Memnalar

Since the day they destroyed the lighthouse, there were always fresh pickings on the beach. Tan's shoulders strained as he pulled the dragging-litter across the sand, leaving deep grooves over his footprints. He glanced back at the litter as he shifted the straps. A big haul, and not even two hours past daybreak. There must have been a battle at sea. Tan glanced at the horizon over the water, and wondered. Leader came stomping toward him, hit him in the jaw. Tan tasted blood. "You fall behind!" Tan could smell Leader's breath. He had eaten meat, and recently. Tan and the other Draggers had only hard, wormy bread and filthy water. "Keep up, or it's the whip." Leader grinned with red teeth, as he patted the black, oiled length of twisted roel-gut, wound into a tight coil at his belt. He loved that whip, like an extension of him. "Or," Leader's grin widened even more, so much that Tan thought the top of his head might split off, "Will you turn Killer today?" By now, the

In the end, after seven full moons, a dozen houses burned, and the bones of two-score villagers and seven unlucky knights had been strewn for leagues around, the farming clans took matters into their own hands. Heirloom silver from every house went into the smelter. Even the sullen, miserly old usurer was held down and fed whiskey until his silver molars could be pulled. They paid an itinerant bladesmith with as much coin, plum-wine and pelts as she could load on her wagon. They loaded the result of her craft into a huge, old siege crossbow left over from dozens of brushfire wars as this land changed hands from one king or another. And they waited until the next full moon, until they next heard the beating of leathery wings and claws skittering against the treetops. They would steel themselves with whiskey and plum-wine. They would aim for the center of the shadowy mass as it bent to feast. They would pray. Some balked at the plan of using the drunken moneylender as bait for

Despite Sheriff Pietro's enthusiasm about trying Igrid the following morning, the wheels of bureaucracy did not turn so fast. Just after opening, the Raven's common room was filled with local petitioners with cases or matters to bring before the Magistrate, some with barristers up from Elsagrod, others speaking for themselves. Several land disputes, disagreements over the sale of animals, an argument over water rights that had dragged on for most of a year, two marriages, three divorces, a contested will, and many matters requiring only signatures before witnesses. Only one criminal case would be heard. Before dawn, Pietro and his men escorted Igrid from the jail to one of the inn's guest rooms, to await her hearing, under guard. Kloette caught a glimpse of her as she was herded upstairs. Igrid had not slept, but she walked with composure and military bearing. Kloette went to the back door. Tan stood just outside. "They've just brought her in. Can you hear?" she said. "Yes

Few officials bearing Protectorate insignia ever visited Gorzy County, so Circuit Magistrate Kezia Quill's arrival in town drew a crowd. Her coach was a dour, eight-wheeled dreadnaught painted Protectorate grey and drawn by six mud-colored horses almost Typhoon's size. Twelve riders encircled the coach, all women wearing the black armor and white-enamelled steel masques of the Inankine Sisterhood. The affair came to a halt in front of the Red Raven Inn, and several of the armored Sisters met Kloette at the door. They entered, inspected the place, and satisfied that secure space had been made for the Magistrate and retinue, began the process of installing them into temporary residence. Gordje chewed nails over it. "Bad enough we lose money every time this circus comes to town, but now the hearings themselves? In our common room? That's a hundred marks a day we'll never see again, easy." "Keep your voice down," Kloette grumbled to him. "Since the Church burned down, this is the only

The boat had belonged to Kloette's father. When they were little, he would row them up and down the river, sometimes to fish, sometimes to get them out of their mother's hair. After he died, and Kloette and Gordje had gone off to war, it sat upside-down on two logs out back of the Inn, paint slowly peeling away with the seasons. It made Kloette sad to see it that way when she came home, but there was always something more important to worry about. Igrid asked about it, that day she had confided in Kloette about her time in the city. "Oh, that old thing? It was Dad's. If you fix it up, you can have it." Igrid's eyes had lit up like Kloette had just given her a newly-wrought three-masted galleon. Every day since then, even if for just a few minutes, Igrid always found time to work on the little boat. Today was the first time she'd touched it in over a week. Kloette found her out there, cooing over it like a child as she ran sandpaper over it. She'd long since removed the old paint

Tan smelled the Church long before coming within sight of it. Smoke had found its way into the bark of every tree for a mile out, and smothered all other scents so completely, that Tan barely registered anything else until he rounded a bend in the road. The old Church was gone. Only the ancient, stone chimney from the rectory still stood, surrounded by a black patch in the ground. The rubble was gone as well, removed days ago by volunteers. Those volunteers were still here, unloading lumber from Tan's wagon as Typhoon munched oats from a bag hanging around her snout. Each board, barrel and bag of nails travelled in a procession toward the Church's new frame, growing where the old stood just weeks ago. Several men and women from the village were gathered along either side of a large section of frame, newly assembled flat on on the ground. As one, the villagers hoisted it up on one end and held it against the standing frame as ladders were placed against it. The shortest and

Tan could finally sit up, and did so, rubbing his eyes. He looked around, shocked. "What's all this?" Montrose looked up from his notes, then around the room, and smiled. "You saved those children, Tan. This is what happens." Two tables in the infirmary were so full of homemade gifts that several had fallen to the floor. Baskets of bread, cakes, jugs of cider, sacks of beans, carvings, a handmade broom, dolls and animals of sticks or patchwork fabric, wooden spoons, candles, quilts, a knife, and jars upon jars upon jars, each corked and covered with colorful cloth. Tan remarked on them. Montrose laughed. "Every house has its own recipe for preserves," he said. "You remember a couple winters ago when Kloette delivered Olga and Rolf Kyarny's baby? The Raven is still working through all the strawberry jam they gave her." Tan smiled. "I'd wondered why Klo never charges for it." "There are piles outside, against the north wall," said Montrose, "We couldn't fit the firewood and pumpkins

Tan dreamed of fire, of heat, of his skin blistering and melting away like candle wax. He heard screams ahead of him. Children were caught beneath a burning beam. He reached out to them, but his wax hands melted away. The little ones would die here. All his strength, everything he had learned, and he was useless. The last thing you are in the world to me is useless. He heard Igrid, but did not see her. He saw only the trapped children. He could not pull them out, so he would stay with them. They would not be alone. As he drew close, one of the children grabbed his beard and pulled. That's it! Tan pulled back, hoping to drag them out this way. Maybe it would work! But the child was stuck fast, and strong. Tan felt himself being pulled further into the flames. The child's hand grew bigger, stronger, and grew claws. A troll's hand. Then there were more. Dozens, hundreds of trollish hands, each ending in filthy nails, grabbed at his beard and pulled him into the flames. No! Tan

We had three storms together, you and I. The first was on the night you were born. Oh, how the wind howled, and the rain hit the stone of the walls like cannon fire. "My Lady, the foal is too big," old Wicker said to me, the flash of lightning keeping him half in shadow, "We'll have to cut it free." Penumbra, your mother, would not live to nurse you. Oh, how I wept. I learned to ride on Penumbra, learned to couch a lance, swing a mace and steady a bow on her back. I cried into her neck when my father passed. She looked on as I was crowned Duchess, barded in my family's colors. I held her head and screamed into her mane. I would not be consoled, not by old Wicker or anyone else. I had lost Father, I had lost Mother, and now Penumbra, my strength and sunshine, had left me. I paid no attention to you. I didn't see you struggle to your feet, by yourself. I didn't even know you were there, until you hobbled up and bit me. I jerked my head up then, hand over my bleeding ear, sad

They prepared to leave Elifred's smithy as the sun grew low. In addition to nails, the wagon was full of door hinges, horseshoes, spoons for the inn - They always seem to run out of spoons, Tan had said - and a wrapping for Igrid's new saber. The hammering and singing began anew inside the smithy. Igrid wondered if Elly was mostly naked again. They climbed aboard the wagon, and Tan picked up the reins. Just then, the smithy's door banged open, and Phea emerged, carrying two sacks. Her iron feet sinking deep into the grass, she marched up to the wagon, and handed one sack to Igrid, without ceremony. Igrid peered in, holding a lantern against the fading light. "Wow!" she said, "Bread, cheese, fruit, wine! And I think that's jerky!" Tan nodded, smiling. "They trap lots of wild boar around here, and make jerky and sausage from them." Igrid leaned over to thank Phea, but the iron woman had already turned and marched up to Typhoon. She dug into the second sack, and produced a carrot.

Igrid looked back and forth between the cargo coming off the barges, and the manifest. She snorted in disgust. "What's wrong?" Kloette said, approaching Igrid on the dock. She had her red parasol open. Igrid raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh," Kloette said, glancing up. "It's very sunny today. Not good for me." "Are you a vampire?" "Why, yes," Kloette smirked. "I've been thinking of biting you since you arrived." Igrid sniffed herself. They'd been unloading half the morning. "I should really take a bath, or that won't be pleasant for you." Kloette grinned. "Problem?" Igrid held up her manifest and growled at the stacks on the dock. "I ordered ten gross of nails for the roof. They sent one. That's gonna put me behind for days while we wait on another barge." The pier shook as Tan dropped a stack of shingles. He was faster than the ancient, creaking cargo hoist. He wiped his brow. "We can go see Elifred at the smithy," he said. "She can turn out most of what you ordered in a day or

An acolyte found Montrose in the brewery, testing samples while walking some newer brothers through the process. "Yes, Lupo?" Montrose looked up from his beakers. The acolyte bowed respectfully. "Your pardon, Father Abbot, but there is a visitor at the gate to see you. She gives her name as Kloette Fishermorn." "I see." Montrose smiled at the resigned look Kloette must have worn when having to say her last name. She'd always hated it. "Show her to the library, please." "I'd already tried to take the liberty," young Lupo said, flustered. "But she won't enter the grounds." Montrose nodded, groaning inwardly. This meant she wasn't happy, and wanted to say things out of the monks' earshot. He was grateful for her discretion, but sometimes wished she'd just send a note. "I'll be along in a moment." Lupo nodded, and left. Montrose assigned duties to the new brothers, gathered his nerve, and went to the gate. There was Kloette, looking stern in her boots and grey traveling clothes