ¡°Heel!¡± The woman yelled.


    ¡°Indeed it was,¡± Adal muttered as the dog slunk back to the woman. They stood again in silence, Adal casually trying to watch every direction at once, the woman watching him swing his head and eyes back and forth.


    ¡°Does the road matter?¡± She said finally.


    ¡°It would help me find my way home. It looks damp out here madam, doesn¡¯t it look damp? I bet I¡¯ll get a chill without my coat. It¡¯ll probably rain. I¡¯d like to get home before it rains you see. I know all the roads, being a historian helps.¡±


    She smiled suddenly, or at least bared her teeth, ¡°I am not a historian,¡± she said, ¡°so I do not know what road this is.¡±


    ¡°Then could you tell me which dom I¡¯m in?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Adal kicked the black mossy dirt at his feet, sending another jolt through his back. She took pleasure in her ignorance, he could tell, ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    She gestured to her hounds, ¡°I was looking for you.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well, you found me. So, why am I here?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    If Adal had not been afraid to sigh in exasperation and kick one of the ever circling hounds, he would have sighed in exasperation and kicked one of the ever circling hounds.


    ¡°What now?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Now you tell me your name.¡±


    ¡°I am Adal, the historian. Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I am Holda. I lead the army.¡±


    She gestured and the forest grew translucent, as though it was made from tinted glass. Shadowy figures moved in its depths. They slid through the trees as if their trunks were made from fog. The figures were drawing closer. Larger now. Closer, ever closer. Adal was starting to make out their features. They were wrong, horribly wrong. If it weren¡¯t for the hounds slung about his ankles he would have leapt back in horror. As it was, he stumbled, drawing another stab of pain from his back.


    The people looked like the scraps from a surgeon¡¯s table. They were missing arms, rode horses lacking legs, had caved in faces, and shattered ribs sticking from their sides. Their heads hung at angles, their eye sockets were empty, and their entrails hung about their knees. Worst of all was their complete lack of motion. Even their hair was still as they drifted towards him. They stopped behind Holda, forming loose ranks.


    ¡°What manner of army is this?¡± he croaked.


    ¡°The army of the dead,¡± Holda replied. The forest faded away completely. She beckoned and a skeletally thin horse walked from the ranks. Holda took its bridle and offered it to Adal, ¡°The Wild Army.¡±

 The Ascent to Hawkdom

    Though the mountain was red, the stone steps beneath its skin were grey. They stood out in stark contrast to the cliff in which they were set, but even with his head titled all the way back Matthew could not see the top of the stair.


    I would be honoured to accommodate you and your retainers. Our lands may be small, but I am proud to say they are prosperous. I¡¯m sure we could find space for an entire army if the need arose! ¨CR, King


    Camil¡¯s plan had sounded rational at the time. Divided, they could cover more ground, for this region was rich with small but powerful doms. He wished he had suggested she take the mountain.


    I thank you for your hospitality, King Rupert, you are very kind. I¡¯m afraid we shall be unable to enjoy it for more than a few days. I¡¯m afraid our need for haste is so great we must commence our business by bird rather than in person. I hope you understand. To put it plainly: King Otto assassinated Eornost. Talah fears war is soon to follow. If we fail to stand united against King Otto one day he will rule us all. We seek an alliance, and your aid. Can we call on you? -M


    Matthew shook himself and stretched his neck. Looking at the cliff wasn¡¯t making it any shorter. He began to climb, followed by half of his retainers, the others would stay with their horses.


    It saddens me to hear about your impending war. However, I have no grievances with King Otto as he has not made any actions against me or my fellows. I admit your words are quite troubling. I have not seen any signs of aggression from King Otto. What makes you believe he wishes to declare war? For that matter, what assurance can you give that Eornost¡¯s assassination is anything more than a rumour? You appear to be the aggressors here, hoping to provoke King Otto into moving against you. I shall not condemn you for your actions, however. After all, can we truly hate the successful when we ourselves have not worked hard enough to emulate them? ¨CR, King


    He lifted his left foot to his right knee and pushed against the narrow step. Camil had said the other doms were more dangerous. She was a veteran, he was not. It made sense for him to go to Hawkdom. His second step nearly cost him his balance, not yet a man¡¯s height from the ground. She had said she had personal connections with the field doms. He gritted his teeth and took a score of treacherous steps. And he had let her get away with it.


    Your Majesty, you knew Eornost. He was an honest man and in good health. Do you think he faked his death and now directs his daughter from the shadows? Or do you mean to suggest Talah killed him herself? What other explanation can you give than assassination? King Otto sent a demand for surrender the next day. Surely that implicates him above all others? ¨CM


    The extreme heights, reached far too quickly, were not the only obstacle Matthew¡¯s party faced. A flock of gulls had been roosting on the stairs. Matthew¡¯s arrival had disturbed them and now they circled his party, calling loudly and dropping guano like rain. A particularily bold gull dived at Matthew¡¯s face, eyes wide, beak extended. Matthew swatted at the gull, saving his eyes, but setting himself off balance. For a moment Matthew swayed on the step, keenly aware of the long fall below. He righted, heart pounding. Below he could hear his retainers engaged in the same struggle. They too alternated between fending off the birds and keeping their footing. The bandits were dangerous, she had said.


    I am sorry to hear of Eornost¡¯s death. He was a good man. I was proud to call him my friend. Such a shame. But Matthew, you are young. You do not understand the ways of the world. I couldn¡¯t join your war even if I wanted to. If you read the histories you would see how limited a monarch truly is. ¨CR, King


    Splitting up had been the right thing to do. Allies were few and far between. Their attempts so far had only been met with resistance.


    You mistake me, Your Majesty. For a time I served as a historian¡¯s apprentice. I have not only read the histories, I wrote them. Most wars have either started because one monarch insulted another¡¯s spouse, or as hasty means to reduce overhead. Monarchs have absolute power and use it to fulfill their pettiest of whims. They are by no means limited. ¨CM


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    Through gaps in the mist he could see the vastness of the countryside stretched out before him. There was the trail to Rupertdom he had ridden three days prior. If he squinted he could make out Rupert¡¯s estate and nearby fields. They were conspicuously empty.


    Dear Matthew,


    Unfortunately, I shall not be able to put up you and your retainers. Mother has stopped by for a surprise visit, and our spare rooms have become filled with her luggage. I have enclosed a map which will take you on the fastest route around my lands. Safe travels, and may you succeed in your endeavors. ¨CR, King


    The gulls¡¯ cries grew louder as he climbed and their attacks became bolder. Matthew¡¯s legs were starting to grow tired. He looked up. There, through the thinning mists of morning, he could make out a branch. A tree! As the mist faded further Matthew was sure of it. Just a few hours climb above them was a plateau. Hope bloomed within him. Matthew yelled through the raucous screeching to his nearest aide, ¡°I think I can see the top! Take heart and pass it on! We¡¯ll be eating lunch with the queen!¡±


    The sun dipped past the horizon, lingering for a moment on the verge of disappearing as it was wont to do. Matthew clambered over the last step, using his arms as much as his legs. He had not seen the top before noon. He had not seen the top before tea. He had been sure of it at dinner, and four false summits later, his party stood before the manor of Queen Hawk. Matthew and his retainers lurched to the door, leaning on one another for support. They stared at it for a long time before coming to the conclusion that someone was going to have to lift their arm. Matthew held a number in mind and the retainers guessed at it. The loser let out a low sob. With heroic effort, he swung his arm limply at the door. It bounced off, producing a single dull ¡®Thud!¡¯ He lifted his arm a second time, but that proved to be too much. The retainer collapsed against the door and slid down it.


    </a> Queen Hawk herself answered the door, causing the retainer to fall through the open portal. She stared at the man lying on her feet with a mixture of dismay and amusement.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t use the stairs did you? Nobody uses the stairs. They haven¡¯t in generations.¡±


    Matthew lifted his head weakly, ¡°Then,¡± he gasped, ¡°what do you use?¡±


    Hawk gestured behind herself, ¡°The lift. It is powered by a fall halfway down the mountain. You can ride it all the way up,¡± she stooped and lifted the retainer back to his feet, allowing him to lean against her, ¡°Please, come inside. You look exhausted.¡±


    Once they were all seated around a table with cups in hand and bowls before them, Queen Hawk asked, ¡°Who are you?¡±


    Matthew had to eat three dumplings and a mouthful of soup before he found the strength to answer, ¡°I am Matthew, ally to Queen Talah. These with me are some of her elite soldiers.¡±


    ¡°You are welcome in my halls Matthew. As are your retainers. You say you are an ally of Queen Talah, but I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know who that is.¡±


    ¡°Her father was King Eornost.¡±


    Queen Hawk bowed her head, ¡°Ah yes, I know the dom now. Eornost had quite the reputation. His dom, Talah¡¯s now, is quite the distance from here. What brings you so far afield?¡±


    ¡°Queen Talah seeks an alliance to defeat a common foe,¡± Matthew bit into a fourth dumpling. He vaguely remembered that it might be rude to eat while talking to a queen, but he was too tired to care.


    Queen Hawk¡¯s eyes widened, ¡°I was not aware I had any enemies.¡±


    Matthew swallowed, nodding, ¡°The imperialists of Ganter. Talah will fight them, but she cannot alone. If you wish to remain free, if you wish for any to remain free, this is your chance. Join us.¡±


    Queen Hawk smoothed the front of her dress, ¡°While it is true that Talah cannot hope to defeat Ganter alone, I wonder why she wishes too. Ganter is expanding, but they are not doing so militaristically. They give food, treasures, and infrastructure. All they ask in return is that the ruler give up a title. They don¡¯t even need to step down for Ganter needs many lords. If the offers are as generous as the rumours say I might join them myself.¡±


    Matthew slumped in his chair. Food, treasures, and infrastructure. So many were willing to trade their freedom for security. So many that Matthew wondered if he had got it wrong. Maybe freedom wasn¡¯t worth it. His eyelids drifted down. You couldn¡¯t eat freedom. It didn¡¯t keep you healthy through the winter. He forced them open. And wealth. Wealth enough to buy whatever you wanted. His eyelids drifted back down. As long as what you wanted was¡­ was¡­ what? The thought drifted away.


    ¡°My dear Matthew, you look as if you are about to fall asleep in your soup. Even if I will not accept your offer, I hope to be an ample host. We have beds enough for you and yours to share, and tents for those who do not wish to. I insist you stay for a couple days at least to recuperate.¡±


    Matthew shook himself. What had he wanted? Something¡­ something to do with freedom. He had nearly grasped the thought. It was¡­ It was¡­ He yawned. The thought slipped away again.


    Queen Hawk smirked, ¡°I¡¯ll send for your horses and remaining retainers. The lift is only a few minutes away from the steps. I¡¯ll make sure they¡¯re taken care of, don¡¯t you worry.¡±


    Matthew would have thanked her, or perhaps protested that he must leave at once, but he was already asleep.

 Soldiers of Stone, Wood, and Clay

    Figures as still and as silent as the stone, clay, wood, and earth they were fashioned from stood in a row before Lord Glove. Their bodies were decorated with glowing runes and lightening crackled in their eyes.


    It had taken I? four days to craft her initial golems. After that, production had skyrocketed. The first golems crafted more of their ilk and those made the golems which now stood before Lord Glove. In two days fifty more golems had been created. Four days later, all were inscribed, given scrolls, and named.


    Lord Glove finished his inspection and walked over to the low garden wall where I? sat.


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    ¡°Your golems are remarkable! The glowing runes were inspired! Talah is sure to surrender without a fight. I could never have hoped to have such a skilled kineser in my employ.¡±


    I? smiled briefly in the fashion Lanet had, leaving Lord Glove with the vague feeling something had happened, but with no memory of the event. Lord Glove waited for her to reply but all she did was run her finger over the hole in her dress and trace the blue whorls which snaked across its surface.


    ¡°I will be leaving soon to meet with the 3<sup>rd</sup> Regiment. Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t be gone long. Take care I?, and take a well-earned break.¡±


    He smiled at her. I?¡¯s brown eyes met his green, but all she did was stare, as still as her golems.

 A Burden No Limb Can Bear

    The destruction was appalling. Bren felt his throat closing in despair. Scores of the Maharal were wounded. Their wagons were shattered. Their bodies had been left to lie broken where they fell. His people stumbled through the ruins, searching for any who lived. Those they did find they killed, ending their suffering.


    There had been a battle here. Armoured bodies, crumpled like parchment lay among his fallen. Their tabards bore the emblem of Ganter. The king had become involved.


    Bren heard a groan. One of the bodies stood. Kolek. Kolek saw Bren the moment he regained consciousness and ran sobbing to Bren¡¯s arms.


    ¡°You¡¯re alive! All is not lost! Did we win? Where are my golems? Did any survive?¡±


    Bren gasped. He had injured his left arm fighting Rebeka¡¯s abominations. He blinked the tears from his eyes and clutched Kolek harder. There would be time for his own pain soon enough, ¡°They live, though none can travel. They are broken and need your care. But leave the golems for a moment. I have many questions as well. What do you recall? What happened here?¡±


    Merea, who had been lingering nearby came over to them, ¡°It was the demon. His name is Glove. I¡¯m sorry Bren. I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t know what to do. I captured him¡ªhe surrendered. Had he not become exhausted, I think he would have slain every one of us.¡±


    Rebeka¡¯s betrayal. Tsamen¡¯s scouts. Por¡¯s death. Fleysh¡¯s dreams.


    ¡°Glove,¡± Bren spat, ¡°It has always been Glove. Our vengeance has been misplaced from the start. Take me to him so I can curse his name.¡±


    Glove was sitting on a cart which listed to one side. It had been used as a barricade, losing a wheel in the process. Glove¡¯s hands were tied together, as were his feet. Surrounding him were five Maharal warriors, each with a spear resting against his neck or abdomen.


    His white blond hair was smeared with dirt, as was his face. His black suit hung about him in tatters. Deep scratches marred every surface of his body visible beneath the tatters. He didn¡¯t look like a demon. He didn¡¯t even look like the exuberant youth who had purchased Rebeka. He looked tired. He was just a man. Ordinary and sad.


    And yet five hardened warriors feared him. Beneath his dark eyes were trapped an eon of sorrow and an eternity of regret. Bren expected to see cracks running through his lenses from all the pressure. He nearly wept for Glove, but he knew eyes could lie. The only true judge of a man was their actions.


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    ¡°How dare you? How dare you? How?¡± Rage filled Bren¡¯s mind. He didn¡¯t know what else to say. He didn¡¯t know what words could possibly hurt Glove as much as Glove had hurt him. He struck Glove across the face.


    ¡°How dare you!¡±


    The captive raised his head, revealing split lips and a chipped tooth.


    ¡°I have much to answer for, it is true. How dare I lead my own people to their deaths? I am their lord and sworn to defend them. How dare I fail to stop you? You now go to kill a child.¡±


    Bren felt as if Glove had struck him in turn.


    ¡°She is not a child. She has two times seven and five years to her name. She broke the vows.


    ¡°She broke the vows,¡± Bren whispered again. She had. All must answer. None were above the law.


    ¡°She broke the vows,¡± Glove repeated, ¡°and I told her to. What will you do with me?¡±


    ¡°It is easier to slay a foe on the field than to murder a bound prisoner.¡±


    Glove¡¯s lips twisted into a sardonic smile, causing a wound on his face to reopen. Fresh blood ran down his cheek and dripped off his chin, ¡°Nonetheless, you should kill me. Every day I live the lies your people tell themselves will grow harder to bear. Every time they look at me they will be reminded of all who were lost and all who were broken by this senseless war. They will remember that pain is your currency, not honour. And what will you do with that pain? You will buy the death of a woman so young she doesn¡¯t even understand the vows she broke.¡±


    Rebeka knew the vows. All the Maharal knew the vows. But¡­ she was so very young. Did he speak the truth? Did she not know? Bren¡¯s voice cracked as he spoke, ¡°Why did you not explain the vows to her?¡±


    There was regret writ on Glove¡¯s face as plain as the tracks of blood, ¡°I believe no vow, nor anything else, is worth a life.¡±


    ¡°What of the lives you ended?¡±


    Glove¡¯s voice wavered, ¡°I ended them so others may live.¡±


    Bren let out a long, weary sigh. Glove was a demon if he believed he could save lives by ending them.


    ¡°Kolek, kill him.¡±


    It was a cruel thing to ask of another. Bren would have done it himself if it hadn¡¯t been for his arm. Bren motioned for the other Maharal to turn away. They did not need to see this. He alone would watch Kolek complete the deed. He owed him that much.


    Kole took a spear from one of the warriors. He hefted it, testing its weight.


    ¡°May you find your way to the sea,¡± said Kolek. Then he lunged at Glove¡¯s chest, point blurring.


    Despite his great speed, Glove was too slow to avoid the thrust, but at the last movement Kolek lost heart and twisted his hand aside. The moment he had been waiting for had come. As the momentum carried the kineser past him Glove leapt to his feet and swung his tied arms into the side of Kolek¡¯s head with all his strength. It bounced back and forth on the kineser¡¯s shoulders and then hung limp, bent at an impossible angle. Kolek collapsed. Lord Glove followed him to the wagon¡¯s bed a moment later, heart bursting with sorrow.


    Bren broke before Lord Glove¡¯s eyes. Whatever righteous fury he had still felt was gone, and nothing had taken its place. He stared blankly at Kolek¡¯s body. Lord Glove had won. The golems would die and there would be no one to remake them. Lord Glove closed his eyes, ready for Bren¡¯s judgment.


    No spears found him. Lord Glove opened his eyes and blinked away the sudden blur of tears. Bren was before him on his knees, sobbing into the dirt. The other Maharal fell beside him. All wept for the one Lord Glove had slain.

 The Field Where Flowers Dance

    It had been cloudy since before the dawn. The grey cover was a welcome one for the near seven hundred troops who marched beneath it. It was thick enough to weaken the heat of the sun, but not so thick as to threaten rain.


    As the sun reached its zenith the watery parasol dispersed. The glistening golden sunlight rolled past the soldiers¡¯ faces, caressing them. It rolled out across the field, transforming the dull meadow into a floral blue sea. The azure flowers swayed as vespers danced through their blossoms. The soldiers grunted in appreciation despite the swiftly rising temperatures.


    The light rolled on. Four magpies, wings outspread, each one set facing inward on a silver saltire dividing a white background appeared in the distance; King Otto¡¯s new banner. All at once there was shouting. A horse¡¯s metal-shod hooves struck the loamy soil. Great black plumes of earth rose up behind it as it thundered across the distance between Otto¡¯s army and the Queen¡¯s Regiment.


    ¡°Sooner than we expected.¡± Ricktor spat, watching the rider close.


    Coldbloom, commander of the Queen¡¯s Regiment, brushed aside a long lock of auburn hair from her face. ¡°We came prepared for this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d be happier if The Chosen were here already,¡± Ricktor waved his hands as she began to signal, ¡°I¡¯ve already sent a runner. The Chosen should arrive within the next few hours.¡±


    ¡°Hopefully we can delay Otto until then.¡±


    Ricktor¡¯s mare flicked its head at a fly. The Conor cursed as he lost his balance, but managed to wrap his hands in its mane before he fell.


    ¡°If it comes to it we can win anyway. That army¡¯s not as big as it seems. Not even close. They can¡¯t fool my old eyes. Nearly fifty of those troops are as still as stone. If they¡¯ve placed props in the front line, what does that say about the rest of the army?¡±


    Coldbloom smiled, as beautiful and as cold as her name, ¡°They¡¯re operating at half strength. I wonder why. Are you certain those are false soldiers?¡±


    Ricktor¡¯s mare twisted around to bite him. He cuffed the side of her head. He squinted into the distance again, ¡°Not entirely. One might¡¯ve just moved. Maybe not. It¡¯s hard to tell. Awfully still though.¡±


    The rider continued to bear down on them, leaving a trail of flattened flowers in its wake.


    Coldbloom called for a halt. Ganter¡¯s emissary would have to come to them. They were done marching. Her soldiers would need to be rested in case of battle. Coldbloom called for Dersen, who was by general consensus considered the best eyes in her force. He confirmed Ricktor¡¯s suspicion. Soldiers carved from wood, molded from clay, and mounded from earth proceeded the army.


    Otto¡¯s forces drew closer. Coldbloom could make out the still soldiers for herself. Dersen gasped.


    ¡°The soldiers are moving on their own. They¡¯re golems!¡±


    Coldbloom wished he hadn¡¯t shouted. Whispers now twirled in the wind. Fears spun and superstitions danced through the Queen¡¯s Regiment. Everyone knew what a golem was. Some of the oldest would even remember the Burned City and how it had fallen. But the tales blowing past Coldbloom¡¯s ear were surprisingly malleable. Time had faded truth and legend into an inseparable fog.


    ¡°They¡¯re impossibly strong!¡±


    ¡°Incredibly fast!¡±


    ¡°I heard they can turn invisible and sneak past your walls at night. They¡¯ll slit your throat as you sleep.¡±


    ¡°They can raise spirits from the dead to fight for them. Ya go around all corpsy an¡¯ ¡®orrible like an¡¯ before ya know it yer gnawing on yer sister¡¯s skull!¡±


    Coldbloom could sense a rout forming.


    ¡°Silence! There will be no talk of baseless rumours until we figure out what is going on.¡±


    Dersen¡¯s face flushed, ¡°I¡¯m sorry commander. I shouldn¡¯t have shouted. I¡­ I¡­¡±


    ¡°Get back in line lad,¡± growled Ricktor.


    ¡°I think he was right though,¡± said Ricktor after Dersen left. He squinted into the distance, ¡°There¡¯s forty or so of them.¡±


    The rider stopped a dozen paces from Coldbloom and Ricktor, kicking up a spray of dark soil. He leapt from the horse¡¯s back and strode over to them. His suit was as dark as the soil, his hair as bright as the sun.


    Coldbloom recoiled when she saw him, ¡°I recognize you. You are Lord Glove; Conor to King Otto, murderer of my king.¡±


    Lord Glove gave half a bow, ¡°And you are?¡±


    Coldbloom felt her lip curl, ¡°I am Commander Coldbloom. My name is all you¡¯ll have of me. I¡¯ll not deal with you further.¡±


    ¡°Not even if I come offering peace?¡±


    ¡°It is too late to beg.¡±


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    ¡°King Otto holds no enmity against you or your people. Please, let me have my say. Your army is in my lands, but this need not lead to war.¡±


    Coldbloom¡¯s grip on her reigns tightened.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t leave within two minutes I will have you killed. I have weighed you and measured you and have found you unequal to silver in all respects.¡±


    Lord Glove bent to pluck one of the flowers blooming between his feet. The blue reflected in his eyes almost looked like tears.


    ¡°Two minutes is enough,¡± his voice rose so it carried across the entire Queen¡¯s Regiment, ¡°I have fifty golems. They are faster than birds, stronger than bears, and harder than stone. Each is a devastation. Gathered, they are a lamentation. If you start this war, I will end it.¡±


    A chill went up Coldbloom¡¯s spine, freezing her throat. Fortunately, Ricktor was less effected.


    He spat to one side, ¡°Threats to cow us into submission? Is this how you offer peace? Your words are as poisonous as your heart. Leave us.¡±


    Lord Glove tucked the flower behind his ear. He walked over to his horse, leaping lightly into the saddle, ¡°If you wish for peace, send a rider. You have one hour.¡±


    Once the horse was well out of earshot, Coldbloom called her officers over.


    Bud, her second, was the first to speak, ¡°Several of my scouts have returned. They estimate The Chosen will take two hours to arrive. One and a half at best.¡±


    Sergeant Nekome was the first to express her doubts, ¡°Can we hold against the golems for an hour? For that matter, even with The Chosen¡¯s help do you think we can win?¡±


    Lieutenant Alte shook his head. He¡¯d been the one spreading half the rumours about the golems, ¡°They did the Burned City. An¡¯ that was only ten of ¡®em. We¡¯d be calling Moldeth the City of Ash or somesuch.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous,¡± said Bud, ¡°By all accounts the golems which destroyed the Burned City were twice the height of a man. These ones are nothing of the sort.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous? Don¡¯t be ridiculous? Ya won¡¯t be sayin¡¯ that when yer gnawin¡¯ on yer sister¡¯s skull!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a sister. Three brothers, as you well know. You¡¯re just repeating some rumour you heard.¡±


    ¡°A rumour was it? Then what do you call that Black Bannered army over there? Forty-nine rumours and a cheeky little lie?¡±


    Ricktor cleared his throat loudly, ¡°I was alive when Tatenhiem fell, so how about you lot let me speak?¡±


    The two men shut their mouths and turned respectfully to the Conor.


    ¡°I served Eornost¡¯s grandfather at the time. I was newly appointed, more of a scribe than a Conor. Usher was not a kind man, but that is not to say he was cruel. He was an opportunist. He sent troops to aid the Burned City, claiming he wanted an alliance.


    ¡°Alliance he may have wanted, but the troops were spies. Usher liked to leave his options open. Those what survived told Usher a secret. A secret which perhaps only myself and Lord Glove now know.


    ¡°There were more than ten golems. Lord Glove also had dozens of little ones which moved like the wind. The iron golems were invincible, but the wee golems, no higher than your knee, could kill twenty men in a heartbeat. Tatenhiem was dead before the giants reached its walls.


    Ricktor sighed, ¡°I beg you all to trust an old man¡¯s story. The golems can kill us, giants or no. All is not lost if we take Lord Glove¡¯s peace. We still have the alliance with Derkdom. We still have Vesperdom.¡±


    Coldbloom closed her eyes, letting the warm sun play across her lids. Lord Glove¡¯s peace could be a trap. Perhaps he wanted to buy time to deal with the lesser doms so that he might throw the full strength of Ganter against Vesperdom. Did he need to?


    The golems can kill us, giants or no.


    Perhaps the old assassin was merely tired of spilling blood.


    ¡°Ware!¡±


    The shout came suddenly. Coldbloom¡¯s eyes snapped open. Lieutenant Alte had been the one to shout. She followed his gaze across the field over to the enemy army. The army had disappeared under a great cloud of dust which was now boiling towards the Queen¡¯s Regiment. At its head were the entire lamentation of golems.


    Coldbloom felt the blood drain from her face. Her heart seemed to still for a moment and she could not find her voice.


    ¡°Pikes¡­¡± she could barely hear herself.


    She bit the inside of her cheek until she drew blood. The pain tore her free of her fear. Coldbloom shouted again, eyes watering, ¡°Pikes to fore! Officers back in line!¡±


    The golems ran like fire towards them. Faster. They were impossibly fast. Thrice the speed of her fastest horse. Thoughts raced through Coldbloom¡¯s mind quick enough to keep pace with the golems. Why had Lord Glove betrayed them? Would her pikes make it? Would any of her soldiers be left alive to tell the tale? Surely her pikes could make it. It was just a few steps. They weren¡¯t going to¡ª


    Her pikes stepped forward and braced for the charge. The golems were on them seconds later. Pikes shattered from the impact. Others buckled, lashing backwards like catapult arms, sending their wielders flying high into the air. Soldiers screamed in agony.


    Several of the pikes struck true, piercing the golems, but that didn¡¯t appear to harm them. In front of Coldbloom a group of soldiers wrestled for a pike wedged into the body of a wooden golem. The golem didn¡¯t even notice them. The shaft of the pike whipped around as the golem turned from one target to the next. Soldiers were flung to the ground, some with such force they didn¡¯t try to rise.


    The worst part was the silence. If the golems roared in pain or anger it would be as if they fought bears or lions. As it was, the golems appeared as powerful and as implacable as boulders falling from the sky. Coldbloom drew her sword all the same. She would die with it in hand.


    A golem turned its empty eyes on her. It was heavy, made of stone. Coldbloom felt the earth tremble as it stomped towards her, crushing the soldiers in its path. Her horse panicked and reared back, stumbling over the body of a soldier. Coldbloom fell free of the saddle. She struck the ground hard, hearing her arm snap rather than feeling it. The pain would come soon, she need to be moving before then. Coldbloom tried to push herself to her feet, coming face to face with the body her horse had stumbled over as she did so.


    Bud looked like he¡¯d been felled by a single mighty punch. His chest had collapsed and his limbs lay tangled about him where he had landed. His eyes stared into Coldbloom¡¯s own, hurt and confused. Coldbloom reached for them to close them. As her hand stretched out, her horse fell on her and she knew no more.


    The chime of steel on stone, the dull ¡®thunk¡¯ of weapons stuck in wood, and the grating scream of a sword chipped against cold earth echoed across the meadow. The remaining officers called for a retreat. Half the army was dead. The other half struggled to extract themselves from the steady press of golems.


    Occasionally, a golem would fall and its wounds would not instantly mend. Occasionally a lucky strike would mar a rune and a golem¡¯s strength would fade. Far more often soldiers died under its silent fists.


    Gentle gusts of wind ruffled the field¡¯s azure corollas, blew past a small wooden horse running from the battle, and carried the soldiers¡¯ screams to a far away group of mercenaries marching under a brilliantly white flag. The mercenaries shook as they marched, the horse ran faster as if goaded, but the blue flowers danced uncaring, even as they were dyed red.

 Matthews Rock

    Matthew¡¯s rock thrust from the earth at a gentle angle, leaning out over the cliff¡¯s edge. He had been coming to the rock every day since arriving in Hawkdom to sit and dangle his legs above the abyss. The view had yet to diminish in grandeur. Here, high above the clouds, the mainland faded away. He could still see its forests and fields, but they felt different, more remote. He felt as if he sat on the shore and watched the ocean¡¯s depths.


    The distances had a strange effect on his mind. Even his troubles seemed beyond his reach. Matthew understood Queen Hawk¡¯s indifference better now. What was it to him if Ganter conquered everything? The mountains would still stand. What was it to him if Talahdom fell? The wind would still blow.


    Light played through the clouds. It cast rays all around, haloing the falcons and hawks who soared beside the cliff. To Matthew¡¯s mind they were like courtiers at a ball. They swooped and twirled across the dance floor riding drafts like the rhythms in a song. Then dived into deep bows and leapt back gracefully, tempting another fair lady to join them. How graceful, how nimble their dance.


    One courtier rose above the others. It spiraled upwards, higher and higher, a pirouette without end. As it drew level with Matthew he was struck by its beauty. Its cape was of brown and red, and its eye was of piercing gold. Matthew was mistaken. Here was no courtier. Here was a king! The wind died and for a serene moment the hawk hung there, lit by the sun. Then it trembled, its eye closed, and it began to fall.


    It was like plucking an apple from a tree, as easy as that. Matthew reached out and grabbed the bird from the air. Only once the hawk was safely in his hand did Matthew¡¯s heart begin to pound, for only then did he look down. He had stretched himself out completely over the edge of the cliff. Had he gone any further past the pinnacle of his rock he¡¯d be dancing with the courtiers.


    ¡°To think I was worried about Ganter when there are a thousand other ways to die,¡± Matthew said to the hawk as he scrambled for safety, ¡°It¡¯s like being so worried about bears you don¡¯t notice when a tree¡¯s dropping on your head.¡±


    The hawk opened an eye and stared wearily at him.


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    ¡°Now what are you doing all the way up here? and why are you so tired?¡±


    The hawk opened its other eye and clambered onto his forearm. There it began to preen, as haughty as any cat. As it did so, Matthew noticed a ribbon securing a scroll tied about its leg. He clumsily untied it with his free hand and unrolled it. It was a letter, scratched and torn. Matthew had transcribed enough letters to recognize the sort. The author had been on the move when they¡¯d written it, and in a hurry.


    My Queen,


    I write with haste lest I be discovered by the horrors of which I now write. Thus I shall have to cut my formalities short and I request your pardon in advanced.


    Dearest Queen Hawk, Lady of the Mountain, Hero of the Heights, and Most Mighty of Monarchs, salutations. I hope the weather is nice atop your mountain. It¡¯s nice here. The sun has¡ª I¡¯ll have to stop there. One has seen me.


    I now write whilst atop my horse so I apologize for any looseness of hand. I flee homunculi of stone, earth, and wood. Golems. The battle which you requested I view is over, though the sounds of slaughter continue behind me. I fear for the fate of even a single member of the Queen¡¯s Regiment.


    The creatures are drawing nearer, I must end this missive and go into hiding. <u>Do not underestimate Ganter. Do not fight their golems!</u>


    Fair thee well Queen Hawk, Lady of the Mountain, Hero of the Heights, and Most Mighty of Monarchs,


    Scout


    P.s. I do not know if I will survive this, so consider this my final fair well.


    P.p.s. Tell the kiddies I said hello.


    The Queen¡¯s Regiment was destroyed. Ganter had golems. Moldeth would become the new Burned City. The troubles of the mainland could reach him here after all.


    Matthew burst into Queen Hawk¡¯s chamber before he knew his feet were carrying him. He¡¯d lost the hawk somewhere along the way. Queen Hawk was lounging atop her bed in a morning gown, reading a book. Her face quirked into a smile as Matthew strode over to her, ¡°You¡¯ve not been a diplomat for long, have you? You¡¯re supposed to wait at least a week before you try to seduce me.¡±


    Matthew waved his hand dismissively, He thrust the scroll at her, ¡°Read this.¡±


    Queen Hawk plucked the paper from his fingers and scanned it. Her eyes darted back to the top of the page and she read it again, this time more slowly.


    Her eyes lifted from the page and stared deeply into his own.


    ¡°You and your retainers must leave at once. My servants will bring you supplies. While they are gathering them, I will write Talah a declaration of allegiance. You shall have a copy to bring to the other doms. This time they will listen to you, for Ganter¡¯s cruelty has been revealed.¡±


    Matthew bowed, ¡°As I have done, I will do again.¡±


    He hoped she was right.

 Fet Returns

    ¡°Now can you tell me how to restore golems?¡±


    I? was close to tears. She had been asking Emet the same question for over a week.


    ¡°¡­wait... soon¡­ remember¡­¡±


    I? could no longer hold back her tears. She clutched at Alisa and began to cry. Emet¡¯s speech had been rapidly deteriorating. In the last few days especially the golem had become nearly impossible to understand. I? worried that by the time Emet relented Emet would be unable to speak altogether.


    Alisa seemed to sense I?¡¯s fear. She smiled at I?, ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. No matter what happens I will have lived nearly seven times seven days longer than I would have without you.¡±


    Alisa wrapped her solid arms around I? and pulled her closer. I? clung to the golem and let her tears fall. They splashed against Alisa¡¯s warm red body and dried there, vanishing as if they had never been. I? drew in a long shaky breath and let it out in a sigh. In that sigh all the pain and frustration she was feeling slipped away.


    I? pulled away from Alisa and wiped her eyes on the neck of her dress.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Alisa chuckled. ¡°Always.¡±


    It hurt too much to laugh, but I? managed a smile. That hurt too, but it felt right. She wondered if that was why Lanet smiled even though it seemed to pain him.


    A pattering began. It was far away, but coming closer. As it grew louder I? realized it sounded more like clacking than pattering, like two nuts being knocked together. A moment later Fet dashed into the room.


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    Emet breathed to life; a long shuddering breath which caused the entire wall to shake and her eye sockets to collapse, ¡°Ah¡­ time¡­. Hurry¡­ Bring¡­ it¡­ to me¡­¡±


    I? carried the horse to Emet and placed it down in front of her.


    ¡°What do I do n¡ª¡±


    I? gasped and jumped back.


    The horse was standing as still as when it had been carved, but the floor was moving. Tiny figures of glowing light were pulling themselves free from the ground. There were scores of them. Hundreds. Each was represented in perfect detail, and each shone like the sun.


    Soon two miniature armies had arrayed themselves on the floor. A lone horseman rode across from one army to the other. Everything was moving far faster than it would have in real life. The soldier only took a couple of seconds to reach the other army. They rode back to their own army a moment later.


    Nothing happened for several minutes. The little figures shuffled about on the spot, their actions too fast to follow.


    ¡°Find¡­ golems¡­¡±


    Now that I? was looking for them, her golems were easy to spot. They were the only soldiers who weren¡¯t moving. I? bit the knuckle of her index finger. If those were her golems, then that was Lord Glove¡¯s army.


    Seek what I must know, and show it to me.


    If Fet was showing her Lord Glove¡¯s army, then something was going to happen to them. Or Lord Glove was going to use her golems.


    Even as she had the thought the golems began to move. In the blink of an eye half of them were across the battlefield. Tiny soldiers flew from the ground and landed a full finger width away. They hit the ground hard and burst like cattails into twinkling lights. I? grasped at the fighting soldiers in a futile attempt to save them. Her fingers past through their bodies, finding only cold dirt.


    ¡°Why? Why?¡± I? clutched again and again at her golems, she didn¡¯t know what else to do.


    Something ruffled her hair. She looked up. It was the wind of Emet¡¯s breath, ¡°Good¡­ Restore¡­ golem¡­ drop seven¡­ the ink of¡­ creation¡­ onto its form¡­¡±


    The army was torn to softly gleaming pools of light before her eyes. Tears filled them. How could Emet think any of this was good? Emet hadn¡¯t even wanted those other soldiers to die. She had wanted ¡­


    It was then I? noticed Lord Glove¡¯s army.

 Interlude IIII

    Darkness.


    Silence.


    Then, a voice.


    ¡°So we have failed?¡±


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    Anguish.


    Feeling becomes sound, ¡°This time, my king.¡±


    Wood on iron. Iron on rock. Burdens do not fade. ¡°My army lies dead in a field. As does my enemy¡¯s. What now?¡±


    ¡°Talah will find her allies. We will let her. Then, one of us must surrender.¡±


    Laughter. Mirthless. Harsh, ¡°You¡¯ve surrendered before.¡±


    ¡°Aye. And I won.¡±

 Talah Learns of Her Failures

    A man dressed like a soldier knelt before Talah, fist on stone, ¡°My Queen.¡±


    ¡°Yes? You may speak.¡± said Talah.


    ¡°The Queen¡¯s Regiment is no more.¡±


    Talah collapsed into her chair. Her entire army was defeated after a single battle? It didn¡¯t seem real. It didn¡¯t feel real. Coldbloom might be dead. And Alte. And Bud. Ricktor¡­


    She needed the head of her Conor more than ever.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    The man bowed his head, ¡°You may not believe me, but I swear everything I have to say is true. Lord Glove met them on the battlefield with golems.¡±


    Talah must have misheard him. It sounded like he had said golems. ¡°Golems? What do you mean by that?¡±


    ¡°Exactly what it sounds like. Golems. The creatures of legend walk again. Somehow Lord Glove has won mastery over at least fifty of them. I¡¯ve never seen such terrible power.¡±


    Talah clutched the sides of her chair until her knuckles turned white, ¡°I¡¯m sorry for the interruption, go on.¡±


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    Her spy wiped at his eyes where tears had formed, ¡°Coldbloom and Ricktor were ready to surrender. I-I don¡¯t know what happened next. I was leaving to meet with the Chosen. Separately from Coldbloom¡¯s orders, just to make sure everything was¡­ It doesn¡¯t matter. I heard screaming and so I turned back and watched from the woods. They slaughtered them all. I hid so I could bring you my report. I came here as soon as possible, though I still wish I had died on that battlefield. I don¡¯t know if there were any survivors.¡±


    Lord Glove had taken her father from her. Now he took her people. Her friends and advisors. And there was nothing she could do. Her father had told her about the Burned City. Ten golems was all it took to end a kingdom. She had to stop fifty. It was too much to ask of her.


    Talah curled forward, about to put her head in her hands when she noticed that the man dressed like a soldier was still standing there. She dismissed her own concerns and forced herself to sit taller in her chair. She was about to dismiss him when he spoke again.


    ¡°There is something else. More bad news. I received word this morning before seeing you. Vesper is dead. The location of her treasures is lost.¡±


    ¡°Dead?¡± Talah nearly broke then. Even her spy¡¯s presence wasn¡¯t enough. She stared straight ahead, pretending that tears weren¡¯t falling down her face.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, My Queen. I should have set a better watch on her. I¡¯ll do my best to find the assassin.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t have to look far,¡± Talah snarled, ¡°It was Lord Glove. It¡¯s always Lord Glove. There¡¯s your assassin.¡±


    The man dressed like a soldier bowed low, ¡°I cannot grieve as much as you, but still I grieve. And even in my grief I must say, that the assassin was not Lord Glove. He would have had to have been leading his army at the time.¡±


    Talah wanted to scream at him. She wanted to hit him. For a third time she mastered herself, ¡°Leave me.¡±


    ¡°Of course, My Queen.¡±

 What Happened After

    The glowing battlefield faded. I? stared at the blank patch of earth where it had been. Alisa was speaking, but I? couldn¡¯t hear her. A rushing noise had filled the room.


    Bom!


    Even the ground was fading away. Black and grey ate away at the edges of her vision.


    Bom!


    Alisa tugged on her arm. I? ignored it. The tunnel was closing in. I? could barely see the floor now. Darkness ate away light and her body seemed so very far away.


    Bom!


    The dull thud heard even above the rushing noise was her heart. I? leaned forward.


    Bom!


    She was falling. She¡¯d hit the ground eventually.


    ¡°I?!¡±


    Her name called her back to herself. I? felt a sharp pain in her nose as her face struck the ground. I? considered lying there, just for a moment, just until the world went away.


    ¡°I?, look at Emet!¡±


    I? got up. A great wind was blowing. It whipped I?¡¯s hair about her face so hard she was nearly knocked back over. Papers flew wildly in the room behind her. Chandeliers creaked on the ceiling. Torches guttered, sending shadows of great beasts leaping along the walls.


    The gale was pouring from Emet¡¯s mouth. It was growing stronger. A table flipped over. The jars atop it were picked up and smashed against the far wall. I? had to lean forward now and cling to the earth to avoid being smashed alongside them.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± She shouted.


    ¡°The¡­ end¡­¡± Emet¡¯s lips crumbled, joining the gale. The wide gash that was the golem¡¯s mouth blew apart, stretching into a horrific grin.


    ¡°I¡­ have one¡­ last lesson¡­¡±


    Emet¡¯s left eye collapsed, filling in completely.


    ¡°Strength¡­ is not¡­ victory. Image¡­ Voice¡­ these control¡­ the throne¡­¡± Tool was knocked over by a flying clump of earth. A second table collapsed. The alligator on the ceiling creaked ominously.


    Though the wind pouring from Emet was a hurricane, her final words were so quiet I? barely heard them, ¡°Seek¡­Death¡­¡±


    Emet¡¯s mouth stretched wide enough to devour the room. I? was torn free from the ground, her dress and hair sent madly askew. A large toad, stuffed cat, and armoured beetle joined the papers¡¯ chaotic dance.


    I? struck the wooden door to the workshop so hard it fell into splinters. As its last ear-rending shriek faded the wind died.


    I? curled up on the floor, wracked with pain. The gnawing in her muscles demanded release, but her eyes were dry. She had been crying for too long. She was out of tears. Alisa came over to I? and wrapped her warm arms about her. I? clung to her for a long time, begging her to take the pain away. Eventually, she slept.


    I? was tired when she woke, but the pain was now just an ache.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Alisa asked.


    I? nodded, unsure. ¡°What happened to Emet?¡±


    Alisa helped her stand and began leading her over, ¡°You can see for yourself.¡±


    Emet was gone. All that remained of the golem was a small mound of dirt. Beyond it was a gaping hole which lead back into the darkness.


    ¡°What¡¯s back there?¡±


    ¡°I was waiting for you¡ª¡±


    Lies.


    I? jumped and spun around. It had sounded like an old woman whispering in her ear. There was no one there.


    I? grabbed Alisa¡¯s hand, ¡°Did you hear that?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Do you think it could have been¡ª¡±


    A torch glittered, sharp and silver. A second torch followed, and then a third. The first torch died abruptly, losing both luster and flame. A fourth torch flared. Around the workshop it went: first flaring, then dying. Soon all the torches had been extinguished and the room was cast into darkness.


    I? clutched Alisa¡¯s hand harder, ¡°Don¡¯t let go.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±


    I?¡¯s eyes began to adjust to the darkness. There was a faint green glimmer emanating from the hole where Emet had been.


    ¡°What is that?¡±


    The two went to investigate the light. I?¡¯s hand still in Alisa¡¯s. I? could hear Tool following them, a faint rasping in the dark.


    It took them less than a minute to reach the source of the light. An image rune, carved in harsh iron glittered on the floor. The light only illuminated a small pool around it. Black earth and black stone. It was small comfort in the darkness.


    I? didn¡¯t want to stay here. She looked up from the light. She could just make out walls to her left and right in the dark, but the end of the cavern was lost to her.


    ¡°How deep do you think this goes?¡± asked Alisa, echoing I?¡¯s thoughts.


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡± I? squinted. There was something there. A second green light glowing in the distance. This one had been carved with the confident gleam of steel.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s a tunnel,¡± I? said, ¡°I saw another light, come on.¡±


    A ringing noise began to accompany them as they walked. I? recognized it as the same sound a bowl made when it was struck. The ground had changed from packed earth to hard stone. Alisa¡¯s feet were chiming as she walked.


    Alisa giggled, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be much good at sneaking up on anyone would I?¡±


    I? still couldn¡¯t find it in herself to laugh, but she smiled, ¡°I like it. It¡¯s like music and I¡¯ll always know where you are.¡±


    Alisa¡¯s giggling became laughter. It tamed the darkness, making it a friend.


    ¡°You¡¯ll never have to look far.¡±


    The first light faded behind them, yet the second light remained in the distance. I? slowed, feeling around with an outstretched leg before taking each step. The last thing she wanted to do was go stumbling off some cliff lying in wait for an unwary trespasser. She cradled her right arm to her body. That small fall had been bad enough.


    If there was a cliff hidden in the dark, I? and Alisa never found it. Alisa tripped once on a piece of uneven floor and I? bounced off a wall, but they emerged from the unlit path otherwise unharmed. Black walls became grey shadows, grey shadows became white stone. The roof and walls stretched away from them; three times I?¡¯s height in all directions. Bits of jagged rock hung from the ceiling in parallel ridges as though the rest had been scooped away by a colossal hand. Maybe a hand had dug it. I? pictured a golem swimming through bedrock as though it were butter. It would have had to have been huge.


    The light grew brighter. I? had to close her eyes against the glare, once again navigating by feel. By the time she reached the second image rune it was so bright I? could make out Alisa against the red glow of her eyelids. I? covered them with her free hand. She wished she had brought her chisel.


    ¡°Which way was it?¡± I? asked.


    Alisa pulled I? toward her, ¡°This way. I remember.¡±


    I?¡¯s foot struck a mound of earth and she toppled forward. Alisa caught her.


    ¡°Tool! Get out of the way! I can¡¯t see,¡± I? grabbed her chest. Her heart was pounding like a woodpecker. The white flash of pain as her arm broke had come back to her.


    Tool slithered softly to the side. I? had forgotten he was there. She hadn¡¯t been able to hear him over the sound of Alisa¡¯s chiming. But Tool was there. And he was fast. Very fast.


    ¡°Tool? I¡¯m sorry I yelled at you. Can you please go get me a chisel? A steel one. And a hammer.¡±


    Tool¡¯s rustling quickly faded off into the distance. I? felt cold earth bump against her leg less than a minute later. She reached around and found the tools she¡¯d asked for sunken into the golem¡¯s head.


    The glitter of steel burned white against her red eyelids. I? released Alisa¡¯s hand and knelt by the rune. A single strike from her hammer was enough. The light vanished along with its red afterimage. I? blinked in the newfound dark. She wondered if there had actually been any light at all.


    Alisa helped her stand, ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    I? took her hand again, ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


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    Ten minutes passed before I? noticed the next rune. I? felt it before she saw it, for there was no light. Instead, a metallic ache sent her bones groaning and twisting beneath their sinews. A dull flash of silver washed over her.


    ¡°I think the next rune is carved in lead.¡±


    I? didn¡¯t hear Alisa¡¯s reply. She didn¡¯t even know if Alisa had replied. The stale smelling air had vanished, as had its damp taste. The blood rushing through I?¡¯s veins stilled. She wasn¡¯t even sure if she was still breathing, but she found she didn¡¯t care. The rune had suffused senses in lead.


    I?¡¯s toe hit a groove, sending her sprawling. Her head turned just in time and her chest and cheek struck the floor.


    ¡°Ah!¡±


    Her head ached. It was hard to breath, and I? was pretty sure she had skinned her knee. The pain doused her like a cold bucket of water, bringing I? back to herself. She needed to destroy the rune or run away. I? wasn¡¯t even sure if she could stand, leg throbbing as it was.


    She reached about blindly for her tools, finding another groove like the one she had tripped in as she did so. She traced it with her finger. The looping, twisting pattern was familiar. She¡¯d fallen at the edge of a massive image rune, built with channels instead of lines.


    I? quested about further and confirmed her theory. Her hammer was lying near what felt like the left side of the image rune, and her chisel had fallen in the center circle. I? grabbed them.


    Now¡­


    Now¡ªWhat was she doing? I? felt like she had a fever, like she was only able to think about one thing at a time. All she could remember was the lead rune. The lead rune and¡­


    And there were tools in her hand. She placed one against the center groove. That seemed right. The second tool¡ªthe hammer¡ªwas supposed to strike her chisel. So she did so. Again. And again. Channeling a line the width of her hand. And again.


    A great cloud lifted. The pain from I?¡¯s injuries returned with renewed intensity. She gasped and clutched her knee.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Alisa was there, and Tool. I? was in a tunnel behind Emet¡¯s body.


    ¡°I- I¡­ My knee hurts,¡± said I?.


    Alisa laughed, ¡°You should see your face, it¡¯s nearly as red as mine.¡±


    There was light. The tunnel was glowing. Red. Gentle. Peaceful. Just left of the lead image rune was a much smaller one, carved in copper. I? crawled over to it and ran her fingers along the rune. It was warm to the touch.


    I?¡¯s aches and pains faded away. Even the ones behind her eyes where only she could see. Lord Glove, King Otto, Emet; all part of something she didn¡¯t understand. She didn¡¯t need to understand. She was not responsible for anyone or anything. Every duty had been imagined. Every obligation, self-imposed. I? was free. She could do anything.


    I? stood and embraced Alisa. Her joy could not be contained. She laughed as she spotted Tool and wished he could join her.


    ¡°I should have given you a voice,¡± I? bent down to kiss Tool on his head, ¡°and I will! As soon as we get back.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s peaceful here, isn¡¯t it?¡± said Alisa, laughing as I? spat dirt from her teeth.


    I? grabbed her hand once more, and grabbed Tool¡¯s arm in the other.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said softly.


    Walking down the tunnel was as easy as dreaming. A mere hundred paces later the tunnel shrunk down to an archway, just large enough for the trio to walk through side by side. Past the archway was a room lit by a soft blue light.


    The walls of the room were lined with small bricks, all different shapes and sizes. At the center of the room was a pedestal which rose so smoothly from the stone floor it must have been carved there. Atop it was the source of the blue light: Two image runes intertwined; one bronze, the other silver.


    A strange glimmer in the corner of the room caught I?¡¯s attention. One of the small bricks contained an active image rune, but it had been carved in a metal I? had never seen used before. I? went over to it. The rune had been painted onto the stone with gold, but it didn¡¯t seem to give off light or cast an image. I? ran her finger along the brick, trying to discern the rune¡¯s purpose. The stone shifted.


    I? pressed harder and the brick spun perpendicular to its hole, revealing itself to be less than a seventh of a seventh wide. Behind the brick I? found a small chain made from a red metal she didn¡¯t recognize. I? pulled it free. The chain was linked together into a ring; a necklace, set with a small marble orb.


    I? placed the necklace over her head to lay beside the wooden ring. She wasn¡¯t sure why she had put it on, except that it had felt like she should. Like she would. I? felt strange, like she was still in a dream, but one where she already knew the ending.


    I? turned away from the alcove, causing the marble orb to shift beneath her dress. It pressed coldly against her skin, causing her to jump. Alisa laughed. I? grabbed the orb through her dress¡ª


    A small girl crying as she watches her pancake fall to the floor. Her father picks it up and throws it to the large brown dog waiting patiently at the threshold. He picks her up and spins her around. His dark eye¡¯s glitter as they meet her own. She doesn¡¯t laugh, but the crying stops.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make you another one I?, don¡¯t you worry. I¡¯ll see you and our dog well fed.¡±


    The girl¡¯s father ruffles her hair and then walks out the door. I? can¡¯t see it, but she knows he keeps a small fire burning there.


    I? released the orb and collapsed.


    Alisa leaped across the room and caught her before her knees hit the ground.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°My papa,¡± It was all I? could manage. She was disoriented, past and present all mixed together.


    ¡°Lanet?¡±


    I? shook her head. Lanet had taken her from her father. Or her father had died. She couldn¡¯t remember now. It had been too long ago.


    I? removed the necklace to pass it to Alisa. The marble touched her palm once more¡ª


    A woman hides behind a mountain. Her eyes are closed. An orb, identical to the one in I?¡¯s own hand except in size, is pressed to her forehead. She speaks in a whisper which shakes the trees on the mountain, ¡°I am OUtashYana, crafter of this orb. I am being hunted, and will soon be found. This is how I will die. Thank you for being with me. To you who finds this, I wish for you to take it as my gift. I hope it helps you. I hope you remember me.¡±


    The woman takes the orb away from her forehead with a sob. A vast army appears on the horizon, stretching along its whole length save in the direction OUtashYana flees. Tears streak down her face. She leaps a mountain, then stops. Another army, as large as the last is before her. It is as if the whole world is covered in soldiers except where she stands. They are puny compared to her, but in such numbers she can only die.


    ¡°No!¡± I? had felt the woman¡¯s fear. Felt her absolute despair.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    I? was trembling so hard the chain began to slip through her fingers. She grabbed at it¡ª


    ¡°Replace my boat, get me a pair of shoes that fit, and she¡¯s yours,¡± a man with massive shoulders and dark brown skin gestures to his daughter who is mending a net.


    The young man with wild blond hair nods, ¡°You¡¯ll have them by tomorrow.¡±


    Now the young man sits in a carriage next to the crying young woman. She is repeating the same thing over and over, ¡°What did I do wrong?¡±


    The blond man reins in his oxen and slides across the bench towards her, ¡°Nothing. You did everything right. You¡¯re famous for your skill. Everyone I met on the way here knows the name ¡®Rebeka¡¯.¡±


    Rebeka¡¯s long dark hair can¡¯t completely hide her tears, ¡°My father sold me. You bought me.¡±


    The man smiles and lets out a charming laugh, ¡°I did no such thing. I asked your elders for assistance and they sent me to your father. The poor man is going to miss having such a splendid helper, so I did my best to compensate him. I¡¯ve never seen anyone mend a net as fast as you.¡±


    Rebeka offers a wet smile and brushes back a lock of hair stuck to her face with tears, ¡°Thank you. But if we were equals you would have told me your name.¡±


    The young man¡¯s eyes widen with shock, ¡°Forgive me, I didn¡¯t think to mention it! I¡¯m Glove.¡±


    Now Glove stares at a small golem carrying a boulder twice its size towards a bridge.


    ¡°How do they do that?¡± he mutters.


    Rebeka hears and walks over, ¡°I can teach you, if you like.¡±


    Glove smiles, ¡°Please.¡±


    ¡°The runes confer strength to the golem. They can be used on anything. Even people.¡±


    ¡°Really¡­¡± Glove looks away to the horizon where plumes of smoke are starting to rise.


    Now Rebeka sits in well-lit wooden room staring down at ten exquisitely made iron bodies. There is a knock at the door. Rebeka looks up with a start. Glove strides through the door and she smiles.


    ¡°I hear you got your own little dom Lord Glove.¡±


    He winces, ¡°It¡¯s not mine. I didn¡¯t do all that much.¡±


    ¡°You abducted me. Surely that is worth more than all the jewels in the world to Ganter,¡± she keeps smiling as she says this.


    Again he winces. He tugs at one of his long black sleeves, ¡°The title is more like a contract to ensure I keep doing what I¡¯m doing.¡±


    ¡°Is that what these are for?¡± Rebeka asks, gesturing to the forms of metal on the ground.


    ¡°I need warriors. Can you work these?¡±


    Rebeka considers them, ¡°With difficulty. I¡¯ll need a constant source of heat to work the metal. And it will take many obey runes. That means a lot of gold. But I can do it.¡±


    Now Rebeka stands over a body stripped of clothes. Bruised and bloodied, blond hair matted red- brown from a cut across his face. Eyes flutter open and Lord Glove smiles up at her, ¡°I chased them off.


    Rebeka does not return the smile. She takes a rag damp with water and begins cleaning the wounds about his face, ¡°I saw you kill Kolek.¡±


    Lord Glove¡¯s smile fades, ¡°The Kingdom¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Kingdom first. You¡¯ve said that more times than anything else in the months that I have known you. Why?¡±


    Now Rebeka sits alone at a table in the keep. It is covered in ornate cloth, though set only for one. A messenger arrives, the four guards at the door bow to him as he rushes in. Rebeka watches him expectantly.


    ¡°A message for Lord Glove.¡±


    Her face falls, ¡°He is gone on a mission for King Tate. Something to do with his pregnant wife. I don¡¯t know when he will return. You may speak to me as if I were him.¡±


    The messenger glances back to a guard who nods at him. He licks his lips then speaks, ¡°My Lord Glove, good news. The mission is finally at an end. The Maharal are no more. The last battle was fought at Swallow River without casualties for your forces. The Glovedom regiment will be returning within the month.¡±


    He looks up and smiles at her, then steps back in fear. Rebeka¡¯s face is pale and fires burn in her dark eyes.


    Now Lord Glove rides his horse to the entrance of the long stair leading down to where the artifact was unearthed.


    ¡°Rebeka! Where are you going? You¡¯ll catch a cold down there. I have great news! King Tate¡¯s son is born. They¡¯re going to name him Otto.¡±


    Rebeka ignores him, instead directing golems as they carry heavy chests, tables, and tools into the earth.


    ¡°Why do you serve Ganter?¡±she suddenly demands.


    ¡°They will save everyone. A united land is far stronger¡­¡±


    ¡°My people are no more!¡± Rebeka screams, ¡°I will no longer aid the growth of Ganter, nor Glovedom.¡±


    She turns and follows her golems into the hole.


    Now Rebeka is older, middle aged. She is bent over the form of a cloth golem which wears a gentleman¡¯s suit and long blond wig.


    Lord Glove walks into the room, distaste plain on his face, ¡°Is the alligator necessary?¡±


    Rebeka glances up from her work for a moment then down, ¡°I once thought you a peer, a friend. Two inseparable youth to conquer the world. Look at you, young as ever.¡±


    Lord Glove sighed, ¡°Rebeka, my dom has collapsed. I have few remaining under my service and soon they will have to leave or starve. Please, for the sake of what we¡¯ve been through together, for what we once were, help me.¡±


    Rebeka continues to sew in silence. Minutes pass, then she speaks, ¡°For you, I will help the dom. No one else. I will not fight wars for King Otto, and I will not build him armies.¡±


    Lord Glove nods, then leaves the room. Moments later, tears splash on the cloth figure.


    Now Rebeka walks through the night accompanied by thirteen golems. At Rebeka¡¯s side is the golem of cloth.


    A guard stops Rebeka, demanding to know who is out in the darkness. Lord Glove¡¯s voice floats back and the cloth golem waves down the guard¡¯s concern. Placated, she steps aside, allowing Rebeka and her golems to pass.


    The necklace slipped from I?¡¯s fingers and bounced against the floor. She barely noticed it fall. She needed to cry¡ªshe needed to scream, but she couldn¡¯t draw in the air. Help me. I? tried to whisper, but the words stuck in her throat. Help me.


    I? hiccoughed, drawing in a single breath of air. Help me. Another. Her throat opened. A longer breath now, deep and wavering. Help me. Pain followed, welling up from the tears in her heart. It forced its way up her throat and wrenched opened her jaws. Help me. She could no longer contain it, and she didn¡¯t want to. I? screamed. And screamed. And screamed again.


    Help me. Hot pain threatened her vision, building in the corners of her eyes. Alisa pulled I? closer, pressing her against her warm chest. Help me.


    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    Tears came.


    And that was enough.


    THE END