The Streets of Rejjvik

Nearly twenty years after the adventures of Tjesmond and Elspeth...

The skies of Rejjvik were grey and cold; the streets powdered with dirty snow. Crossbowwomen on the walls watched the clouds warily for signs of hail, or worse; guardsmen walked their beats warily, listening for the cries of a food-thief's victim, or a wider alarm. And on the Aristocrats' Street, where the lords kept their homes for visits to court - visits which had, over the last three years, become somewhat akin to a stay in prison.

 This metaphor is relevant. Lord Grenval found it thrust to the forefront of his mind as the King's house-carls broke down his front door and dragged him to his knees upon the snow-stained street outside.

 The King, there, looked down on him with an expression as cold as the weather. "You have the rest of your life to tell me what of our secrets you sold to the Crows, and what you know of their own plans."

 A sword at Lord Grenval's throat left no doubt as to King Hjessler's meaning.

 "I told them all that I knew, Your Highness," Lord Grenval said. He did his best not to tremble, without success. "Their emissary promised me safety, but only if I withheld nothing. There was something in his eyes - "

 "So, the placement of the guards, something of our contingency plans..."

 "And the hidden sally gate in the south wall," Lord Grenval confessed, nearly babbling.

 King Hjessler laughed, a short bitter laugh. "The least of your sins," he said. "Traitors less remarkable than you sold that secret to the Crows years ago. We had it walled off after their first attempt to use it."

 Lord Grenval considered laughing along. He decided that it was, under the circumstances, inadvisable.

 "What did they let slip to you?" King Hjessler asked. "Were you to expect them at a certain time?"

 "Yes," Lord Grenval said. "Tomorrow, a glass before noon."

 "Is that all?" King Hjessler asked.

 "I think they were going to mount an attack on the grainaries, under cover of a larger assault," Lord Grenval said. "But - " he gulped, the thought galling him even to consider - "it could be they expected me to be taken. That they hinted at the idea only to mislead and sow confusion, now - "

 "It could be," King Hjessler said. "But it matters little, now."

 "I've given no little thought to the fate of traitors," King Hjessler said. "There seem to be quite a few around - lured by the Crows' gold or, more likely, their promises of mercy. (Though they have shown, so far, very little - hope springs eternal, I suppose, especially in the face of desperation.) The commoners' betrayal I find much more forgivable - they are hungry, maybe starving, maybe freezing. But you - a man of noble birth, meant to protect the people under your class, instead selling them out for an unlikely promise of safety - "

 "Karl," this with a gesture to the house-carl currently holding a sword to Lord Grenval's neck, "nearly persuaded me that it would be only just - in the way of the poets - to give you to the people for whatever justice you saw fit. Had you not complied so thoroughly, I would have done so."

 "Thank you, Your Highness," Lord Grenval said.

 "Instead, we will have this over here and now," King Hjessler said. "Do you have any last words?"

 Lord Grenval gulped. "Let it be known I met my death with honor," he said.

 King Hjessler nodded once, firmly. A hand from behind pushed Lord Grenval's head down, leaving his nape exposed to the air - and to the quick stroke which ended his life.

 "Take it to the square," King Hjessler ordered. "Let it be mounted above the gates, with a placard beneath: 'He died with honor.'"

 King Hjessler and his guard left the street, a bloody body dragged behind them. The neighbors were already emerging from their houses, moving to see what had transpired; soon the whole city would know. The city guard walked their patrols; the crossbowwomen kept their eyes fixed to the skies. And on the distant cliffs, across the water, dark shapes moved and circled in the wind.

 Rejjvik had been under siege for the last three years; and both besieged and besiegers knew that they could not endure much longer.

 The Crows gathered.

Tjesmond and Elspeth

When Elspeth discovered Tjesmond, the boy was curled in the center of a deer trail, shaking from the torments of some strange ague. His body was skeletal, completely devoid of fat; his clothes were worn to paper-thin rags. He would certainly die if Elspeth did nothing.

 Elspeth was raised as a devout follower of the One God; and, beyond that, she had learned some compassion in her nineteen years of living. She put aside her planned hunt, cradled Tjesmond (shivering and coughing) in her arms, and took him to her camp. There she nursed him back to health over the course of a trying fortnight, hand-feeding him thick bear-meat broths to build his strength, bundling him about with blankets and putting herself beside them for added warmth; and on the thirteenth night his fever broke, and he awoke lucid, though weak.

 "Where am I?" he asked, confused, disoriented. He saw Elspeth; drew back, afraid. "Who are you?"

 "I am Elspeth Hrotasdottir," Elspeth told Tjesmond in her accented Old Tongue. "A trapper in the service of the King. I saved your life; you're at my camp now. Who are you?"

 At this Tjesmond's mouth clamped shut. Avoiding the question, he tried to stand; his legs refused to support him. Elspeth moved to his side.

 "Careful now," she said, putting a supporting hand to his shoulderblades. (He flinched back, instinctually.) "Plenty of time for that later. For now - what do you think of bear meat for breakfast?"

 Tjesmond thought. He sniffed the air, once, twice. "It sounds delicious," he told her.

 There were many things he refused to tell her - where he came from; his name; why, when first he saw her, he seemed to fear her features so. Elspeth found some deep well of strength, drawing from deep inside her soul, and managed to live without the answers to the first and last of those questions; for the second, she took it on herself to make a name for the boy she had rescued - choosing 'Tjesm-ond', meaning (in the New Tongue) something along the lines of 'indomitable soul'.

 "Tkes-mooned?" Tjesmond asked. "What?"

 "Tyes-mund," Elspeth corrected gently.

 "T-hes-mund," Tjesmond attempted. "...what's that mean again?"

 Elspeth made it her project to teach Tjesmond the New Tongue (and the New Faith); in return, Tjesmond began to help with Elspeth's work, going out with the woods with her to hunt the animals by which she made her livelihood. He took to both New Tongue and Faith quickly, showing a quick wit and an eager will to embrace a faith other than that with which he was raised; and, fed on a steady diet of red meat, Tjesmond's strength returned quickly, his ribcage and spine receding from prominence. He healed.

 Despite the secrets he kept from her, a warmth grew between Tjesmond and Elspeth. The season turned; winter turned into spring, the snow melted, the days warmed. Tjesmond and Elspeth continued to sleep together, but, by the time the first leaves began to sprout on the treetops, in a different sense.

 The days passed quickly, and (perversely) lasted ever longer. The buried fur-cache grew full; and, not long after summer's beginning, Elspeth looked at the sun and pronounced it time for the yearly trip to Rejjvik.

 Tjesmond and Elspeth took turns; one would pull the car laden with furs, the other watch the countryside, wary for brigands or monsters. "It's gotten ugly in the last few years," Elspeth told Tjesmond. "Ever since King Hjording took the throne, there's been no sense of order or lawfulness to be found in the realm; not that his father was a Majesty worthy of the title, either."

 "Shouldn't the King's men do something?" Tjesmond asked. "If there are bandits terrorizing the land, and all."

 "The King's men!" Elspeth laughed. "No, no, sorry, you don't know. Look - there's two groups that you could call by that name. His house-carls - they stick close to him, never leave his side. And the tax-men, which roam the countryside, and, well..."

 "Dispense justice wherever they see evil?" Tjesmond asked.

 "Ha!" Elspeth laughed again. "Wherever they sense a penny's as not theirs or a harvest they've not taken in whole, more like. Nah, Tjesmond - the tax-men are as much the problem as the bandits and the monsters."

 "So, if I see a tax-man, should I shoot him?" Tjesmond asked earnestly.

 Elspeth paused. "Not unless he's really asking for it," she advised.

 By luck - or by virtue of a vigilant crossbow - the pair reached the city without incident. It protruded from the rocky hills like nothing Tjesmond had seen before - he had to ask Elspeth to confirm what he was seeing. "Rejjvik's behind that cliff?" he asked.

 Elspeth looked, blinked. "Cliff? - oh. Those are the city walls, Tjesmond. The Pilgrims built 'em. The city is inside those walls."

 There was nearly a scene at the city walls - the burghmester's men, watching traffic entering the city, stepped forward to surround the cart as Tjesmond and Elspeth approached. "Those furs are valuable goods, and as such subject to a fee by City Code," one of the guards said, a gleam of avarice visible in his eyes. "You can pay me with an ounce of gold, if you have that available, or I can seize a few of these quickly - "

 "Get your hands away from that," Elspeth said, stepping forward and slapping the guard's hand away roughly. "These furs are the King's property - I'm just delivering them to him. And let me tell you, he won't be happy if he hears that one of you scum thought you were fancy enough to need furs meant for a King - "

 "Shut up," the guard interrupted, rubbing his injured hand. "I don't need to hear any more of your cock-and-bull tale. You're a king's woman - where's the proof?"

 "I am a servant of the King, not his mistress," Elspeth corrected angrily, "and for the proof, just look at your hand!"

 The guard, red-faced, stared at Elspeth for a moment; then he looked down at his hand. There, puffy and inflamed, was Elspeth's proof; the King's mark, left by the signet ring Elspeth wore.

 Mute, the guard waved Tjesmond and Elspeth through. Elspeth spat on the ground.

 "Time was, the King kept his servant's dogs in check," Elspeth said. "Now - "

 "So he's an evil man, the King?" Tjesmond asked.

 Elspeth frowned. "Um - King Hjording? No. He's not evil. He's a good person, in person. I don't just work for him because it's the job my mother had before me - I do it because I can be proud, serving the King of All Estelunde. It's just..." She waved her hand.

 Tjesmond thought. "It's that he's a good person, but not a very good King?"

 Elspeth nodded. "Yeah. That about sums it up."

 Tjesmond was silent for the rest of the trip to the castle, mulling this strange idea over.

 The Royal Palace was a squat stone building, two stories tall, surrounded by a fortified black stone wall. Two gates allowed entrance to the interior; Elspeth led the way to the smaller of them, the servants' entrance. Another pair of guards barred the way, these wearing light mail with the King's crest in the front. "What business have you here?" the guard on the right asked.

 "I come to bring my yearly tribute to the King," Elspeth began, then paused. She stared at the guard who offered her the challenge. "Hey, I know you. What's with all the formality, Jerna?"

 Jerna paused. "I'm sorry, but I've forgotten - oh, you're Elspeth! I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you with the ponytail."

 "As opposed to keeping my hair in my face all the time," Elspeth said jokingly. "Yeah, I'm sure I wouldn't recognize me either. The housecarl's armor looks good on you, Jerna. I'd love to chat more, but I really need to get this done before audience hours are over - walk with me to the palace?"

 "If I want to keep this armor, I really should stick to my post - " Jerna said.

 "Ehh, your shift's nearly over anyway," her companion told her. "Go, walk with your friend. I'll cover for you."

 Jerna wavered. "Uh - should I leave my sword with you?" she asked her companion.

 "What - so if the howling hordes of the north descend upon us, led by the vengeful ghost of their Great Priest, I can hold them off like a hero from the tales, sword in each hand?" he replied. "Take it, you can return it to the armory yourself after you're done with these two."

 Elspeth, Tjesmond, and Jerna walked onward, through the yard outside the palace to the storage outbuildings at the palace's rear.

 "Just as well I kept the sword." Elspeth said. "It's been weird in the palace, lately - maybe it's the way the new wing's left the old west wing dark and half-empty, but there've been rumors of ghosts, monsters. Supposedly a couple of the servants have gone missing. But there's no monster that doesn't respect the taste of cold steel - "

 "Except the ones that can only be harmed by silver, or wood, or moonlight..." Elspeth listed off on her fingers.

 "Yeah, if you believe in that kind of thing," Jerna dismissed. "So who's strong but silent, anyway? Didn't think you had anyone warming your bed last time you were in the city."

 Elspeth and Tjesmond, simultaneously, flushed bright red. "It's more complicated than that - " Elspeth began.

 "Oh, Lights That Guide, you really are!" Jerna laughed. "I was joking! How'd you meet, found him caught in one of your bear traps?"

 Elspeth was saved from answering this question by arriving at her destination; the office of the King's merchantile factor, "to whom," Elspeth explained to Tjesmond, "I am obligated to deliver my furs for assessment and payment."

The party entered the antechamber; the factor's secretary went to inform him of Elspeth's arrival.

 "Another of the King's men?" Tjesmond asked.

 Jerna looked confused at the obvious question. Elspeth winced. "Probably, though I hope not. He was appointed by the King when he took the throne, and was out of the city last summer when I came to deliver my furs, so I've never met him, only his clerks; so I can't say for certain either way."

 "I see," Tjesmond said. He turned to Jerna. "In that case: may I borrow your sword, for protection?"

 "What in the Light's reach are you talking about?" Jerna asked.

 Again she was to get no answer; the factor's secretary re-emerged, gesturing towards the doorway through which he had come. "The Royal Factor will see you now," he said, and Elspeth and Tjesmond rose to follow his direction.

 "Wait for us?" Elspeth suggested to Jerna. "It shouldn't be long; he's only got to sign off on the documents and give me the voucher for payment."

 Jerna thought, her brow furrowing, then gave an eloquent shrug. "I can wait a quarter-turn to quench my curiosity," she said.

 Elspeth and Tjesmond proceeded through a short hallway into the Royal Factor's inner office. The air grew scented as they approached, touched by some unfamiliar perfume; Tjesmond sniffed several times at it, curious. Inside, gauze curtains hung layered across the room, allowing only the Royal Factor's silhouette to be seen. Iron braziers stood on either side of the doorway, smoking profusely.

 Tjesmond halted in his tracks, surprised by the room's contents; behind him, the factor's secretary entered and closed the door behind him.

 "I am very disappointed," the Factor said. His voice seemed to echo, as though coming from inside some deep cave. "I had heard such good things about you; your family had served the Royal Family nearly since the inception of this Kingdom, and you yourself have served since you came to adulthood. But it appears that you are... unready to live up to your family's legacy. Do not think me an ungenerous man - I am prepared to give you half your normal pay, in exchange for which you must promise to improve next year - "

 "What?" Elspeth said, interrupting. "Unready? What are you talking about? If you check the records, you'll see that I've brought you more furs than last year, even - "

 "Yes, about that," the Factor said, his voice filled with unconvincing regret. "I think if you check the records, you'll find nothing of the sort. In fact, you'll see that your yield has been dropping for the last several years - such a shame."

 Elspeth stood still. "You're cheating me," she said, her voice cold. "And what's worse, you're cheating the King- underreporting what you take in so you can steal the rest. What's to stop me from - "

 "Why - she's trying to kill me!" the Factor cried, his voice filled with mock shock. "Secretary - restrain this madwoman! Then - just for our own safety, after all - cut her tongue out!"

 The secretary was already moving, a dagger in his hand. He had Elspeth in a lock - but Tjesmond was to his other side, and pulled him off her, hurling him into a brazier. Coals spilled out onto the wood floor. "Come out, you scum," he said to the Factor, stalking forward through the curtains. "We'll give you to the King's justice - "

 A hand shot out, grasped Tjesmond's throat, and pulled him forward. "Little boy, little boy," the Factor's echoing voice said coldly. "Suffer your own justice!"

 Tjesmond now understood why the Factor had hidden himself behind curtains.

 The King's Factor was hideous. His body appeared to be in the midst of a transformation into solid gold - this being in itself somewhat notable - but his original flesh had taken poorly to the change, dying wherever it contacted the metal. So parts of him were metal, strangely glistening in the braziers' dancing light - but all around those parts were putrescent flesh, rotting and crawling with insects. Also, he was strangling Tjesmond.

 Tjesmond coughed. Tjesmond hacked. Tjesmond grasped desperately at the golden arm that was killing him.

 None of these actions were extremely effective. His vision began to darken.

 Then there was a noise - and Jerna was there, a sword in her hand. "Just like I told you!" she gloated to Elspeth, and in one stroke hacked off the hand that was crushing Tjesmond's windpipe. She drew back, calling, "Surrender, and we may spare you - "

 But the King's Factor was long past that point. He drew a jagged blade hidden under his robe and attacked, driving Jerna back in a series of swift blows. Elspeth cast a concerned look in that direction, then knelt to help Tjesmond, who was still prone on the floor with a gold hand around his throat. "Monsters in the King's court..." she muttered.

 With the hand carefully pried from Tjesmond's throat, he felt ready to give Elspeth a cautious smile as he got onto his hands and knees. "Looks like Jerna's having trouble," he said, looking in that direction. "Maybe we should - "

 A heavy weight fell on him. Tjesmond fell prone once again.

 Above him leered the face of the Royal Factor's secretary, who had just knocked Elspeth low by surprise; and, Tjesmond noted in his moment of helplessness, the secretary's eyes gleamed gold.

 The secretary kicked at Elspeth, sending her rolling off Tjesmond. "Let's have another round," he hissed to Tjesmond. "This time, I'll rip your throat out - "

 Tjesmond hooked a foot around his ankle and sent him crashing to the floor. A quick kick sent the secretary rolling in the direction of the (rather worryingly quickly) spreading flames from the overturned brazier - then Tjesmond came quickly to his feet and ran to Jerna's assistance.

 Jerna was, by this time, pinned in a corner, bleeding in several places where her armor had provided insufficient protection. "He's no swordsman, but he's strong!" she told Tjesmond as he approached. "I can't hold him off much longer - "

 The Royal Factor took opportunity of Jerna's distraction and knocked her blade out of her hand. Gloating on his face, he stabbed directly into her chest.

 "Oh," Jerna said, blood beginning to well from the wound.

 Then the Royal Factor's expression of triumph moved very quickly sideways.

 "Huh?" Jerna wondered.

 "Thank you for the loan of your sword," Tjesmond said, handing it to Jerna hilt-first. "As you said, it was very useful against this monster. To be of clarifying - it severed his neck with excellence. Now - are you all right?"

 Jerna considered.

 "Actually, I think I am," she said, pushing herself back to her feet. "He hit me right in the middle of my armor - it's probably going to need some time in the smithy, but I don't think he pierced anything vital, just gave me a very nasty cut. A scar to remember - "

 Her knees buckled.

 "Let's get you out of here," Elspeth said, carrying her by one arm. Tjesmond took the other. "Before the raging flames do what flames are known for."

 Slowly, together, they staggered out of the burning building. Guards surrounded them as soon as they emerged outside.

 "Sorry about all this," Elspeth said to Tjesmond and Jerna both. "I didn't..." Her sentence trailed off.

 And not only did both Elspeth and Jerna keep their jobs, but Tjesmond got one of his own!

 A funny business, monster-killing.

The First Death Of Tjesmond

Tjesmond was born in Estlunde, and he was dead.

His family was poor, and used to hardship and suffering; his parents shed no more than a few tears over Tjesmond's unbreathing body before they took it to the river and threw it in. His mother, supported by her two oldest sons, watched the body float away until it passed around a curve and vanished from sight; then, slowly, she turned away, and put an end to the sad affair.

 But it did not end there.

 Not far down the river lived a village of Old Men who still followed the old religion. That day, the day of Tjesmond's stillbirth, was a fest-day for them, celebrating the deeds of a savior carried along a river's currents. Perhaps this savior was prophesied - or perhaps he lived long ago, his deeds ancient and shrouded in a mystery near so great as the future's. The libraries of the Old Men burned when the New Men came - the answer is known now to none. But - when Tjesmond's lifeless body tumbled down the river, and washed upon the shore of this river-festival - well, who could blame them for some excitement?

 And when they saw he was dead - well!

 Their first instinct was to treat it as a matter of omen. One priest cried out in dread - ah, a child on the river (as our savior was/will be!) - and it is dead, unbreathing! What horror, what a foul thing does this portend! Another cried out in delight - a dead child, yes, and of the race of the New Men! It is a sign that their day is done - that we shall rise again, and Estlunde once more be ours! And a third priest -

 Well, he doubled back quickly into the gathering crowd, and returned bringing wise-women and midwives. One finger pointing at Tjesmond, still lying on the river-bank, he cried, "Save this child's life!"

 So they did.

 With herbs and poultices they worked, massaging Tjesmond's tender tissues, feeding him strange and witchy brews. His heart began, slowly, to pump; his lungs began to breathe. He gasped - once - twice - and screamed -

 So was Tjesmond rescued from his first death.

 They raised him to be their savior. His name was not Tjesmond, then -  instead it was another word, in the local dialect used to mean 'savior'. He was given the best of everything, and lectured on his responsibilities from a young age, and despite all of that he grew courageous and strong. The people of the village gave him a cause, the reclamation of Estlunde from the Great Enemy, the New People; and Tjesmond dedicated himself to it mind, flesh, and soul.

 It was a butterfly, of all things, which changed Tjesmond's life. It alit upon the third priest's nose, as he shouted to the screaming crowd ("the annihilation of the Darkness comes ever closer!), and when Tjesmond looked at hit, he saw something wrong in the priest's eyes. Something missing; something hollow.

Quickly Tjesmond turned away, tried to set the vision aside; but it would not leave him. He looked elsewhere: the sky, the ground, the people - but in the people's eyes he saw the same emptiness, and his fear, inexpressible in words, grew worse.

At the ceremony's end, Tjesmond excused himself. He walked to the river and stood a while, working up the courage, the will. Then he looked in his own eyes -

 - and saw that same emptiness, growing there -

 A person is composed of three parts: mind, flesh, soul. The flesh provides the appearance of action; the mind provides the reasons for actions; and the soul makes the choice of actions. Each is physical; each relates with the other. So a flaw in one must, naturally, sooner or later, spread to the others - so that a person who grows weak of flesh will eventually grow weak of mind, and a person twisted in soul will eventually grow twisted of body.

 So - and Tjesmond knew this, more or less, by the teachings of the priests - to forget one's humanity is to lose it; and those who forget their humanity by rejecting the personhood of others are called monsters.

 Tjesmond brooded on the matter as noon turned into evening turned into night; then he returned to the village. "I am sorry, O Holy Father," he told the third priest, "but I think we have gone astray. Something - something at the heart of our Great Crusade - is twisted. Corrupt. And if we do not turn away, then - "

 The monster the people of that village had become was called the Silver Dawn. It had a hundred bodies and a hundred faces, but one mind; and that mind thought only of hate. Infuriated by Tjesmond's discovery, it hounded him through the woods, howling in its hundred voices for him to repent. Tjesmond fled from it, terrified, fleeing to the very edge of the river from which he had come. The monster charged him; Tjesmond sidestepped and lifted and sent it into the river, and there drowned it. He watched the bodies that floated down the river, blue and bloated; and then, half-insane with confusion and grief, he tried to join them.

 Tjesmond was eleven years of age at the time.

 After a time, Tjesmond discovered that he could not drown himself (tending to float to the surface and right himself whenever he lost consciousness); so he did his level best to starve instead. He went into the forest and waited; but he found that when he was hungry enough, he would pick berries and eat, stalk rabbits and strike, almost without his own volition. He had not the will to die.

 A year and a half later, Tjesmond still trying (and failing) to starve, a royal trapper by the name of Elspeth found him. She took him in - against his inarticulate protests - taught him the New Tongue, and nursed him back to health. In the winter they shared a bed for warmth, and, all involved being entirely comfortable with this arrangement, they continued it through spring and into summer.

In mid-summer, Elspeth returned to Rejjvik to sell her furs to the King, as was the condition of her being allowed to trap those forests. Tjesmond, naturally, accompanied her, seeking to continue their relationship -

 - but in the palace of King Hjormond he slew his second monster; and thereafter, Tjesmond and Elspeth parted ways.

Making a Stand

"On to the next order of business," Ühunt, court advisor and minutes-keeper for the meeting of the Lords Remaining, suggested. "The freewoman Carin, ranked second in the notable Tjesmond's Trusted Companions, has brought to this council's attention word of Crow scouts prowling the northern villages. She suggests a swift response - "

 Carin rose. "I suggest," she said, "That I should be freed to take the actions necessary to stop the Crows before it is too late. I know their plan; my men are ready. We can leave within the hour - if you give us the word. I am certain of victory, if there is no delay."

 The rash words were unlike her - but she had reason for them. As she stared down the council table, Carin glanced at each of the members of the council - the seven Lords Remaining, led by the iron-willed Éosei, once a claimant to the throne. (Her planned rebellion dying unborn when the Crows came.) They would all support the plan - Éosei supported it, and she had the rest scared into line. They weren't the problem - that was the eighth member of the council...

 "This is rash," said Tjesmond; once a monster-killer in the King's employ, now the leader of all Estelundian forces not trapped by the Crows' three-year siege. "The Crows are masters of deception; they feint and withdraw, mislead and misdirect. You think you have out-thought them? You think you will march directly to them, meet them in honest battle, save the day? You should know better by now. They will poison your water, strike from ambush, kill and torture without mercy; then they will strike here, at our weakened forces, and it is we who will be lost. Rethink this, Carin. The Crows are not a foe to be taken lightly."

 "This is the same tale you have been peddling since the war began," Carin said, angry. "The same story, of fear and despair, again and again. But do you know what? I think it's all in your head. The Crows have no diabolical wit. Their plans are simple - raid where they see food, feint where they see uncertainty, strike where they see weakness. They are predictable - and I know what they will do next - "

 Carin paused, suddenly - looked around the table. The Lords Remaining were with her, convinced - this was something they had been whispering in quiet for some time, behind closed doors. Éosei in particular was glowing, triumphant - this conversation was one she had been urging Carin towards for some time. But Tjesmond -

 Tjesmond's face was stoic, but in his eyes Carin could see hurt, betrayal. How could you do this? his eyes seemed to ask Carin. I gave you all you have, your training, your position, even the sword still at your belt; I made you who you are today. Now you tear me down at the behest of that harpy Éosei, begging at her feet for scraps?

  Carin turned away. She would find another way.

 "I have taken no part of this business lightly," she said instead, starting again. "From the first report I had of the Crows' movements, I kept the utmost secrecy in the operation, not even telling my other scouts what the first had seen; I have not even told you worthies what I know of the matter, besides the barest necessary, for fear of eavesdroppers. I am well aware of their treacherous ways, and the treachery they inspire in the fearful common-folk; but I have their measure today. By the skills you taught me and with the men you gave me, I think I can deliver them a thrashing they shall not soon regret - "

 Tjesmond shook his head, suddenly weary. "Very well then. You are my trusted second; I will give you my faith in the matter. If there are no objections?"

 There were none.

 "Then we can proceed to the next matter," Tjesmond said, excusing Carin with a nod. "Seneschal?"

 "On the matter of the eastern provinces' crop yields..." Ühunt began.

 As Carin left the room, she glanced back, and noticed to her own surprise that Éosei was smiling widely, seemingly quite pleased. But then - Carin realized - why shouldn't she be? For all she had drawn back at the end, this was by far the closest Carin had come to siding with Éosei against Tjesmond's leadership - something Éosei had wanted for some time.

 But to betray Tjesmond - even if it meant the difference between victory or defeat, in the war -

 She would talk with Éosei when she returned, Carin decided. But first - she had a battle to win.

 (She won.)

Tjesmond in the Forest

Tjesmond marched through the dense forest, his blade at his hip; and behind him and before him marched his Trusted Companions, a hundred strong, proud and disciplined and clad in leather and mail. They moved in file, each stepping in the footsteps of the one before to ease their passage and disguise their number; all were veterans of the wilderness, and few in Estlunde could be said to match them for martial valour or skill -

 - but there was something amiss, for their march seemed to have become something more of a skulk, and each snapping branch and rustling leaf sent a fearful shiver through the ranks. They moved as quickly as they dared, and cast glances behind them often - and their flagbearer bore no flag, and from the distance, behind them, screams could be heard.

 The Trusted Companions saw movement through the trees; they tensed, and some drew bows from their backs. The motion accelerated, and the Companions braced, pulling back - gained sight of the intruder as it shot through - a deer!

 Samhŏl, an Old Man with the Companions for two years, was the only one to fire; his shaft went wide, and the others tormented it for it. "Samhŏl Swiftshot," one suggested mockingly; another, "Samhŏl Silvereye." (The latter to imply blindness on poor Samhŏl's part.) His luck took a turn for the better half a turn of the glass later, though, when his travel through the bush startled a game bird and sent it scurrying beneath him; Samhŏl's reflexes served him better this time, and his companions praised Samhŏl as he slung the choice prize over his shoulder.

 Carin, Tjesmond's second-in-command and (at present) path-breaker, looked back at Tjesmond questioningly: an unspoken question lingered in the air between them. Tjesmond shook his head. "It is worth it for them to distract themselves from our present straits," his gesture conveyed to Carin, "even for a small risk that by their careless speech the Crows may find us."

 Carin shrugged, and turned back to the path; not long after, she stumbled into the body.

 Carin was experienced at woodcraft, and a veteran of combat. She had singlehandedly slain the Exaltation of Consumption with the family wood-cutting axe - this being the act which allowed her entry into the Companions - and since participated in (or led) half a dozen other monster-slaying hunts. She was by no means weak of stomach - so when she, having (after a moment's incomprehension) realized exactly what her boot had plunged into knee-deep, turned from the path and was noisily sick, it should by no means be taken as a condemnation of her character.

 Tjesmond, directly behind her, pushed forward to look at the remains. His face, previously dark with worry and guilt, now turned somewhat pale. He stopped the column.

 "They must have dropped the poor bastard from a height," Carin said, now largely recovered. "Probably had already eaten their fill - and then when they were done - "

 "We leave no-one behind," Tjesmond ordered. "Not ours, not Jerna's recruits, not even any of the Rebel's men, should they somehow have stumbled into this catastrophe. Better to cut their throats ourselves than to leave them for the Crows."

 Not a single voice was raised in objection.

 Carin set about blazing a new path; safely away from the body.

 It was another turn of the glass before Carin called a halt to the column. Tjesmond dropped into a ready crouch, drawing his sword from its scabbard; Carin motioned for him to stop. "Quiet," she hissed. Tjesmond, trusting her, sheathed his blade and relayed the command; the order trickled down the column. The Trusted Companions fell silent...

 And in the silence, the sound of voices could be heard.

 Slowly, quietly, the Trusted Companions moved closer; and then the voices fell quiet.

 Tjesmond again drew his sword; this time Carin followed suit, and the rest of the Trusted Companions with them. The column separated, turning into several loose clumps, each creeping closer to the last place the voices were heard. They expected the worst.

 To find several dozen women, ranging from bloodied and scratched to mortally wounded, hostile and armed with crossbows - under the circumstances, it was almost uplifting!

 "Don't come any closer, you filthy backstabbing cowards!" one of the women, wearing a stained red livery which might once have been that of the King, shouted Carin's way. "We'll fill you with feathers if you come any closer, just like we promised you we would, you - "

 She paused.

 "We're Tjesmond's men," Carin said. "Not your wayward companions."

 "They left us to die," the woman, whose name was Laerke, explained. "Everyone too wounded to walk, and the few of us with the decency to care for them. Left us for the crows."

 Carin winced. She looked to Tjesmond; but he was already moving, looking at the wounded crossbowwomen. "No," he said, his face grim. "We'll not allow that."

 "You won't be able to move at once," Laerke said. "The worst of us are in too bad a condition to be moved - we'll need water, bandages - "

 Tjesmond shook his head. "The Crows are too close behind," he said. "I want to be out of the wood by nightfall and in the King's palace in three days."

 "Then - ?" Laerke asked, confused. Carin winced again.

 "Those of you as can move, we will take with us," Tjesmond said; "and for the rest, the knife."

 Laerke took it well, all things considered.

 "If you're going to take anyone who can walk," she said once she had calmed down, "then there's someone you're missing. Our commander - back along our trail, a quarter-glass's walk."

 "Why is she not with you?" Tjesmond asked sharply.

 "She was trying to look at a map; walked into a clearing, just for a moment, for light," Laerke said. "Her staff died quickly, but they kept her around; seemed to be keeping her as a toy, darting in whenever she got near the edge of the meadow. If they haven't killed her yet - "

 "Yes," Tjesmond said, turning away. "Carin, you'll stay here and finish the cleanup. Eshud, Roth, and Vhin's squads are with you."

 "How long should I wait?" Carin asked.

 Tjesmond froze. A long silence passed; and then he answered. "One glass. No more."

 Carin nodded.

As he hurried back along the regulars' trail, his Companions jogging behind and alongside, one word circled in Tjesmond's mind:

 Bait.

 The clearing was wide, inviting. The clouds from earlier in the day had cleared up nicely; the sun shone down. Blood and body parts were scattered on the grass and flowers; in the center lay a lone woman, her uniform rent and torn. She seemed to have collapsed from blood loss. From the edge of the meadow, it was impossible to see if she was still breathing.

 "I'll take two squads," Tjesmond said. "Swords and shields ready, forming a wall around me. The rest of you form a ring around the meadow, bows ready, teams of two. We go in, we go out..."

 "...and maybe the Crows have already forgotten about her," Tjesmond said, the corner of his mouth quirking. "Worth hoping, eh?"

 The skies were bright and clear.

 It seemed astonishing how the black-winged Crow-Men could move, swooping on Tjesmond's party as though from thin air.

 The scene was pure chaos. Men swung and screamed, raked by grime-stained claws; the Crows called out in their own guttural tongue. There was a taste of bile in Tjesmond's throat as he shouted for his men to hold in their formation; it felt as though the catastrophic battle he was still fleeing from was about to repeat -

 -but then arrows from the archers Tjesmond had stationed around the clearing filled the air; the Crows vanished as quickly as they came, leaving only a pair of hacked and arrow-feathered bodies to mark their passing - aside from the wounds among Tjesmond's men.

 By luck or by grace, none of Tjesmond's Companions had fallen in the attack; and Laerke's commander was still breathing.

 "How much longer do we march?" Carin asked, once the Trusted Companions (injured soldiers in tow) had reunited. "Even those of them that can walk are walking wounded, and with the ones we can carry - I'm worried about our stamina."

 Tjesmond looked to the sky, faintly visible through the thick canopy overhead.

 "We march until nightfall," he said. "By then, hopefully, we'll be safe - but no sooner."

 Overhead, cheerily, the early afternoon sun shone.