Shifting Sands

Thanks guys - comments keep me going.

Chris

 

How do kicks in the rear do for keeping you from stopping then?

 

Good read - looking forward to the next installment

 

Chapter Fourteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

I had always dreaded catching something since I had realised just how primitive this world actually was, compared to home. Hell, there were places back home that I wouldn't have visited without a full batch of inoculations – another unknown concept here – and I would have had a good chance of surviving anything I caught there, even without the vaccination. That fear came back to me with a vengeance the following morning, as I found myself gripped with a fever. Nightmarish images roared through my head, tormenting me; I heard the ghosts of those I had killed, directly or indirectly, calling for me to join them. I fought the fever back long enough to forbid my servants calling for a doctor – I’d be safer without what passed for a doctor here – and then collapsed back onto the bed.

I’d never killed anyone before in my entire life, yet now I had killed at least three people, perhaps more. Now that I was safe, at least for the moment, the shock of those deaths threatened to overwhelm me and send me plunging back down into the darkness. The fever burned through me – I found that I was either too hot or too cold – and I suspected that I was going to die. The locals lived in a plague-ridden environment and the survivors would have gained a certain measure of resistance to the local bugs. I didn't have anything of the sort and I knew that I might die. There really isn't any such thing as an American immune system. I had had a batch of vaccinations when I was a child – my father had been paranoid about vaccinations, as he was paranoid about most other things but I didn't even know how the local bugs would respond to them. In my delirium, I thought I saw tiny monsters battling their way through my body, slowly cutting away at my life. It was four days before the fever broke, leaving me a tired shattered shell of a woman. My period had come at the same time – it had been spotty and irregular ever since I had seen the Greatest Sprite – and I had nearly been overwhelmed. I know that I looked and smelt disgusting.

If it bothered Lianna, she never showed me any sign of it. She washed my brow with water and dried it thoroughly, before feeding me a cereal-like mush that was the only thing I could keep down, at least for the first few days of the fever. I somehow regained my strength to the point where I could stagger to the toilet without assistance, and then return to bed. I’d spent a great deal of money – more than I should have spent, back then – on installing a proper bath in my house. The servants might have thought I was weird for insisting that everyone in my house washed thoroughly, but I had insisted and there was no concept of defying the mistress in this city. The house was still clean when I sat up on the fifth day, ravenously hungry.

“We kept the writing and counting lessons going while you were ill, My Lady,” Lianna said. She looked as if she expected to be hit for her report, but I merely shrugged and smiled. If the guilds had managed to kill me, or Lord Perrin enslave me as he’d intended, my work would have lived on. It had simply proven too useful not to spread throughout the city, and then the world. “The ones who attended the...hygiene lessons are spreading the word to the Medical Guild.”

I smiled, rather sardonically. There was no guild for teachers here and therefore there was nothing stopping my students from teaching others, who would in turn spread the knowledge further afield. Unless I missed my guess completely, any attempt to set up such a guild – at least by me – would meet heavy and implacable resistance from the other guilds, intent on giving me a taste of my own medicine. I made a mental note to consider trying to open such a guild anyway. Nothing would focus their minds on spreading the New Learning like an attempt to kill me with my own sword. They’d drag me kicking and screaming in the direction I actually wanted to go.

“Excellent,” I said, resisting the temptation to pull a Montgomery Burns and rub my fingertips together. “How are the classes getting on with their writing and arithmetic?”

“The better students are helping the poorer students,” Lianna said, nervously. I understood now; here, the guilds ensured that no one practiced a skill without a licence. By ordering the students to teach themselves, in effect, Lianna had broken guild law – if there had been a teaching guild. And here, who you knew was often more important than the letter of the law. The Western World had invented Objective and Impersonal Law; Padway hadn't even come close to grasping the basic concept. “I think they will benefit from your instruction...”

“I hope not,” I said dryly, and winked at her. If they’d mastered basic arithmetic – and little tricks like double-entry bookkeeping – they wouldn't need much more from me, at least at first. “Is there any other news?”

“The Master of the Medical Guild was most annoyed when you were reported kidnapped and then ill,” Lianna admitted. “He offered to send around his finest doctors to tend to your fever, but I passed on your words and he grudgingly swore in the sight of the gods that whatever happened to you was not his fault.”

That brought me up short and I found myself wondering if I’d been the victim of a primitive form of biological warfare. It was a tempting explanation, although Occam’s Razor pointed elsewhere. These people didn't know about germs until I had pointed them out, although Lord Amherst hadn't known about germs either and he’d still managed to send the Native Americans smallpox-laden blankets. No, I’d probably caught a fever through shock and exposure to the local environment. Even so, I resolved to be extra careful for the next few months.

“That’s good to hear,” I said, finally. The Medical Guild had managed to force me to agree to disclose everything I knew and they wouldn't want to jeopardise it. They were dragging me in the direction I wanted to go...and besides, unless I missed my guess, the Great Houses would be pressuring the Guild to learn as much as it could from me, and use it. “Did he want to schedule the first classes?”

“He expects you to teach in the Guildhall,” Lianna said, calmer now that we had moved onto the Guildmaster’s actions. I’d have to do something about her attitude. I disliked watching someone cringe in front of me, particularly when I didn't have a shoot-the-messenger attitude. “I told him that you would have to recover first.”

“You can tell him that I will start lessons in a week,” I said, finally. The mush wasn’t bad, for something that was made out of oats, milk and a splash of sugar. Sugar and salt were astronomically expensive here, mainly because it came from far away. There were no railroads or cargo ships to convoy goods quickly and cheaply; the latter, in particular, were almost useless here. This world had almost no surface water at all. “I can use the time to prepare a proper lesson for them.”

The thought made me smile as I devoured my breakfast – bacon, eggs and bread, although fired eggs had been a novelty in this city – and allowed Lianna to head down to the school. Once she was out of the house, I walked back to my bedroom – the air stank, even worse than the city itself – and pulled my pistol out of its hiding place. If I was lucky, no one would know what had happened, but still...the secret of gunpowder might well be out. I considered, briefly, disclosing the secret to the city, before pushing that thought aside. They’d be reluctant to accept it unless the city itself was threatened. Gunpowder would upset the balance of power too much, very quickly.

I took a quick bath with the aid of two serving girls Lianna had found, enjoying their attentions as they washed my back and exclaimed at the bruises Lord Perrin’s men had left on my body. I was proud of the slaves, although Lianna had found my behaviour perplexing. She’d pointed out that slavers were cheap and their labour was free, apart from the cost of their food and drink, but once the girls arrived I manumitted them and gave them a reasonable wage for their labours. I couldn't have lived with myself if I’d used slave labour – I’d been a slave myself – and the former slaves were very loyal. They'd even offered to entertain me in a very different way, but I’d turned the offer down, not without a few pangs of desire. Homosexuals weren't persecuted here – I’d seen quite a few mincing their way through the streets, affecting an effeminacy that surprised me – although there were a handful of odd taboos surrounding it. It was perfectly acceptable for two middle-class men to have a relationship, yet an upper-class man couldn't allow himself to be penetrated by his lover, who was expected to be from the lower classes. I’m sure a psychologist would have drawn a few interesting conclusions from it – perhaps something involving psychological trauma, or vagina substitutes – but I just thought it was weird. And it wasn't particularly fair, although the world was never fair.

Just before I could leave the house and walk down to the school, there was a knock on the door. One of the serving girls opened it, to reveal a person I hadn't seen in months. I scowled, reaching for the pistol before recalling how Lord Perrin’s Mage had been protected against my shots. Brother Stone, the man who had enslaved me and granted me a Guardian, would have far more powerful protections at his disposal. I couldn't shoot him. It crossed my mind that perhaps he would want me to think he couldn't be shot, but there was no point in taking the risk of finding out the hard way.

“I greet you in the sight of the gods,” he said, formally. The ritual phase was beginning to grate on my ears. It was supposed to mean that the speaker intended no harm or dishonesty, but I had a suspicion that folk here would use it when it was convenient, just as a liar back home would call on Jesus Christ. “You have done well for yourself.”

“No thanks to you,” I said, bitterly. I’d be hospitable, but there were limits. I nodded to one of the servants, who bought a clay jug of date wine and two of the baked mugs they used as beakers. I took the jug myself and poured him a healthy dose, although I only poured a little for myself. The date wine was a great local delicacy, but it had the consistency of olive oil and was really too sweet for my palate. Besides, my father had taught me never to develop expensive tastes. Life was cheaper without them. “I welcome you to my house in the sight of the gods.”

“I did what I had to do,” Brother Stone said, unmoved. I’d had a chance to compare the two Brothers I’d met and I had to admit that Brother Stone looked sharper and more focused than Brother Book. Or perhaps it was just the memory of what he’d done to me. “You seem to have set the whole world to talking about you.”

I lifted an eyebrow, politely. It was astonishing how much one could learn by listening to the servants, something that few of the Great Houses seemed to understand, even though they should have known better. Servants were part of the background to them, neither heard nor often seen, and their masters never lowered themselves to listen to their gossip. I listened and, through Lianna, heard more than the Great Houses would have liked. I made a mental note to check up on Lord Perrin. I’d half-expected him to follow me home and have me assassinated, but nothing had happened while I’d been ill and perhaps it never would. Or perhaps he’d hoped that the fever would carry me off to the dark land of the dead.

“You taught your...former master how to make a simple device, one so simple that a child could make it,” Brother Stone said. If he was perturbed by my apparent refusal to comment, he showed no sign of it. “Most of the tribes have now adopted the...stirrups. They may become a more dangerous threat in the future.”

“There’s no reason why the city can't adopt them as well,” I said. Padway had thousands of horses thronging through the city, each one contributing to the city’s...unique aroma. I didn't know if stirrups had spread to the city – the city was reluctant to adopt anything from people they considered barbarians – and made a mental note to check up on it. The Artificers Guild would be interested in producing them if I gave them the idea. “And besides, what can the tribesmen do to the city?”

Brother Stone frowned. “I think we’d all prefer it if the tribes remained nothing more than a minor nuisance,” he said. He was hiding something; I could tell. Women are generally better at reading emotions than men and I’d had to learn very quickly. Was something going on with the tribes? “And there’s the issue of what the New Learning” – he pronounced the name with a wry grin – “will do to the cities.”

“I think it will improve the quality of life here,” I said. I couldn't see how introducing reading and writing – well, a simpler system of reading and writing – could have negative effects. The Scribes and Accountants would be hit badly, of course, at least at first. In the long run, there would be much more work for both guilds. “I have already saved many children who would have died in childbirth.”

“Perhaps,” Brother Stone said. He seemed to be dancing around a point, rather than coming to it. I saw his expression shift, just before he learned towards me and fixed his cold blue eyes on my face. “Do you know you’ve lost your Guardian?”

I blinked in surprise, and then remembered the brief struggle between two Sprites, just before the mansion had caught fire. Both of the Sprites had vanished, but I hadn't realised that they were gone permanently. I’d never been able to sense my Guardian and I hadn't been aware of its mere presence until it manifested and burned Hastur to ash. Perhaps Brother Stone had hidden it from my perceptions, or maybe it had been too close to me to be sensed. I’d certainly been aware of the other Sprites.

“No,” I said, finally. I didn't want to discuss my ability to sense the mystical creatures, or what had happened in the cell. I had the feeling that the Brotherhood wouldn't be happy to hear about it at all. “What happened to him?”

“I gave it commands,” Brother Stone said. “It had orders to protect your chastity by burning anyone who tried to take it. And it had orders to save your life, if necessary. I didn’t anticipate that anyone would attack you with a powerful Sprite, one that would have killed you if your Guardian hadn't intervened.”

I shivered. I hadn't considered seriously bedding any of the local men – when I slept with someone, I wanted it to be special – and none of them were more than visually attractive. They all had ideas about where a woman should be and none of them thought that she should be on top. I could get further as an unmarried woman, with the Brotherhood’s quiet support, than as a married woman, or as a prostitute. And I would be considered a prostitute if I had sex outside of marriage here.

But if I had found a man...and if I had taken him to bed, he would have died.

I pushed that thought away, angrily. “You mean it’s gone for good?” I asked. I’d grown used to the comfort of knowing that I couldn't be raped, although I suspected that I could have been killed. “It’s...dead?”

Brother Stone looked uncomfortable. “We don’t know for sure,” he admitted, finally. “We have controlled the Sprites for thousands of years and yet...we don’t know that much about them. I tried to summon your Guardian back to me and nothing happened. It could have slipped its bonds completely, or it might have been destroyed. We just don't know.”

I scowled, even though I fought to control my thoughts. If I’d been in their place, with creatures so powerful threatening to slip their leashes and escape, I would have done everything I could to learn about them. I’d known plenty of girls – and boys too, for that matter - who bought cars without knowing how they worked, but those girls and boys would have been able to hire mechanics who would be able to fix the cars if they broke down. The Brotherhood of Mages, on the other hand, hadn't ever bothered to study the Sprites. They’d just used them and now, when their control over the Sprites seemed to be waning, their only response was to summon me into their world. And all I could do was introduce what ideas I remembered and make practical in their environment. It made no sense to me.

“Right,” I said. “Can you summon another Guardian for me?”

I carefully did not smile at his shocked expression. “Summoning one Guardian took a great deal of my life force out of me,” Brother Stone said, finally. “I could not summon another one for you without great personal risk.”

He stood up, holding out one hand. “I look forward to seeing what innovations you bring in the future,” he said. “Just remember that you may be running out of time.”

I watched him go, puzzled. What the hell had he meant by that?

 

Chapter Fifteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

The Medical Guild’s finest doctors listened to what I had to say and didn't like it. They didn't hesitate to make their displeasure known, either. My classes with them rapidly turned into shouting matches, although the doctors disagreed with one another almost as much as they disagreed with me. I hadn’t realised that there were fault-lines within the guild until I saw several doctors almost coming to blows over the value of bleeding, or leeches. It was not a pleasant sight.

“But my father was bled for a week when he caught the rot” – a local disease that, I suspected, was the flu – “and he recovered,” one of the older doctors said. I mentally dubbed his faction the conservatives, although nothing seemed to be fixed. Their attitudes seemed to shift at every meeting and there was little consistency. “It is clear that bleeding is good for a patient.”

“Except I bled the Lady Kinney four months ago and she died,” a second doctor thundered back. He was younger, young enough to be handsome if I’d been looking for a partner. “The gods put the blood inside men for a reason and we’re just letting it out!”

I rubbed my forehead as the shouting match intensified. At least it was better this way, when they were shouting at each other, instead of when they were shouting at me. I’d tried to explain the concept of anaesthetic and they’d reacted as if I’d proposed ritual castration followed by grilling and eating the members. And when I’d tried to explain about blood types and how blood could be transferred from one person to another, they had reacted in universal horror. It offended their religion.

The midwives – the only role women held within the guild – were more composed, although many of them were too old to accept my knowledge without demur. The fact that I had successfully birthed several children without losing any of them gave my words weight with the midwives, all of whom had watched children die...and, often, the mother as well. They’d rapidly become converts to my religion of cleanliness – as one of the male doctors had called it, rather snidely – and insisted on washing everything they used in boiling water before work. I suspected that I had even introduced the concept of maternity hospitals, centuries before the city could support them. I’d discussed the idea with the Crone’s priestesses and they’d promised to think about funding the first building. There was no public healthcare system here, something that made forcing through changes harder than I had anticipated.

They’d learned a few things from me. I’d convinced the doctors that leaving horse manure around was bad for public health, particularly when the horse manure could be used for fertilizer. It had taken a great deal of argument, but I’d even managed to convince them to work out an agreement with nearby farmers for the farmers to take the manure and spread it on their fields. I’d grown up on a fairly modern farm – any farmer who talks about the good old days before machines and modern knowledge is also a fool – and I knew the value of compost. Many of the local farmers had known, yet no one, it seemed, had ever considered selling ****. The doctors had laughed at the very concept. They weren't laughing now.

I tapped the table and the shouting slowly grumbled to a halt, with vague undertones of mass rebellion. “I think we've done as much as we can for the day,” I said, firmly. I’d told them about how bleeding someone to cure their illnesses doesn't actually do anything to help and they’d found the concept unbelievable. I couldn't understand how they’d even come up with the idea in the first place. Blood was the water of life and letting it out, as even a fool could see, wasn't actually helpful. “We’ll convene again in three days.”

The Medical Guild’s Masters had been willing to allow me to use their library, even though women were not, as a general rule, allowed into the Chamber of Sacred Knowledge. I understood why once I saw it for the first time. Everything was written on clay tablets – I’d spent a great deal of time and effort trying to figure out how to reinvent paper, which hadn't worked so far – and it was all, naturally, in the old style. The tablets were incomprehensible to me. I’d had to hire a scribe to read them aloud to me – at least they didn't have rules about silence in the library – and arrange for some of my students to begin transcribing the tablets into English. I normally spent several hours in the building, once I’d finished trying to cram some modern knowledge into thick Medical Guild heads, but today I headed out sooner than normal. My bodyguards met me at the gateway – by tradition, edged weapons were not permitted inside the Guildhall – and escorted me through the city to the College.

I’d picked the name personally, after considering calling it the University. The building had originally been designed as an apartment block, but the conditions had been so bad that the only tenants the owner – Lord Perrin – had been able to attract were newly-manumitted slaves and the poorer freemen. I’d bought the building for a song – only a hundred gold coins – and had started to renovate it, once I’d bought out the tenants as well. Some of the former slaves had heard about my school and were quite happy to sell up, provided that they got a place in the school. I’d agreed at once, knowing that easy access to literacy would prove a social bombshell, once the students existed in sufficient numbers.

Once the building was empty, the workers I’d hired from the Builder’s Guild moved in, stripped out all the rotting floors and other ruined parts of the building, before repairing it to my specifications. It was no longer an apartment block, but a centre of learning and research – if one that had only a handful of researchers and teachers. I spent at least an hour a day there, writing down – on clay tablets, sadly – everything I could remember that might be useful. I’d even managed to convince Artificer’s Guild to start looking into steam engines, although it would be a very long time before they produced a workable railroad engine. They were currently considering how to produce steel from iron, although so far their experiments had been unsuccessful. There were gaps in my knowledge that I hadn't been remotely aware of before I started trying to bootstrap an entire society up to at least the 19<SUP>th</SUP> century.

Some of their research had produced remarkable results, I had to admit. I’d learned how to can food as a child and that had been relatively easy to reinvent. The city hadn't had an effective means of storing food for long periods of time, until researchers following what I’d given them had been able to produce something suitable. I hoped that they’d take what hints I could give them and eventually develop a fully-fledged industrial revolution of their own. By the time I died, they should be well on the way.

I walked upstairs to my private rooms, passing the library. Like the Medical Guild’s library, it was based on clay tablets, but unlike the Medical Guild every one of those tablets was available for anyone to see, at any time. I hoped that spreading knowledge far and wide would power the leaps of imagination and intellect that would lead to modern technology. I had a feeling that the city’s upper ranks would eventually realise that a library – particularly one that was open to all – would prove just as upsetting to the status quo as everything else, but by then it would be too late. My office was small and sparsely decorated. I had sworn to myself that I was not going to remain in my office and insist on paperwork, rather than actual goals.

I’d had to hire several scribes to serve as secretaries, even though I knew that they were also spies. I didn't care, as long as they behaved themselves. They didn't have any important messages for me, apart from an invitation to attend a birth in one of the Great Houses. I made a note of the expected time and place and pushed it to the back of my mind when I heard a knock on the door. It opened, a moment later, and Lianna stepped in, followed by a tall young man. He was blond and beefy, although it was clear from his eyes that he was more intelligent than he let on. His dress told me that he was a freeman, probably – given his youth – the son of an emancipated slave.

“Mistress,” Lianna began. I frowned. She only called me Mistress when she wanted to wheedle something out of me. It happened rarely enough, so I had never called her on it. “I would like to seek your permission to wed.”

I looked up sharply and saw the young couple blush. “This is Adam, son of Jove,” Lianna explained. The name confirmed my deduction of his social class. Slaves had only one name; the upper houses referred to themselves as being of those houses. “We...we met at the school and fell in love.”

The thought made me smile. I’d given her – and all of my employees – free time, to spend as they pleased. As a freeman, Adam – the name made me think of home and I felt an odd pang of homesickness – would not have needed to involve his family in choosing a bride. Lianna was effectively of the same class and she had a modest income. I shook my head at myself and chuckled, inwardly. Had I absorbed so many local morals? She really didn't need my permission to marry, whatever she thought.

“I am happy to hear it,” I said, slowly. I’d grown used to having her around, but I didn't want to stand in her way. If she’d found true love...well, good for her. “I trust that you can take care of her?”

Adam flushed and nodded, apparently unable to speak. It occurred to me that, by the standards of my world, they were both far too young to wed. Here, on the other hand, it wasn't unknown for girls to marry as soon as they started their periods – and some of the upper-class girls had been pledged to their husbands before they passed their first decade. It sickened me to think of it, but it was par for the course here. One day, I vowed, that too would change.

“Then I give you my blessing,” I said. I wondered if I would be invited to the wedding, although it was unlikely. My exact social class was a bit blurred, but I was her mistress – at least in her mind. “I wish you both the very best of luck.

I watched them go, keeping my expression under control. The few boys I’d dated back home hadn’t been very satisfactory – and had been furious when they realised I wasn't going to let them get past second base – but they were still gentlemen compared to some of the men here. Even so...would I ever have a relationship with a decent man? The thought rolled around in my head for a long moment, and then I pushed it aside. I could live without a man here, particularly if I didn’t want children. I had nothing against children, but bringing them into this world might not be doing them a favour...

Shaking my head, I reached for the small bag on the table and opened it, pulling out a Sprite-Light. I sensed the Sprite’s presence as soon as I touched the light, which flared up to full brightness as soon as I placed it on the table. I pulled one of the wooden stools over and sat down, studying the tiny creature. It seemed to be looking back at me, although I couldn't tell for sure. It hurt my eyes if I tried to focus on the Sprite.

“All right,” I said, as calmly as I could. I was about to break one of the strongest laws in the city, if not in the entire world. The taboo against women doing magic seemed to be universal. “Let’s see how this works...”

Brother Stone had given me the clue, although it had taken two weeks of careful questioning of other mages in the city before I felt confident enough to try working magic. Brother Stone had said that he’d paid for summoning and binding the Guardian with part of his life force, and other magicians had claimed the same. The rituals – from what I had been able to pick up – were often arduous, and grew harder as the Sprite grew in power. Brother Dream had summoned one of the Greatest Sprites and had paid for his success with his life.

But I had used a Sprite – communed with one – without suffering any penalty. Perhaps it had been because I had traded my freedom for the Sprite’s freedom, or perhaps I had unknowingly stumbled upon the reason behind the taboo. If it cost men more to perform magic, I could easily see offended male pride driving a ban on female magicians. Or was it something more sinister? I studied the Sprite for a long moment, and then reached out with my finger, pressing it into the white glow. The sense of communion shimmered into existence. I could feel the Sprite with my mind.

Nothing else seemed to happen until I withdrew from the light. The Sprite came with me, a tiny glowing figure on the end of my finger. There was no heat, merely a sense of electricity in the air. I realised, in a flash of inspiration, that I hadn’t understood. Men could bind Sprites to their will, but women could free them. There seemed to be no logical reason for this change, yet perhaps it wasn't logical. Or perhaps it was just my talent.

I reached out with my mind and felt the Sprite respond. It’s thoughts didn't seem to be too focused, but it was clear that it wanted freedom, just like the other one. I shuddered at the thought and tried to communicate my feelings to the Sprite. I’d been a slave. I knew what it felt like. No matter the logic in using a Sprite instead of technology, if there was any logic to the whole magic system, it still disgusted me. A system based on slavery was unstable by definition, because the slaves wanted to be free.

There was no verbal communication between me and the Sprite. Instead, it pushed concepts into my head, some completely beyond my understanding. I saw how certain words, if spoken with a certain intent, could call, name and bind a Sprite. I had a dizzy sense of their homeworld, the dimensional plane that they called home, and of a networked society that was fantastically complex compared to anything humans had ever invented. I’d underestimated the Sprite, I realised a second later; it was far more intelligent than I had believed, and yet it was still a slave. I sensed cold anger, all the more terrifying for being backed by a force of insurmountable power. The Sprites wanted to be free.

The concepts came quicker and quicker, each one slamming into my mind like a blow to the skull. I couldn't grasp any of them as they flashed before my mind’s eye and then vanished, disappearing into the darkest recesses of my mind. I saw, as if in a dream, the underlying base of magic, and how to bend it to my will. It faded and was gone a second later, mocking me. I couldn't even catch a glimpse of it in my mind. The frustration tore at me, just before I saw a single image dancing in front of me. A Sprite, just like the one that had abducted me from my world, staring down at me – and laughing.

I came to on the floor, rubbing my head. There was no pain, just a sense that something wasn't quite right. I pulled myself to my feet, cursing under my breath, and glanced at my watch. I hadn't been out for more than a few minutes, yet it felt as if I had been out for hours. My head swam as I sat down on the stool and studied the remains of the Sprite-Light. It had melted down to a puddle of molten metal, scalding the table, and the Sprite was gone. I swore aloud as I picked up the jug of water – boiled in the College’s kitchen before the servants distributed it throughout the building – and took a sip. The water refreshed my body, but it did nothing for my mind.

It was hard to concentrate on what the Sprite had been telling me. All of the concepts seemed to be slipping out of my mind, leaving only the image of the Greatest Sprite at the end. I closed my eyes in thought, but I still saw the Sprite, as if the image had been permanently burned into my mind. The whole puzzle seemed impossible to solve, even though I was sure that I had the right clues. If I had a talent for communing with the Sprites, one that worked differently to the talents the Brothers used...

I scowled as I finished my work for the day and headed home. There was no way I could compare notes with any of the Brothers, not when they would try to burn me as a witch. I would have to solve the puzzle on my own. If Brother Dream had survived, at least he would have been able to tell me why I, out of the six billion people on my world, had been chosen by the Sprite. The odds were hardly in my favour, were they?

 

Interlude Two<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“She is not what we expected,” Brother Book observed, “yet she has turned the city on its head.”

“She represents a danger,” Brother Ice insisted, firmly. His words were conveyed through the sprites, losing nothing of their concern – and fear. “She is changing the world.”

Brother Stone nodded, slowly. Six months had passed since Alex had been brought in front of him, five months since she’d entered Padway as a Ward of the Brotherhood. And if he and his brothers couldn't see how she could help them, they couldn't deny that she had changed the city – and the surrounding world. Her gifts – reading and writing – were spreading far in advance of anything that might stop them in their path. Her medical innovations had ensured that many who would have died had lived, political power in a world where sudden and violent death was the norm.

“Brother Dream sought something that might help us,” he said, slowly. “Perhaps she is helping us, even though we do not understand. Patience may reveal everything, in time.”

“We do not have time,” Brother Ice snapped. “The barbarians are on the move.”

“They have not yet reached Padway,” Brother Book said, slowly. “It may be years before they do. We may discover a countermeasure before they reach the hinterlands...”

“May all of the gods turn their heads in shame,” Brother Ice swore. “The sands are moving and the barbarians are on the move – and we can do nothing! We have summoned our servants to destroy the threat, as we have done in the past, yet our best efforts go unrewarded. How many more cities do you want them to destroy before we react to the threat?”

He took an angry breath. “They claim to be led by a demon-god. How can a simple powerless woman” – the word was a curse – “help us?”

“I do not know,” Brother Book said, flatly.

Brother Stone smiled. “Perhaps,” he said, “we should ask her.”

“We cannot discuss the secrets of magicians with her,” Brother Ice said. “I forbid it.”

“Brother Dream gave his life to bring her here,” Brother Stone said, coldly. All Brothers were equal, once they passed through their long apprenticeship. Only a Gathering could forbid any Brother from acting, as long as he stayed within the Mage’s Code. “A Guardian – a Greater Sprite – was destroyed to save her life. Destroyed, my brothers; it gave its life to save her. And she’s turned the city upside down. She may not be what we expected, but she’s what we have. We should make use of her.”

“Brother Book has already told her more than he should,” Brother Ice said. “And has she been able to help?”

Brother Stone hit the table, angrily. “I think we are forgetting something,” he said, sharply. “The sands are moving and the barbarians are moving in for the kill. How long will it be until we lose all control of magic and the Sprites are gone for good? And once the magic is gone, what will remain of civilisation?”

“Nothing, if the barbarians have their way,” Brother Book said.

“It isn't that desperate,” Brother Ice protested, without conviction.

“Yes,” Brother Stone said. “It is that desperate. And desperate times require desperate measures.”

 

Chapter Sixteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

I looked down at the remains of yet another Sprite-Light and swore, again. If I hadn't introduced lanterns – another innovation I’d stolen from my world – someone would probably have noticed that I was buying and destroying Sprite-Lights on an excessive scale and started to ask questions. Six months had passed since I had communed with the second Sprite and I was still no closer to figuring out the answers. I wasn't even sure what the questions were, let alone how they could be answered.

There was a knock on the door and I buried the remains of the light under a cloth before it opened. One of the City Messengers – there was no such thing as a postal service here, let alone the internet – stepped through, stood to attention, and began to gabble out his message. He was breathing heavily and had to pause halfway through, although he picked it up without trouble. The Messengers were trained to recall much longer messages and recite them back on command.

“In the sight of the gods, I bring you the word of the Lady Aylia,” he said. “She requests the pleasure of your company at the Council Chamber.”

I had to smile. The Messengers took their duties seriously. Nothing short of war stopped their passage, not least because their persons were protected by the priesthood, who had – as the locals put it – secured for the Messengers the protections of the gods. Anyone who interfered with them risked the anger of every god the city worshipped, not just one or two. More practically, because they were regarded as cursed, they were often driven out of the city and left to die in the desert. The taboo was surprisingly successful, although I had my suspicions that, sometimes, Messengers were quietly waylaid and kidnapped, or killed.

“I shall be along at once,” I said. The message hadn't specified a time, which meant she wanted to see me yesterday, if not sooner. “Please follow Gwen” – one of the newcomers to the College, a former serving girl who had mastered reading and writing, and then pleaded for employment – “and she will ensure that the kitchen feeds you before you return to the temple.”

Smiling to myself, I made my way downstairs and was greeted by my bodyguards. The Medical Guild had had a brief civil war – including several people literally being killed, unlike political disputes back home – and most of the old guard had ended up taking early retirement. Oddly, that had happened after I’d lost my first baby, something that had proven to them that my knowledge wasn’t unlimited. I’d been heartbroken at the time, because nothing I did had saved either the mother or her child. Now, the Medical Guild was firmly on my side, but the same couldn't be said for many of the other guilds. I’d had to employ a food taster and extra bodyguards, despite which at least three assassination attempts had come alarmingly close to success.

These days, as a respected – and wealthy, which helped – citizen, I was expected to ride through the city on a horse-drawn cart. I disliked the custom of the extremely wealthy of riding in a box carried by four men, but luckily that custom only applied to the Great Houses. My carriage was elaborately decorated with gold leaf and other signs of wealth, even though I found such a display repulsive. It was customary here – my carriage was among the plainest in the city – and at least I wasn't a man. The men born to wealth and power here were expected to have a harem of serving girls and at least a couple of illegitimate children. It had never made any sense to me and I suspected it never would. It was probably something to do with showing off one’s wealth for all to see.

The horses at the front of the horse snickered as my driver cracked the whip and we passed through the gates and onto the road. The crowds slowly – and reluctantly – parted to allow us to proceed, even though my drive made threatening motions with the whip. I’d actually seen one of the noblemen here lashing pedestrians who hadn't moved quickly enough for his liking, although one of the pedestrians had started throwing stones back at him. The freeborn in the city were free, even if their prospects for self-improvement were limited, and there were limits to how badly they could be treated. The nobleman had been lucky that his target hadn't challenged him to a public duel. Under the unwritten code of conduct, he would have been unable to refuse without losing face. He’d be forever damned as a coward.

At least the women didn't have to go through that particular challenge, even though most women were very definitely second-class citizens. My face was well-known by now and once people saw who I was, they scattered out of my way. I felt the odd sense of respect they held for me – after all, I had turned the city upside down – and the almost superstitious awe that some of them felt. The city’s religions whispered of men and women who were touched by the gods and some people believed me to be so, no matter how I denied it. Perhaps I should have claimed the title of Messiah, but the very thought made me sick. Besides, the past messiahs in the city’s history hadn't always lived long and healthy lives.

I could see, as the carriage turned onto the main road and started towards the temple quarter, just how my influence had touched many lives. The streets were cleaner and healthier than they had been for years – the idea of paying citizens a copper coin for each bag of horse manure had created a whole new industry – and boiling vats of water stood everywhere, inviting people to wash before and after buying food. We hadn't been able to duplicate paper – not yet, anyway – but we had been able to improve parchment to the point where poorer people could buy it and use it for themselves, along with the ever-present clay tablets. If I died now, I told myself, I had at least started these people along the right path. My students had picked up the very basis of the scientific method from me.

The thought made me smile, inwardly. I’d lost any compunction I might have had to refrain from stealing ideas from back home. I’d gleefully claimed a hundred good ideas that had been part of my world’s past and marketed them to the city – and beyond. Indeed, the city council had been worried about how other cities were stealing part of the New Learning and using it to improve their own position. I wasn't too worried about that, not really. The reasons that Europe had suddenly taken off like a rocket included competition between early nation-states, none of which had been able to dominate and absorb all of their rivals. No Emperor or General had been able to unite all of Europe, not even Napoleon or Hitler. I hoped that something similar would take place here. I already had them discussing potential uses of steam engines, even though it would be years before they developed a workable steam engine that could power a railroad.

I turned my head as the carriage turned into the walled garden surrounding the council chambers and halted outside the stairs. The council chambers reminded me of the Pentagon, although I doubted that the US Army would have been keen on so many access points into the building. By long custom, nobles entered by one entrance, priests and priestesses through a second and merchants and freemen through a third. My status was somewhat blurred, but going through the merchants entrance the best, at least as far as I was concerned. I had made hundreds of trade deals with merchants, although I’d been careful to ensure that the advanced ideas and technology I’d leaked to them leaked further faster than they had intended. The city had yet to develop the idea of a patent office.

The bodyguard helped me climb down from the carriage and then stood back as I walked up the stairs and into the darkened building. A pair of glowing eyes materialised in front of me and I felt the Sprite’s presence as it probed my clothes for weapons and potential threats. By long custom, no one was permitted to bring weapons into the chamber, although I had ignored that custom and brought my pistol. As usual, the Sprite ignored the pistol and allowed me to walk inside, into the inner chamber. I was never quite sure if the Sprite understood what the pistol was or not; it was quite possible that no one had told it to watch for pistols and it didn't consider itself obliged to correct that little problem. There was no way to know for sure.

“My Lady Alex,” Lady Aylia said. She rose from where she was seated, at one of the chairs assigned to the religious representatives, and came over to greet me. It was a great honour, although the cynical side of me wondered how much of it was to do with the large donations I had made to the Crone’s followers – and, of course, the medical knowledge I’d provided. “I welcome you to this chamber.”

“I think you,” I replied, equally formally. There was a whole etiquette for entering and leaving the council chambers, although I had had almost no time to master it. I wasn't a full citizen of the city, money or not, and I’d only visited the building twice. “It is my pleasure to attend upon you today.”

She smiled, rather dryly. “You may find this interesting,” she said, as the Speaker started tapping the marble table for silence. “And we may want you input. Watch and learn.”

It had taken me several weeks to get to grips with local politics and I wasn't sure that I understood them properly, even now. In theory, the Great Houses – who owned most of the city – had one-third of the vote. The religious priesthoods had another third. The remaining votes were held by taxpayers, mainly merchants and a handful of freemen. Slaves and poorer freemen didn't get to vote – taxes were optional here, but if you didn't pay you didn't get to vote or have your voice heard in council – and most women were barred from the chamber. Lady Aylia was permitted entry because she was a priestess of the Crone; I was permitted entry because...why? Lady Aylia might have summoned me, but she couldn't have permitted me entry without at least some support from the remainder of the council.

In practice, I had discovered that most decisions were made by private dealing behind the scenes, often between the Great Houses and the Priesthoods. The merchants were often under-represented, while the freemen had much less say than one might assume. I had a private suspicion that the reason why relationships between the nobility and the freemen were so poor because the nobility feared that the freemen would one day overthrow them and take their wealth and power for themselves. The system didn't seem to work very well, but as long as they operated within the limits – informal limits, which weren't always clear to me – it worked.

“A delegation from the city of Flint has arrived in this city,” the Speaker said, once he had gone though the ritual of opening the discussion in the sight of the gods. It took nearly ten minutes to open the session, during which most representatives either looked bored or made exaggerated expressions of piety. “They wish to plead for our help.”

I frowned as a rustle of silent commentary echoed through the chamber. There was no such thing as the nation-state here, although their legends told of mighty conquerors who had attempted to bend the entire world to their will. The city-states, such as Padway, tended to be surrounded by smaller towns and villages, which paid homage to the city and provided much of its food. There were alliances between some of the cities, wars between others, but no real push towards unity. I suspected that that would change once we got railroads up and running, although that would be several years in the future. The art of war in this world was not particularly advanced. Indeed, most wars were little more than ritual battles between cities and the occasional punitive expedition against the tribes.

The representatives from Flint – a city roughly seventy miles from Padway – entered the chamber, made the ritual genuflections to the local gods and took their position at the front of the room. I would have expected them to object to bowing to local gods – it had caused no end of trouble back home – but it seemed that the locals believed in all gods, even if they only worshipped one or two. It was proper to pay homage to the local gods if you were visiting. Besides, the representatives wanted our help.

“My lords,” the lead representative said. His accent was thicker, but understandable. There was more variation between the city-states than would occur back home, even though it was the same basic language. They also shared the same written language, although that was changing now, thanks to me. “I come to you, in the sight of the gods, with a plea for your help. Our city is threatened. If we lose, you may be threatened in your turn.”

The entire story rolled out of him, interrupted by questions from the councillors. Flint had noticed sandstorms along the edge of the Great Desert – where the Mediterranean Sea would be in my world – but these were normal, until the horsemen had come riding out of the storm. They’d attacked the nearest towns and villages, destroying them utterly, and then continued to rage upwards towards Flint. The town’s council had ordered their magicians to destroy the horde, only to discover that their Sprites were unable to counter the horsemen. A few more questions revealed that all magic seemed to fail close to the horsemen and the Sprites had vanished. I remembered what Brother Book and Brother Stone had told me, along with what I had picked up from street mages, and shivered. The council, who were hearing this for the first time, were clearly shocked. It hadn't occurred to them that the delegation had visited personally, rather than sending a messenger sprite, because the messenger sprites were proving unreliable. The discussion raged backwards and forwards, growing increasingly hysterical, until the speaker shouted for quiet.

“The horsemen are mortal, even if they control magic,” he said, finally. I could see where he was going, even though it was clear that many of the representatives didn't have the slightest idea. “We can kill them, can’t we?”

“Yes, My Lord,” the lead representative said. “We are unable to hold them with cold steel alone and they rage towards our walls. We beg for your assistance before we lose the walls to the advancing foe.”

I watched with some dark amusement as he was savaged by questioners, each one demanding answers the poor man didn't have. I’d faced similar interrogations in the Medical Guild. What they did manage to pull out of him, finally, was not encouraging. The horsemen were barbarians, looting, raping and pillaging every village and town they encountered, and they were closing in on Flint. Given how slowly news moved without the Sprites, Flint might be encircled – or invaded – by now. I could understand their shock – strong walls could normally keep out the tribesmen – and found myself wondering how I could help. One answer kept shimmering at the back of my mind. Gunpowder.

“The horsemen need a taste of cold iron,” Captain-General Marti said, finally. He was the commanding officer of Padway’s army, although I considered it rather more like a militia. There was a hard core of trained and experienced soldiers, but most of the force was made up of volunteers from the freemen and a handful of noblemen. The leaders, of course, were all noblemen. I’d watched them drilling and I hadn’t been particularly impressed. “We can put together a force that will march to Flint and liberate it from the barbarians – if that is the will of the council.”

I frowned a question at Lady Aylia, who shrugged. The vote had yet to be taken, suggesting that it was still an open question. I listened to the debate and had to smile at how oddly familiar it was, despite the primitive surroundings. Some wanted to intervene and crush the horsemen, others questioned the value of sending so many men away from the city – and still others wanted concessions from Flint before agreeing to send any help. When the vote was finally taken, it was a very near thing. Padway would dispatch a small army to destroy the horsemen and end the war.

“My Lady Alex,” a voice said, as we prepared to leave the chamber. I turned to see a young man, with sharp patrician features and an oversized nose. He wore ceremonial armour that marked him out as a Captain, although the rank meant more here than it did back home. The scars on his armour told anyone who cared to look that he’d seen real fighting. “I am Captain Tarfanaxe, of House Delia. May I have the pleasure of your company?”

I looked him up and down, and then allowed him to lead me into a more private chamber. The council building was full of such rooms, allowing the councillors to make backroom deals and attempt to profit from their insider information. Back home, it would have been shockingly corrupt, but it was just business as usual here. Councillors were expected to profit from their positions at all times, as long as they remembered that the good of the city came first.

“I have been impressed by many of your...innovations,” Tarfanaxe said. “I was wondering if you knew something that could be applied to military work?”

I gazed into his eyes and saw a sharp and penetrating intelligence staring back at me. “Well,” I said, finally. “I believe that I do.”

 

Can hardly wait for the next chapter

 

Chapter Seventeen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

Tarfanaxe was one of the smartest men I had ever met. Unlike most of his fellow citizens – the half that happened to be born with a pole, instead of a hole – he was actually smart enough to realise that women were capable of much more than just work and breeding. He’d explained to me, when I gently teased him about it, that he had three older sisters and they’d been bossing him about ever since he was old enough to walk unaided. Only a fool, he said, would dare take his sisters for granted; the eldest had bent her husband to her will, while the youngest had been steadily breaking hearts among the nobility for the last four years. His father had often threatened her in the hopes of finding her a suitable husband, but none of his choices had been willing to risk marrying her. His middle sister had taken off into the Crone’s service and become a priestess.

He’d managed to grasp that I came from somewhere very far away, although he didn't believe me when I told him that I came from another world, or that my world had oceans of water on the surface. Padway was on a lakeside, with water bubbling up from a distant spring running down to the lake, but he’d never seen any large pool of water. He took my tales of the Atlantic and Pacific Ocean as sheer fantasy. At least he wasn't pouring scorn on the idea of gunpowder.

“And your soldiers use this?” He asked, in disbelief. “And you make a bow and arrow from metal?”

I guessed it made sense in his context. My father had taught me how his ancestors on the wagon trail had made their own gunpowder, but I had never tried to make it for myself, not with dad’s secret stash of explosives from his military days hidden on the farm. He’d banned me from even thinking about making it if there any other choice, because it could be extremely dangerous. I had worried about allowing the secret to slip out to the other cities and seriously considered trying to make it for myself, before deciding that the risks of accidentally blowing myself up were too high to be borne. A handful of my most trusted apprentices from the College would be trusted with the work, which I had moved to a secret base on the other side of the city.

“Something like that,” I said. I had tried to explain cannon and muskets, but while he grasped the concept intellectually, his emotions told him that the whole idea was nonsense. The soldiers of this world didn't seem willing to grasp new concepts, even though they desperately needed new technology. I had a suspicion that part of the reason they’d never moved on to developing nation-states was a conservative attitude to development and a reluctance to promote from the ranks. “Once we get the first cannon working, we can work on developing other weapons.”

A second concept I’d introduced – although Tarfanaxe, at least, had already understood it – was of battlefield intelligence. Each of the representatives from Flint, who had seen the horsemen in person, had been separately interrogated by Tarfanaxe and some of his brother officers. Their tales had been both horrifying and reassuring; horrifying because the horsemen didn't seem to hesitate to commit atrocities, reassuring because they didn't have anything more advanced than spears, swords and arrows. Some of their tales reminded me of the tribesmen, back before I’d reached Padway; others made absolutely no sense. How could the desert support such a vast population? I recalled that early writings had often exaggerated the number of enemy soldiers and wondered if the representatives were unknowingly enhancing their tales. There was no way to know for sure.

Making gunpowder isn't difficult, at least in theory. You need a mixture of saltpetre, charcoal and sulphur. In practice, we had found it difficult to produce the right kind of charcoal – it had no apparent use here, outside some religious artwork – and obtaining saltpetre was a mission in itself. I cursed my own earlier successes; now that I had convinced them to clean up the city, it was harder to find manure that could be converted into saltpetre. On the other hand, given enough time, we could probably set up an entire production line. I would just have to compete with people who wanted to buy manure to use as fertiliser.

Once we had managed to obtain sufficient supplies of the three ingredients, we began grinding it down and mixing up the powder. I knew the rough percentages from my father, but again it was something I had never tried in practice. It took several days before we had a workable mixture and four of my students were killed in an accidental explosion. I was never able to account for the explanation, unless one of the students had accidentally struck a spark and detonated the powder. It didn't seem too likely to me. On the other hand, the explosion had convinced Tarfanaxe that I wasn't mad, or trying to waste money chasing fool’s gold. Flushed with success, I started wondering if I could produce dynamite in a few years...

It took another few days to start producing cannon. Again, in theory the basic idea was simple; after all, they’d done it back in the days of Christopher Columbus. In practice, again, it was harder than it seemed. We constructed the first cannon ourselves, only to discover that the canons exploded when we detonated the gunpowder, or something else went spectacularly wrong. It didn't help that the first explosions had attracted interest and each of the tests was attended by gawkers ready to point and laugh at the latest failure. I had a private bet going with myself that the gunpowder genie was already out of the bottle and spreading fast. Some of my students were paid spies from the guilds and the Alchemists Guild, at least, would certainly try making their own gunpowder. An explosion in the Guildhall, several weeks after I started producing gunpowder myself, seemed to confirm my thoughts.

I spent one afternoon, with Tarfanaxe, watching as the city’s army prepared itself for combat. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that everything was going to be fine – I’d clearly underestimated how hard it would be to produce viable cannon, let alone muskets – I wasn't too impressed by the city’s military. The hard core of soldiers looked tough and determined, but there weren't too many of them. Padway had never needed a large army to chase tribesmen and had relied on calling up the militia if – when – the **** hit the fan. It might have worked, if they’d had rifles and modern weapons, but it wasn't enough when learning weapons and discipline took years.

And they didn't have the slightest idea about logistics. The general concept was that each soldier would carry his own rations into battle. I hadn't believed Tarfanaxe when he'd told me – I had been sure it was a translation error – until I’d seen the men packing their bags in preparation for the march. There was almost no provision for food supply, although – to be fair – the nobles didn't seem to be preparing their own food and drink either. The army expected to live off the land, which didn't strike me as a bright idea when the foe was ravaging the countryside and the only source of supply was under siege. I attempted to raise my concerns, but Tarfanaxe explained that the Captain-General wouldn't listen to an outsider and a woman.

I did have to admit that they were pretty good shots with their bows and arrows. Unlike swords, the bowmen had time to practice – hunting wild game, I suspected – and they had a certain amount of discipline. Even so, the bows were primitive and supplies of arrows were not high. I had a nasty feeling that the horsemen might just charge the bowmen and stampede them before the bowmen could launch a second volley.

The day before the army was due to start the long march to Flint, Tarfanaxe and I visited the warehouse where we were experimenting with cannon. The latest design looked ugly as sin, a single long tube of metal, mounted on wheels. Once I’d explained the concept, and what I knew of the problems, the local artisans had started reinventing the cannon, even though they had only a vague idea of what they were doing. I was actually mildly impressed by the sheer energy they showed for the project, even though there was an constant stream of injuries or deaths from the experiments. Apart from Tarfanaxe, none of the senior officers had bothered to show any interest in the cannon – or the fireworks I’d started to design for the children. Perhaps I could copy the Chinese and stage a fireworks display...

“I have a good feeling about this one,” Tarfanaxe said, as the artisans started to pray to the cannon, attempting to please the gods. Religious opinion in the city had split on the issue, with some religions embracing gunpowder and others calling it a blasphemy against the god of fire. I had been mildly amused to discover that some of the priests who had spoken against it had actually tried to buy supplies of gunpowder, although I had no idea why. “I think it will work.”

I shrugged as the gun team slowly loaded the gun with the cannonball, a solid lump heavy enough to strain a man trying to lift it. It had taken weeks of experimentation to get the cannon working – I’d had to abandon the concept of breechloaders, at least for the first few years – and I still wasn't quite sure that I had accounted for everything. In the books, someone with an idea could create a whole new industry overnight, but it had taken me weeks and it still wasn't working properly.

The first gunner pushed a bag of gunpowder down the shaft to the end of the gun. The second and third gunners slowly placed the cannonball inside the gun, allowing it to slide down the inside to meet the gunpowder. I don’t know how they did it in the early days; the risks must have been horrendous. I had made sure to stand at a safe distance from the gun and I was still nervous. I was almost tempted to cling to Tarfanaxe, but that wouldn't have been wise at all, not when local opinion frowned on it. The fourth gunner lit the wick at the end of the cannon and joined the others in running for his life, as the fuse sputtered its way down the cord and into the cannon. I covered my ears, just before there was a thunderous explosion and the cannon jumped backwards.

Tarfanaxe shouted in delight as the target, a bull’s eye I’d drawn on the far wall, was struck by the cannon. The results were unimpressive compared to modern weapons I’d seen back home, but watching the wall crumble impressed hell out of the locals. I could see the fear in their eyes, the cold knowledge that the walls they relied on for defence could be battered down at any moment. I had to smile to myself, knowing that this was only the beginning. It wouldn't be long before some bright spark – Tarfanaxe, perhaps – came up with the concept of digging a hole under the wall, stuffing it with gunpowder and lighting the fuse. It had worked in the Civil War and it would probably work here, if they had the patience to lay siege to the enemy city and start digging.

“Success,” Tarfanaxe shouted. All around us, the mixture of students and artisans were cheering, dancing up and down in delight. I studied the cannon and nodded, slowly. It had taken long enough to minimise the recoil, but gun teams would have to be prepared for it in future. I’d invented a weapon that threatened to be as lethal to my own side as it was to the enemy. “We won!”

I frowned, knowing that this world’s first cannon would only be the beginning. Dear God, what I would have given for a proper library of reference textbooks. I was trying to reinvent designs and concepts that existed in the past, without knowing half of the steps my ancestors had used to make their designs. I could field-strip an M16 with my eyes closed – although skill daddy had thought appropriate for a young girl – and yet it would be decades before this world produced anything like an assault rifle.

It crossed my mind that there was no going back now. Even without the horsemen, the changes I had introduced would spread rapidly, right across the world. Gunpowder wouldn't remain a city secret for long, if indeed word of it hadn't already gone out of the city. Someone would take the secret to another city and sell it to them...and then the world would change. Every city would be manufacturing gunpowder and designing cannon of their own, and muskets and blunderbusses and whatever else we designed. I’d heard some of my students – all men, unsurprisingly – talking about designing even more advanced weapons. They’d listened to me – often with more intentness than I was used to, particularly when I wore a shapeless dress – and started to come up with their own ideas. In ten years, they would have mortars, explosive shells and the gods alone knew what else. Flintlocks and muskets would be relatively easy to make...

Dear God, I asked myself. Had I done the right thing?

That night, Tarfanaxe invited me to a dance. I’d hesitated before going, but the truth was that I was feeling lonely, even though I was surrounded by friends and admirers. Besides, I had always loved to dance and the locals had surprisingly elaborate dances, even if they did frown on unsupervised meetings between men and women. When I arrived, I was amused to discover that I had been granted the status of honorary man. The men didn't want to get into my underwear – I’d discovered that there was a market for sexy underwear in the city, once the concept had sunk in – but they did want to talk about guns. My father would have loved the evening, even though the dancing wasn't his style.

“But the guns would burst if they were used too often,” one of the men pointed out. I hadn't caught his name, but he was apparently someone senior within what passed for a military establishment here. For a city that claimed to have a military history that stretched back over a thousand years, they didn't have a very professional attitude to the military. I’d discovered that half of the REMFs, as my father would have called them, were junior sons who couldn't make a career anywhere else. “You might run out of cannonballs.”

“That’s what logistics are for,” I said, patiently. The whole idea of a supply train was alien to them. “You use horses and carts to move up the cannon, carrying the gunpowder on a separate cart, just in case, and load the weapons when you arrive at the battlefield. A few shots and you can batter down almost any wall.”

I watched as that concept floated into their heads. It even took root in a few isolated heads, even though it was hardly traditional. Battles here were rarely conclusive in any real sense, not when the technology was so limited. If one army beat another, it often couldn't follow up on its victory and capture the enemy city before it was too late. They had strong religious taboos against laying waste to farmland and crops, although there was no prohibition against looting and plundering. There were also few tactics, with most soldiers intent on charging straight at the enemy army and attacking it. I found it amusing, in a dark way. Hannibal, or Alexander the Great, or Julius Caesar would have few difficulties in besting them, even though they would be operating at a tech disadvantage.

“But these weapons are hardly traditional,” another commander pointed out, languidly. “My father and my grandfather fought and won with swords and arrows.”

“And sorcery,” another pointed out. I frowned. The Brotherhood tried to stay out of wars, as they threatened its ability to operate neutrally. The other mages had little compunction about getting involved, but they were often countered by their rivals from opposing cities. “The barbarians have their own sorcery.”

I counted to ten under my breath, and then fixed my gaze on him. “Let me put it to you like this,” I said. “Your men spend months learning how to use swords, shields and bows. A child could learn how to fire a gun in a week. Once the secret of making guns gets out, every city that wants to fight – or fears that its neighbours want to fight – will start developing their own guns. If you shot a cannonball into a mass of oncoming troops, those troops will be decimated.”

He didn't seem impressed, so I pressed on. “Take the muskets we’re building now,” I added. “You can issue one to a man and he will learn to use it quickly. Two columns of men – one firing while the other loads and reloads – will tear any charging army to ribbons. It will be slaughtered before it can reach its target.”

“But they won’t be very accurate,” he protested. He’d seen how hard it was to aim the cannon accurately, although some of the first gun teams were learning the tricks of providing reasonably targeted fire. “You wouldn't hit all of the men...”

“The targeting doesn't matter,” I said. There were no sharpshooter contests here, but there would be, once there was a steady supply of muskets. “All that matters with these weapons is rate of fire. The soldiers will put out such a volley that any opposing force will be destroyed before it can reach their lines.”

I smiled. They barely saw it, but their world was about to change. Even if the horsemen were beaten quickly, the other cities would be developing their own gunpowder weapons...

As it happened, two weeks later we heard the first news from the army.

It wasn't good news.

 

she shoulda used catapults

 

Chapter Eighteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

My father had once told me that bad news always arrives at night. His grandfather had been a doctor in Texas, just before the Spanish-American War and he’d told his children and grandchildren how a knock in the middle of the night was always someone who desperately needed a doctor and had saddled a horse and ridden through the night to fetch one. He’d claimed, later, that the invention of the telephone had ruined doctors – on the grounds that anyone would summon a doctor for anything if it was no inconvenience to do so – but I couldn't agree. It hardly mattered anyway. It would be decades, at least, before we started building telephone lines in Padway.

The knock at the door hadn't awoken me, but like most wealthy people, I employed servants to remain awake during the night. I’d expected more problems with the experimental gunpowder – nearly forty people had been killed or badly injured experimenting with it – and had warned them to wake me at once if there was any trouble. Instead of a failed experiment – or one that had worked far too well – my servants discovered a Messenger at the door. They woke me at once. The message itself was short and pithy. Report to the Council at once.

I saddled a horse and rode through the nearly-deserted streets. Padway didn't have much of a nightlife, although I could hear the sounds of revelry in the distance. Ever since the army had departed, there had been a constant series of balls hosted by various noblemen and wealthy merchants, keen to show an unworried face to the world. I’d even attended a few of them, although my rather dubious credentials barred me from some of the events. I found it hard to care and in some ways I was actually relieved. Some of the entertainments would have shocked a libertine from back home.

The council chambers weren't lit up, but it was clear that something was going on. A number of noblemen and city representatives were arriving, often on their own or accompanied by one or two bodyguards. That sent an alarm signal ringing in the back of my head, for most noblemen would insist on being accompanied by an entire retinue, just to show how powerful and important they were. I’d heard that several noblemen who didn't have a pot to piss in between them had taken out huge loans, just so they could keep up appearances. There were even whispers that some noblemen had picked their wives and their children’s wives in order to attract huge dowries from the wealthier merchants. I told myself that I would never understand how desperately they struggled to save face. In some ways, they were worse than the Japanese or Arabs back home.

A servant took my horse as I scrambled off it, his eyes opening wide as he realised that I was a woman, and pointed me towards the emergency entrance. It led directly through a stone corridor and into the council chambers themselves and, for traditional reasons, was almost never used. I’d learned enough to realise that that, in many ways, was a worse sign than anything else. The council ran on the principle of status and everyone was expected to use the entrance befitting their social class. For that tradition to be pushed aside meant that something very bad had gone wrong. I told myself to be calm as I walked down the corridor and into the chambers, feeling the presence of a dozen Sprites hanging in the air, or imprisoned within great globes of light. Their glow cast an eerie radiance over the entire room, throwing everyone into sharp relief. My eye was caught by a man standing at one end of the table, wearing a tattered army uniform and carrying a scroll in one hand. He looked as if he had come to the end of his endurance and needed a good night of sleep.

I took one of the chairs at the rear of the room – only nobles and priests were allowed to sit at the table itself – and watched as servants passed around clay mugs of something that could have passed for foul coffee, on a good day. My father would have loved it, but I preferred water – once boiled – or fruit juice. Wine, mead or what passed for beer here would have been a bad idea. I had a feeling that I was going to need a clear head in the next few hours.

Tarfanaxe stepped into the room, winked at me, and took one of the seats closer to the table. I think – part of me hoped – that he wanted to sit next to me, but with the Captain-General out of the city he was the senior military officer on hand. He looked disgustingly fresh and active, even at two in the morning, even though he hadn't saved. Facial hair was common on men in Padway, but they seemed to disapprove of stubble. A man was either shaven or possessed a full beard. I had no idea where that tradition had come from, unless it was a substitute for virility. Freud would probably have enjoyed dissecting the city’s many traditions and beliefs.

I smiled inwardly as the Priestess of Marley entered the chamber, one hand on her protruding stomach. All the men seemed to shy away from her, believing that if they came into close contact with a pregnant woman – one they hadn't impregnated – they would suffer a loss of their own fertility. I had tried to explain that that was only a myth, but even the Medical Guild hadn’t been able to make headway against that very basic fear. The Woman of Marley – a harvest goddess, but also the goddess of pregnancy – sold cures for those who believed that they had lost all potency after touching a pregnant woman, cures that were both expensive and humiliating. There were times when I wondered if some woman hadn't invented the whole concept as a joke upon overbearing and arrogant men. I certainly couldn't think of any other explanation.

The Speaker tapped the table and silence fell. “There has been grave news,” he said, grimly. His face didn't contradict his words. He was one very scared man. “In the sight of the gods, I believe that we should suspend the other formalities and proceed at once to business.”

There was a rustle of agreement from the priests, gathered at the other side of the table. It had to be urgent then, for no one born in Padway would anger a god – even one they didn't worship – without very good cause. I suspected, from how quick the priests were to agree, that they’d already heard the news, or perhaps someone had slipped them a huge bribe. There was no way to know here, not when the corruption surrounding the priesthood was far greater than anything I recalled from back home.

“We received a messenger today from the army,” the Speaker continued. He nodded towards the tired man, standing at the rear of the room. “With your permission, I will ask him to speak his message – and his report.”

The messenger stepped forward. “My lords,” he said, in a voice that was drained of all emotion, “there has been a battle. The army has been broken.”

There was dead silence for nearly ten seconds, and then everyone started talking at once, shouting questions towards the messenger or conferring with their allies as to how they could benefit from the news. I saw the soldier slump as the racket assailed him, knowing that there was a good chance that he would be blamed for the defeat personally. He might even end up sacrificed in front of one of the temples in the hope of pleasing the gods. I realised, as I looked at the representatives, that there was more than fear in their eyes. They were deeply shocked by the message – and by how it had been delivered.

Back in my world, the early civilisations had had to communicate through mounted riders – the Pony Express and other messenger services – and military leaders had always been aware of a delay between issuing orders, having their forces in the field act on those orders, and then hearing the results. The smarter militaries had granted their generals autonomy to act as they saw fit, without referring the decision to a government that might be several days away, and accepted the consequences. Entire battles had been fought – and won or lost – before the armies in the field heard about the declaration of peace. Later, after the invention of the telegraph – and radio – the communications loop had been narrowed to the point where orders could be issued immediately and obeyed.

But Padway had always had had instant communication. They’d used the Sprites to send messages from city to city and, as far as I knew, the problems the Brotherhood had been having with their controlling spells hadn't spread to the messenger sprites. The council had bombarded the Captain-General with advice and orders every day – to the point where I suspected he was more than a little annoyed with his political masters – until he prepared to engage the enemy. And then everything had fallen silent. There had been no word from Flint until the tired messenger had arrived at the city.

The Speaker tapped the table for quiet and it reluctantly fell. “You need to hear the entire report,” he said, grimly. His voice was showing signs of life now, a very definite fear – fear for the future, and of the unknown. “Listen – and then we will take counsel and decide what to do.”

The rider’s tired voice echoed in the chamber. “We rode from our home to the walls of Flint,” he said. He was too tired to feel anything, even fear. “The barbarians melted back before us as we advanced and we told ourselves that we would scatter them and then return home in time for the festival of light. We rode towards the city and saw, to our horror, that mighty sandstorms were blowing in from the south, hiding the desert from our eyes.”

I remembered the sandstorm I’d arrived in and shivered. I’d barely been able to see more than a few inches from my nose and I’d walked right into the tribesmen before I saw them. No matter how I looked at it, a sandstorm would be a great place to hide an entire army. If the enemy had hidden there, they could have waited patiently until the army arrived and then attacked it, almost without warning.

“We rode up to the gates of Flint and discovered that they were open, with no one in sight to greet us and make us welcome. The Captain-General ordered a party of scouts to enter the city and find the citizens, but the entire city was deserted. There were no bodies, no matter how hard they looked. The entire city was as dark and quiet as the grave. We sent messages back to the city” – I heard muttering in the background, for no messages had been received – “and made camp in the city. That night, the sandstorm blew over the walls and the barbarians came with it. We found ourselves under attack by an enemy that could seemingly navigate the sandstorm at will.

“The Captain-General, who I had the honour of serving personally, led a desperate attempt to break out of the city. By then, half the army had been killed in battles against an unseen foe. Wherever we fell back, the sand followed us, making it impossible to see more than a few meters. We broke out of the gate and headed up the road, only to see the sandstorm fall back, revealing an entire army of barbarians. They charged us and overwhelmed the rearguard, chasing us up the road until they dragged us all down. I saw them butcher helpless and wounded men, cutting their throats and dragging their bodies away for some diabolical purpose. One of the Mages, the Lord Randolph, summoned one of his servants to the fight. The Sprite tore through the enemy before the enemy mages could counter it, buying time for the remnant to escape. And then something happened and the Sprite vanished and Lord Randolph died.”

I heard more gasps, but the room was silent, intently focused on the story. “By sheer luck, we found an untouched town and took shelter with its inhabitants, warning them of the danger to come. The sandstorms blew in and allowed an enemy force to reach our makeshift walls without being heard or seen. We held them off for two nights, losing men and weapons, before the Captain-General realised that we would not survive a third night. He summoned three of his private messengers – of which I have the pleasure to serve – and ordered us to carry his final message to his beloved city. He led a final breakout personally, in the hopes that we would be able to slip through enemy lines and escape into the wildness. I halted once I had passed through the enemy lines and watched how the barbarians destroyed the town utterly, slaughtering every last man in the town. The women they led away for a far darker fate.”

He paused. “I rode all day and night to reach the city,” he added. “I met with refugees from other towns, who warned of patrols of horsemen hunting down stragglers and killing them without mercy. I had a brief encounter with an enemy archer who buried an arrow in my horse’s rump. Somehow, by the grace of all the gods, I reached the city alive. I fear that the barbarians will be on us soon, perhaps within the next moon. I beg of you to remember how my Captain-General gave his life, dying well beside his men, to warn you of the coming storm. I beg of you to prepare to defend the city against the threat.”

I watched as he swayed on his feet, only to be caught by two serving girls. I felt another pang of sympathy for him as representatives fired question after question at him, including dozens he simply didn’t know how to answer. Tarfanaxe asked a handful of deeply focused questions and appeared to be taking everything in his stride, but I could see his concern – if not fear – behind his eyes. The entire world had just turned upside down – again – and I knew that there would be an outburst of rioting and looting once the news leaked out to the city’s population. They weren't used to the concept of losing an entire army. It just didn't happen.

“We need to act quickly,” Tarfanaxe said. He stood up and strode over to the map, mounted at one end of the room. I had my doubts about its accuracy, but at least it showed locations and positions in a fairly understandable style. “The barbarians are mounted on horses. They could be on us within a day, perhaps sooner. We may have to prepare to defend our city to the death.”

There was a rumble of agreement from half of the council. The others seemed intent on sending a messenger to the barbarians under flag of truce, hoping that the barbarians could be bought off instead of defeated. I suspected that the barbarians wouldn't accept the offer, unless they had a capable commander who saw the value of milking the land rather than draining it dry. The old problem with paying barbarians to go away is that you have to keep paying them and you never actually get rid of them. Alfred the Great would have understood.

“It is clear that the barbarians are supported by powerful magic,” he added. He didn't – quite – look over towards Brother Book, who was seated at the table, but most of the council looked at him. “A sandstorm does not behave as a living entity naturally. They are rarely observed above the desert line. The barbarians are somehow capable of controlling the storm and using it to cover their movements. I believe that we will need to counter it with our own magic.”

Brother Book coughed. I felt a flicker of sympathy for him, too; the chances were good that the Brotherhood wouldn't be able to do more than hold the sandstorm back, particularly if the enemy were using their own mages to protect their men. I suspected that the two groups of mages would simply cancel each other out, leaving the issue waiting to be resolved through cold steel. Or maybe...I remembered the first matchlocks and muskets that we had produced, along with the cannon and the prototype mortar. I had a distant feeling that we might have a few surprises up our sleeves.

“We will certainly attempt to unite all of the magicians of Padway into one force,” he said. “We feel, however, that the enemy mages may cancel us out. We can deny them magic, but they can deny us magic...”

I froze. The Brotherhood’s problem was that they were losing control of the Sprites. If something failed at a crucial moment, we might be exposed to magical attack without any defences at all. And...what if the reason the Brotherhood was losing control of the Sprites had something to do with the barbarians? What if their mages, working in secret, had developed techniques to interfere with the Brotherhood’s control of magic?

“I will also work closely with the Lady Alex,” Tarfanaxe added. I dragged my attention back to him rapidly. I’d known that some people saw me as a good luck charm – or a bad luck charm, depending on their viewpoints – but some of the gazes directed at me were almost worshipful. “We will develop new weapons to destroy the barbarian horde.”

The confidence in his voice was almost overwhelming. I felt the council slowly beginning to recover its own confidence, even though it had been badly shaken. And I found myself caught up in a totally new concept of my own.

Could I build an army?

Hell...could I lead an army?

 

Chapter Nineteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

The cockerels were greeting the dawn in the distance as I rode back to my house, but the city was already bustling with life. The rumours had spread throughout the entire city by the time the meeting had ended, resulting in heralds bellowing out a shortened version of the story at each street corner. At the moment, the city seemed stunned by the defeat, but I had a feeling that it wouldn't be long before they turned to anger. It made me wonder just how prepared the City Guard was to deal with angry rioters, all of whom would be armed with swords and their rage.

Once I got home, I ordered and ate a healthy breakfast before riding out to the College. I’d taken the precaution of ordering extra guards at all of my buildings – and I’d beefed up my personal bodyguards – but there was no trouble in the wealthier streets, although that would probably change in a hurry. The poorer freemen and slaves wouldn't have much to lose if the barbarians came over the walls; hell, everything they had could be carried on their shoulders if they had to flee the cities. The merchants and nobles, on the other hand, couldn't flee without instantly becoming paupers. The visiting representatives from Flint would probably have discovered that their credit had already run out. Padway’s creditors would savage them, as they savaged anyone who not only ran out of money, but prospects for regaining their lost wealth.

In the College, I took the precaution of speaking to each of the faculty – my fancy term; most of them seemed to think they were my servants – and gave them permission to bring their families to the College if necessary. I’d had visions of angry mobs, egged on by priests, trying to destroy all my hard work and I’d taken the precaution of turning the College into a fortress, of sorts. I hoped that the walls, topped with sharpened flints and other unpleasant surprises, would be enough to hamper any attempt to storm the building, but I was uneasily aware that the barbarians would probably break through, given enough time. The supplies of gunpowder, cannon and matchlocks should give the defenders a fighting chance, if they could actually see their targets. It wouldn't be easy to see, let alone fight, in a sandstorm.

The young researchers lined up to show off their latest innovations in firearms. I didn't have the heart to tell them that the armies of Imperial Spain – let alone George Washington or Napoleon – would have laughed at some of their efforts. They’d taken half-remembered ideas I’d given them and attempted to deduce the gaps in my knowledge. In some ways, much as I hated to admit it, sexism worked in my favour. They didn't seem to expect a woman to remember everything, even the Priestesses. If I’d been a man, they’d have been horrified – and then vastly amused – at how little I knew.

One thing that the city did have – which would be lacking in a modern city – was no shortage of trained and experienced artisans. Once the designs for the cannons and firearms had been perfected – and by perfected, I meant only exploded or burst after firing ten or more shots – they’d started mass production. Each of the weapons was almost a work of art – my father would have loved them – and I hated the thought of introducing them into battle. I’d have to teach them the concept of assembly-line construction soon, in hopes of speeding up the process, but for the moment we would have enough firearms and gunpowder to outfit a small army. I issued orders and waited to see the results. By then, Tarfanaxe had found me after finally escaping from the council.

“They are placing a great deal of faith in you,” he said, once we’d greeted each other. “If there was any other choice...”

I shrugged. The city had plenty of swords, spears, shields and bows in store, but it took time to train young men and turn them into proficient fighters. As I’d told them – several times – it didn't take very long to train young men on firearms, although it was actually quicker to train women. We didn't have the male urge to show off as soon as we got our hand on a firearm.

“There isn't,” I said. The defeat hadn't just killed the military leaders – although that was no bad thing – it had wiped out the cadre that would have trained the new recruits. The council was still hemming and hawing over introducing conscription, uneasily aware that once conscripted, freemen could claim greater rights in council. And if they tried to conscript the slaves...hundreds of angry owners would make their feelings known to the council. “I don’t think you have any other choice.”

“I know,” Tarfanaxe agreed. “I think that it is also going to be harder than you think.”

He was right, as I found out that afternoon. Only a handful of trained soldiers remained in the city and none of them liked the idea of learning to use matchlocks instead of their trusted swords and shields. I pointed out that they could still carry the swords, at least, and use them in a melee – I hadn't introduced bayonets yet, although it wouldn't be too hard – if worst came to worst. The second problem was one I should have anticipated from the start. They didn't want to be taught by a woman.

The kindest man in the small unit – twelve men – pointed out rather snidely that women don’t know how to fight. The others made increasingly sexist remarks and I felt my blood boiling. I understood just how stupid men could be when they felt that their pride was being threatened, but surely they were smart enough to realise that their city was under threat. I heard one last comment about how the proper place for a woman was in bed – or barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen – and felt my temper boiling over. I’d killed a man in hand-to-hand combat and I was far from the only woman who had ever killed. I knew a girl back home who had joined the Marines and served as a sniper in Afghanistan. She’d been deadly enough to terrify the locals, although they always referred to her as a man.

“Enough,” I said, stepping forward. “If you don’t want to serve under me” – a loaded remark, because the locals would never admit to allowing a woman to ride them – “you can beat me in a fight.”

Tarfanaxe looked as if he wanted to say something, but I held up a hand. “If you win,” I added, “I will give you fifty gold coins” – a small fortune – “and ensure that you and your family will receive the best medical care at the new hospitals.” I smiled at them, as sweetly as I could. “Who’s going to bitch-slap me first?”

They exchanged glances and shuffled on their feet, much to my private amusement. The same cultural traditions that kept women as second-class citizens also kept men from hitting them, at least in public. A man who hit a woman would find himself jumped by every other man in the area. I didn't cut a very feminine figure – I wore trousers and a shirt, and very sensible shoes – and I could see some of them considering it. Back home, fifty years ago, I would have been taken for a lesbian. Here, in Padway, there was no concept of lesbianism.

“I will,” one of the men said, finally. He was a big beefy fellow, with a face that had been marked by fighting in the past. I suspected that he was one of the petty criminals who had been offered a choice between joining the army or being assigned to a work gang. The city wasn’t big on compassionate sentencing. The work gangs were hellish and not all of the convicted criminals survived long enough to be freed. “If you insist on acting like an unnatural whore, I’ll show you how a real man fights.”

He leered at me and swaggered forward. If he'd had real training, I might well have bitten off more than I could chew. The muscles moving under his shirt reminded me of a pair of SEALs who had visited my father, years ago. I watched him, leaning forward slightly as I’d been taught to do, and prepared myself. He telegraphed his first move – a punch that would have broken my nose, if I had allowed him to hit me – and I jumped back.

Whatever the feminists claim, the average man has an advantage over the average woman in a fight. He will be stronger, faster and more capable of absorbing damage. On the other hand, most men have a vague concept of fighting fair, particularly when the fight isn't to the death. My teacher had railed about this male weakness, calling men – young boys in particular – social cripples. The idea wasn't to fight fair; the idea was to win, as quickly as possible. I ducked a second swing, slipped forward and rammed my hand into his gut.

He was tougher than I expected and only grunted as he doubled over. For a moment, I thought that I’d won and that he was about to collapse, but somehow he pulled himself forward and charged at me, bellowing like a bull. If he’d caught me, it would have been the end, so I jumped to one side and stuck out a foot. My father would have called it a damn fool move, but it worked and he toppled over. He rolled over with astonishing speed, only to discover that I had closed in and – greatly daring – held my foot just over his groin.

“Yield?” I asked. “You can give up now...”

I heard the shout of warning, too late. One of the other men had charged at me and I didn't have time to move. I turned, just in time to have him wrap his hands around me and pull my back against his chest. His warm breath stank of something disgusting as his hands started to crawl up towards my breasts, so I slammed the back of my head into his nose. He staggered backwards, more shocked than hurt, and I twisted in his grip. Before he could realise the danger, I rammed my knee into his groin. He fell backwards and collapsed on the ground, screaming in pain.

Somehow, despite my aching body, I managed to stand upright. A show of weakness would be very dangerous at this point. I faced the remaining ten men and smiled, silently daring them to try their utmost to beat me. If they’d challenged me...but they bowed their heads, accepting – for the moment, at least – that I was untouchable. I saw Tarfanaxe’s expression out of the corner of my eye and smiled to myself. He was equally shocked.

“Time to learn,” I said, as the men I’d injured recovered and managed to take their places in the line. “This is a matchlock...”

It took only an hour to train them to fire the weapon on command, although it took longer to explain to them why it was so important that they cleaned the weapon regularly. They did have the basic concept down pat – they had to clean their swords after earlier battles – but they didn't quite grasp the idea that a matchlock fouled very quickly. I had yet to see one that could fire more than five shots without jamming. Once I’d taught them, they could teach others, who would in turn pass on the knowledge to newer volunteers. It was harder to convince them to develop firearms discipline, but I had the feeling that they would learn quickly when they encountered an enemy that used firearms itself.

Once the training was underway – with my students teaching others, who had less to unlearn – I allowed Tarfanaxe to lead me back to the College. Leaving him in my office, I rubbed myself down, admiring the bruises on my chest. I’d come closer to losing the brief struggle than I wanted to admit. If the second man had intended to kill me, he could probably have snapped my neck before I could break free, or held my throat to make resistance impossible. They hadn't taken me seriously, not really. I had the feeling that they would have preferred to humiliate me publically, rather than kill me. I’d heard stories of similar behaviours from the less-developed parts of my world.

“You took a hellish risk,” Tarfanaxe said, once I changed into a dress and returned to my office. I saw his eyes alighting on some of the visible bruises, before lifting up to my face. “What if they’d killed you?”

“They wanted the reward,” I said. I’d thrown in the offer of gold in hopes of overcoming their social conditioning. I’d succeeded alarmingly well. “They wouldn't have killed me.”

I looked down at the table, unwilling to meet his eyes, and saw the latest report from my students. They were learning, all right, learning the scientific method and the basics of modern chemistry. A few months ago, when the Guilds had put me on trial, they might have managed to squash my innovations by killing me and declaring them illegal. Now...now it was too late, I hoped. My students would carry on after me, once I was gone.

“I hope that you understand just how badly you risked everything,” Tarfanaxe added, slowly. “You could have destroyed yourself...”

I felt a hot flash of anger again and fought for control. I had survived being a slave, I had survived two unsuccessful attempts at rape and I had become the wealthiest woman in Padway, all in the space of a few months. Did he really believe, I asked myself, that I needed a male guardian to protect me from the world? I answered my own question a moment later. Of course he did; his sisters might have been forces of nature in their own right, but they needed a male guardian to take responsibility for them. And they were from the nobility, the people who set the social norms. How could their women tolerate it?

It was perverse to realise that a woman might have more freedoms if she were born to a lower caste, but it came with its own risks. They were rarely considered equal to a man; they might wind up being enslaved, or forced into prostitution to feed themselves. Their word wasn't equal to a man in the law courts, they were rarely taken seriously – hell, I suspected that behind some of the more successful businessmen in the city there was a woman using a man as a front. And even some of the advantages women had – it was harder to bring a lawsuit against a woman – worked against them.

I swore to change those social norms as soon as I could, but back home it had taken centuries to challenge male dominance of the world. Technology had liberated women, which made me wonder why so many feminists preached a return to a simpler world. If they’d had the courage of their own convictions, they would have moved to the poorer regions of Africa, or Afghanistan, and discovered the truth. The weight of a primitive existence fell harder upon women, not men, and if women were less expendable than men, they also had to be protected at all costs. And protection often meant restriction.

“I did what I had to do,” I said harshly. It wasn't his fault, not really. He was a product of his world, one where there was a double-standard and a solid brick ceiling. “I will protect my new home, whatever it takes.”

The irony struck me a moment later. If I’d stayed a slave, I could have left the city at any time, carrying nothing more than the clothes on my back. Now, just like the merchants and nobles, I was tied to the city. If I left, I would have to start again from the beginning. And there was no guarantee that I would ever get the chance.

“You are a wonder,” Tarfanaxe said, seriously. He twisted his hands, nervously. “Would you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”

I stared at him. It had been easy to tell that he was attracted to me, even though he was far more of a gentleman than many boys – from home or here – that I had encountered. And he was a hell of a catch by local standards; an up-and-coming military officer, now the Captain-General of Padway, and a member of the ruling class. The Guardian was gone, I knew, and if I could be raped, I could also take a lover.

He was attractive, clever, understanding...and a product of his world. If I married him, I would be expected to subordinate myself to him entirely. Everything that was mine would become his; I would have to love, honour and obey him for the rest of my life. My knowledge would be placed exclusively at his disposal. I wanted children one day – and girls here, I suspected, lost the ability to bear children faster than they did back home – and I’d have to give birth in a primitive environment. I knew just how many things could go wrong...

And what if we fell out one day? There was no such thing as divorce in this world.

“Look,” I said, finally. “You’re a wonderful person” – I wanted to cringe – “and one day I would be proud to call you my husband. But we’re at war and I can’t make any promises, not now.”

It was a hard conversation, all the more so because he had risked much by speaking to me personally. Normally, his sisters would have spoken to my parents – which was impossible – and I wouldn't have been consulted until it was too late to object. He would have been lucky to know in advance who his parents wanted him to marry. I hoped that we would still be able to work together, but I feared it would be impossible. There was no concept of male-female friendships here.

Seven days later, the barbarians started their approach to Padway.

 

The bad news is that I won't be posting for three (perhaps four) days, so I can visit my Grandma. Please comment - more will be along soon.

Chris

 

You'll be missed in the mean time. I'm enjoying the story.

Jason

 

hope granny is well, take care

 

Chapter Twenty<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

The gust of dry air stuck me in the face and I coughed, despite the scarf I had pulled over my mouth. We’d known that we would be riding towards the desert, yet somehow the hot air caught us by surprise. I knew very little about weather patterns on my world, let alone how the weather patterns had developed on this waterless world, but I was sure that it wasn’t natural. The mare grunted underneath me and I scowled as the trumpeter sounded the halt. Behind us, the Army of Padway ground to a halt. I rubbed my tired eyes and looked back towards the men. Most of them, I knew, didn't know that I was a woman.

It was the most well-organised army Padway had ever seen, which meant that it was a largely-disorganised mass by the standards of my world. I didn't want to think about what would happen if they encountered a modern force, but that wasn't likely to happen, not here. Instead, they were going to encounter barbarian invaders, barbarians who had already crushed and broken an army from the city. I knew that, despite their confident speeches, there was an undertone of fear running through the officers – and that would have communicated itself to their men. The new weapons and tactics hadn’t been tested in battle. They wouldn’t be truly confident in them until they’d won a fight with the enemy. And the enemy, I knew, was not far off. I could see our mounted scouts in the distance, riding back to meet up with the army. They had to have sighted the enemy...

Another gust of sandy air blew through the army and I shivered, despite the heat. If the sandstorms were heading towards our position, even several miles from the scrubland that bordered the great desert, we might rapidly find ourselves blind, unable to manoeuvre or even to locate the enemy. I had to admire the enemy tactician who’d dreamed up the scheme – and the mages who had somehow mastered spells to compel the sprites into creating vast sandstorms – even as I cursed them, along with the rest of the barbarians. Even without destroying the army, massive sandstorms could destroy the farms that supplied the cities with food and livestock. Hell, if the enemy commander thought ahead, he could just send in the sandstorms and wait for his enemies to die.

I rubbed my forehead as I slipped off the horse and found my bearings on the ground. Tarfanaxe, his five subordinate commanders and seven advisers and the mages were holding a quick conference. I was, technically speaking, one of his advisers, although most of them didn't know who I was, let alone my sex. I’d cut my hair short, darkened my face and worn a heavy breastplate that squashed and partially concealed the curve of my breasts. I looked like a bull dyke from hell, in my considered opinion, and I hadn't expected the disguise to fool anyone. It worked perfectly, somehow; it had taken me several days to realise that most citizens saw the clothes, automatically connected them with ‘male,’ and didn't bother to think any more about it. As long as I didn't make elementary mistakes, my disguise was perfect.

Tarfanaxe himself kept his expression under control as I walked up to the small group. He’d been slightly stand-offish with me after I’d rejected his proposal, although he hadn’t blown my cover to the remainder of his advisors. I’d suggested that I posed as one of my own students – luckily, most of the population had an exaggerated idea of the Lady Alex’s capabilities – and he’d accepted the idea. It helped that most of the senior commanders in the army had been killed during the attempt to liberate Flint. They would have been very resistant to new ideas.

The army itself was as professional as possible, given the limitations of technology and discipline. I’d organised a massive supply effort – an army marches on its stomach, a truism that had somehow failed to develop on this world – and hired hundreds of slaves to serve as porters and general workers. They’d been promised early emancipation if they served well – slaves were not allowed to touch weapons, a taboo that even I had been unable to challenge – or a vast sum of money if they preferred to remain enslaved. Their owners had kicked up a hell of a fuss, but Tarfanaxe had overridden them, pointing out that the defence of the city came first. After the reports from Flint had spread through the city, most owners had dropped their objections.

I smiled as I saw the wagons belonging to the Medical Guild, staffed by some of the best doctors in the city, men who’d learned from me. The army had had basic sanitation hammered into its head from day one and, instead of taking almost no care at all with their health, the officers and sergeants ensured that their men followed the new regulations. I knew just how many medieval armies had been crippled or even wiped out by disease caused by their own environment and I was determined to ensure that it wouldn't happen here. One of the reasons for the lack of actual nation-states in this world was that supporting an army over hundreds of miles – let alone thousands – was almost impossible and disease would swiftly cripple any army that laid siege to a city. If the barbarians were defeated, I suspected that that would change. And if they did start raising mass armies, how long would it be before the entire world was changed in their wake?

Brother Stone was elaborating on some point as I walked up to the group. We’d put out a call for as many mages as possible and nearly a hundred – including nineteen Brothers – had answered the call. I could sense the hundreds of invisible presences surrounding them and shivered, even though I knew that I was the only one in the group who could see them. Translucent eyes turned to follow my passage, endless malice clearly written within them, mocking the humans who dared to control beings of earth and air. I had wondered if women could always see the sprites, even without summoning, binding and controlling them, but some careful questioning had eliminated that possibility. I was the only one who seemed to always see the creatures.

“There is magic in the air,” Brother Stone said, seriously. “Something is attacking the spies we send out to watch for the enemy. I think that it behoves us to be very careful.”

Tarfanaxe nodded, slowly. He didn't look at me. “If you’re losing contact with the sprites at a particular point,” he said, finally, “that tells us where the enemy is, doesn’t it?”

He nodded to one of his scribes, who unfurled a large map of the surrounding army. Padway sat in the centre of a network of satellite towns, villages and farms, all feeding the city’s growing appetite. I’d issued orders, before I left, for the College to stock up on everything from food to medical supplies. We’d passed a constant stream of refugees heading towards the city, fleeing the oncoming barbarians in hope of finding safety in numbers. I doubted that they’d find anything of the sort. Padway, like all cities, depended on a steam of food to feed its mouths – food that came from farms that were being abandoned, or destroyed by the barbarians. The city had already started to experience internal panic, with rumours running rampart throughout the city, and it was very definitely only the beginning. A properly-instituted rationing scheme might save lives, but the city’s leaders didn't have the mindset to launch and enforce such a system. The city, if it couldn't defeat the barbarians, would tear itself apart.

Tarfanaxe peered down at the map, listening carefully as Brother Stone outlined where they’d lost contact – or control – with the scouting sprites. It seemed that the enemy had circled around and was coming at the city from the south, rather than directly from Flint. It made little sense to me until they unfurled the larger map, showing the position of the other city-states. Padway could have called on support from other cities if the barbarians had shown themselves to be a common threat, but instead Padway appeared to be the only city being targeted. It was clear to me that the barbarians wouldn't stop with Padway, yet the other city-states didn't seem to see it that way. They clearly felt that Padway had been getting too powerful – thanks to me – and could be left to face the barbarians alone.

“I saw the advancing sandstorm,” the human scout said, finally. The mages had objected, strongly, to deploying human scouts at all. Tarfanaxe had eventually overruled them, pointing out that the enemy was clearly deploying some magic of their own. The sandstorms weren't natural. I did wonder about that – losing all that water had to have had some effect on the world’s ecosystem – but there was no one I could ask. They didn’t even understand how an ecosystem worked. “I could smell the barbarians inside it.”

Tarfanaxe listened to him until he’d finished reporting, and then ordered him to report to the quartermaster and get himself fed and watered. Two of the other scouts had returned, one bringing a report of another advancing sandstorm, the other warning us of having sighted a group of barbarian scouts advancing up the old road. These people built their roads with the same mania that gripped the Romans, back in the days of Caesar; I could hear the angry muttering from the lower ranks as it sank in that the barbarians were using their own roads against them. They could ride or walk all the way to the gates of Padway on the road.

I leaned over and tapped a position on the map, roughly one mile from a large town. “If we take up position there,” I said, trying to sound confident, “we can meet them and then fall back on the town, if the situation requires a retreat. The sappers” – my term for the slaves and freemen who served the army had caught on – “can prepare the town for a defensive battle.”

My words sounded impressive. I hoped they couldn't tell that my only real tactical experience came from playing paintball at the survivalist camps my father had taken me too, back before I grew up into a young woman. I had enjoyed the games, even though the organisers had included an uncomfortable level of realism in planning the matches. And I’d met my first boyfriend there, a young man two years older than me who had taught me how to kiss, and then left me when it became clear that I wasn't going to go past second base. The thought made me smile as Tarfanaxe issued orders and the army prepared itself to continue the march. What would he have said if he’d known I’d had a boyfriend back before I had come into his world?

The heat grew stronger as the army marched onwards. I was on a horse, yet I could still feel sweat trickling down my back and puddles forming at the base of my armour. The suit I wore had originally been designed for a young aristocrat from the Great Houses and had never been worn in combat, even by him. It was too bright – making me a target for any enemy archers out there – and it was uncomfortable. The artisans of Padway had never seen the wisdom of designing breastplates for wearers with actual breasts. I felt the hilt of my pistol – and its remaining irreplaceable rounds – and felt oddly reassured. Even with the matchlocks and cannon, it still might escape a careful eye. I’d never advertised what it actually was, not even to my students.

As we marched – more like stumbled, really; I hadn't been able to teach them to march in step – towards the town, we saw more refugees heading north. One group, on a wagon pulled by a pair of oxen, ignored us; a second, with a pair of young girls of marriageable age, decided to give us a wide berth. I gritted my teeth as the soldiers hooted and hollered at the girls, reminding me of yet another truth about the past. Tarfanaxe had hanged two men for rape on the last day we’d spent in the city, but the countryside folk would still lock up their daughters, fearful that they’d be raped by their defenders. Rape was a commonplace of war, both here and back home.

The town itself was occupied by a handful of men who were unwilling to leave their homes, even though their swords and bows wouldn't slow down the barbarians for more than a few minutes. Tarfanaxe and I spent twenty minutes trying to convince them to leave, before the next set of scouts reported back, warning us that the enemy had accelerated their pace and would be on us in less than an hour. That decided it for them; they chose to leave, taking with them what little they could carry on their backs. The soldiers broke into homes, converted them into strongpoints as quickly as they could, looting as well if they found anything worth looting. One group of soldiers found several barrels of beer and promptly got drunk before the sergeants intervened. Tarfanaxe sent the drunkards to the rear in chains and concentrated on preparing the army to march. If we occupied the field before the barbarians arrived, he’d said, they would have to engage us or risk having us in their rear.

I could see a faint shimmer on the horizon as the army – having left most of the camp followers and supplies in the nameless town – marched to the field. The sprites seemed more active than before, flashing around their masters and even flickering into visibility for long seconds, showing themselves to the soldiers and offices. I could hear Brother Stone reassuring them that it was a show of power, of the magic backing the soldiers, but I could hear the uncertainty in his voice. And now, when I looked towards the horizon, I could sense powerful magic lurking in the distance. It felt like an itch at the back of my head, one I couldn't scratch. It came as no surprise when the third group of scouts came riding back, one of them slumped over his horse with an arrow in his back. The enemy was bare moments from coming into view.

Tarfanaxe came up behind me as I surveyed the prepared firing positions and tugged on my arm. I allowed him to lead me away out of earshot, shaking my head inwardly. What was it about fighting, I wondered, that made men either horny or protective?

“Lady Alex,” he whispered, even though there was no need to whisper over the noise of the army. “You can take a horse and go back to the city...”

“I have to be here,” I said. He meant well, in his condescending way, but I didn't have time for it. I’d heard too many stories of female soldiers who used their sex to their advantage. And, seeing that most of the army thought of me as a man, they’d think I was a coward as well. Here, physical courage mattered; the commanders who had led the last army to its defeat had been brave, even if they hadn't been particularly intelligent. “I created all this. I need to see what happens.”

“But...” He broke off and took my hand. “I wish you were somewhere safe.”

I had to smile. “Do you think that there will be anywhere safe if they break through this army?”

Tarfanaxe, bless him, was too smart to think otherwise. If we didn't beat the barbarians, Padway would never be able to create a third army. Even if the barbarians fell back, the sandstorms would devastate the land, killing crops and spreading starvation everywhere. Even as I admired the tactic, I wondered what kind of mind could create such a nightmare. Hitler would have balked at such indiscriminate slaughter. I knew that the tribesmen could survive within the great deserts, I knew that there was life and food to be found if one knew where to look, yet even they would have problems living within a depopulated land.

“If we get out of this,” he said, “I will resume my suit for your hand.”

I had to smile. After a quick glance around – just to make sure that no one was watching – I pulled him forward and kissed him, hard. His mouth tasted funny – a strange, very masculine taste – but I didn't let that stop me. It might be the last chance I’d have to kiss anyone, at least of my own free will. I couldn't expect mercy from the barbarians if I fell into their hands, nor could anyone else. The stories of horrors and atrocities had grown in the telling, but no one – male or female – was safe.

The surprise in his eyes was almost hilarious, but I forced myself not to laugh. “For luck,” I said, firmly. He was very confused, unsure of what to say or do. “I’ll see you after the battle.”

He squeezed my hand and let go of it as the trumpets started to blare a warning. The enemy was within sight. Another wave of heat billowed across the desert and into our position as we scrambled back to our positions, midway through the battle formation. I’d suggested keeping the command post – insofar as we could dignify it with that title – at the rear, but it had been universally rejected. No one dared to be considered a coward.

I mounted my horse and turned to peer into the distance. The shimmer on the horizon was rapidly taking on shape and form, materialising into a sandstorm of terrifying power. I remembered the one that had nearly killed me when I arrived and felt a flash of primal terror, hearing sounds of fear and prayer from the army. The storm alone could destroy us.

And, emerging out of the storm, came the barbarians.

 

Chapter Twenty-One<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“Prepare yourselves,” Tarfanaxe bellowed, “for we are in the sight of the gods!”

The officers and sergeants took up the cry, somehow restoring discipline to men who had been frightened, almost to the point of losing their wits. Slowly, they calmed them down and prepared them for the coming charge, focusing their minds on defeating the enemy. I found myself wishing that someone could calm me down as I lifted the primitive telescope to my eye and peered through it, studying the barbarian horde. My memory spat up a recollection from the time I had served the tribesmen as an unwilling slave and I realised, to my horror, that I had seen the barbarians before.

Back at the Gathering, I’d seen a man trying to convince the tribes to join his war against the city-states. I knew now that I was looking at his army, a fearsome mass of men joined by the joy of slaughter and long-held grudges against the city-folk. They had anointed themselves with blood and wore the skulls of their enemies; their armour was composed of dry bones, decorated with dark sigils that struck fear into the hearts of anyone who looked at them. My mouth went dry as I took in their appearance; somehow, it was easy to believe that this fearsome army had crushed everything that stood between it and its goal. I knew that it would be useless to beg for mercy.

I pressed my fear into the back of my mind and forced myself to focus on the enemy, studying their formation. Their leading elements rode horses, just as our scouts and cavalry did, but the remainder appeared to be nothing other than footsoldiers. They carried a strange mixture of weapons, ranging from blunt clubs to swords they’d taken from the previous army, yet they didn't seem to have any archers. It was an odd oversight and it puzzled me, leaving my mind to pick over the missing element and try to reason out where it might be. Perhaps they’d sent their archers elsewhere...?

The stench of magic came off them in waves. It was almost overwhelming, a constant pressure at the back of my mind, and I wondered how none of the others could be affected. Couldn't the mages sense the presence of magic? I turned to look back at the mages, who were hanging back at the rear of the army, and muttered a curse under my breath. They were roaring and chanting, trying to bend the sprites to their will, but the magical creatures seemed inclined to slip away into the ether. The sight made me wonder if we were going to be deprived of all magical support – and, if that happened, what the enemy could bring to bear against us. Some of the sprites were almost omnipotent. I had a vision of the entire army being blasted with fire, or turned into frogs, and nearly turned my horse to flee. How could anyone fight magic on such a scale?

I pushed that thought to the back of my mind as well and turned to concentrate on the barbarians. Our lines had wavered, but held steady; if they’d been hoping that we would be struck with terror and flee they had to see that it wasn't working by now. I tried to pick out the leaders, wondering if I could take them out before they issued too many commands, before realising that it was impossible. I’d performed wonders with a hunting rifle, and a USMC sniper rifle I hadn't been supposed to touch, but even my pistol from home wouldn't be accurate enough for the task. The matchlocks and cannons we’d designed...well, accuracy wasn't one of their hallmarks. If they pumped out enough shots, the results should speak for themselves, but I couldn't rely on accurate shooting. It was a moot point anyway; several minutes of scanning their lines revealed nothing I could use to pinpoint their ranks. The barbarians were almost indistinguishable from one another.

One moment, everything was silent; the next, the barbarians were howling, a sound that sent chills running down my spine. Their massed voices blurred together into a single note, one that seemed to have a quite disquieting effect on the army – and a worst one on the gathering sprites, sending them into flickering chaos – before they kicked their horses into motion and cantered down the field towards us. I could hear Tarfanaxe bellowing orders to his men as the barbarians approached, telling them to hold fire until he gave the command and promising to crucify any man who fired without permission. I knew he wasn't bluffing. I just hoped that his subordinates knew it too.

I braced myself as the horsemen approached the first line of defence. I hated myself for what was about to happen – I’d suggested it to Tarfanaxe and he'd been horrified at the mere suggestion, convincing me that it would be a complete surprise for the horsemen – even though it was necessary. I had no particular objections to killing men who were going to kill me – even though I’d been hopelessly sick the first time I’d killed someone – and yet, the poor horses! They didn't deserve such a fate.

The line of advancing horsemen suddenly scattered and started to fall apart. We’d hidden caltrops in the long grass, rendering them invisible until the horsemen were right on top of them. I could hear the horses neighing in pain as sharp spikes dug into their hooves, breaking up the formation and sending most of the first line of riders falling to their deaths. One of the horses, through a dark miracle, somehow managed to remain upright until another horse crashed into its body and sent it toppling to the ground, crushing its rider under its massive weight. The barbarians who’d survived the falls or had managed to stop their horses in time seemed stunned. I knew that fanatics could be broken if they ran into something hard enough to make them question their eventual victory, but the barbarians would be no strangers to pain. They might just carry on without breaking.

There was a howl from the footsoldiers and they broke into a run, charging towards us. I saw what looked like hundreds of men stumbling over the caltrops, but most of the traps had been broken by the horses or remained buried under their flesh. The sound of dying horses was horrifying and I felt a brief stab of guilt, a mocking reminder that those magnificent creatures had been killed by me, if indirectly. I knew that back home, the survivors could have been saved, but here it was impossible. The kindest thing we could do would be to put a bullet through their heads.

“Cannons at the ready,” one of my students bawled. I’d been reluctant to permit him to join the army at all, but there hadn't been time to train more than a handful of soldiers on the new cannons. My father had once joked that the AK-47 was idiot-proof – which was why most terrorist armies preferred to use it rather than someone more complicated – but it would be years before we started producing similar weapons. And besides, the matchlocks we’d produced were far from idiot-proof. Every accident I’d anticipated and some I hadn't had taken place while we were trying to train the soldiers in how to use them. “On my command...”

There was a long pause, pregnant with possibilities. “Fire!”

Nine cannon fired as one. The sound was deafening, drowning out the enemy war-cries and the roaring and chanting of the mages as they struggled to force their sprites to defend us. I cursed as I saw the tenth cannon misfire, silently thanking God that it hadn't exploded and wiped out a trained gunnery team. The barbarian charge seemed to waver and then come apart as nine red-hot projectiles smashed through their lines. Only a relative handful of barbarians were actually hit by the balls, but their effects were magnified many times over by the panic. For the first time since the war had begun, the barbarians actually looked shaken. I could almost feel the exultation running through our soldiers as they watched the barbarians suffering. They might have been barbarians, with all the brutality that that implied, but they were mortal. They could be killed. Dead bodies – men and horses – littered the field.

My brief flash of hope ended quickly as someone on the other side took control and directed a second charge against our lines. I didn't know if they knew it or not, but we couldn't reload the cannon very quickly – and the more we fired, the greater the chance of an explosion that took out a gun team. I’d had to insist on stringent safety precautions while we were training soldiers – such as not having the barrel of gunpowder close to the cannon – but in the field, safety precautions had to be skimmed to the bone. The nightmare of a chain reaction taking out my entire row of cannon – as well as most of the army – flashed through my mind. I would just have to pray that nothing went so badly wrong.

“Gunners, at the ready,” Tarfanaxe barked. He’d insisted on leading the riflemen – I’d insisted on the name, even though we were several years from being able to produce rifles – personally. I wished that he wouldn't risk himself like that, but once again, being able to show personal courage was important. “Prepare to fire!”

The howling mob of barbarians was coming closer and closer. I could read death in their eyes, death and damnation for everyone who dared oppose them. Blood had been spilled and the barbarians were out for blood now, the blood of those who had killed their comrades, brothers and fathers. I recalled how all the tribes had been careful to be very polite to one another, in a society where grudges were nurtured for centuries, and shivered. If we lost here, the slaughter would be terrifying.

Four cannons fired, blasting balls into the oncoming mass of tribesmen. A fifth exploded, killing four gunners and two officers who had stood too close. Red-hot shrapnel flew everywhere, but luckily there was no chain reaction and secondary explosion. The other cannons hadn't been ready in time, yet it hardly mattered. This time, the barbarians kept coming. Part of me couldn't believe my eyes; they were charging right into the enemy fire, despite their losses. A child with a belt-fed machine gun and plenty of ammunition could have wiped them all out within minutes. I wished for a machine gun, knowing that one wouldn't drop out of the skies and onto my head. And while I was wishing, I would have liked the 1<SUP>st</SUP> Marine Division or the 3<SUP>rd</SUP> Infantry Division. I’d even settle for my father’s survivalist friends.

I glanced over at Tarfanaxe and smiled as I saw his calm expression. Perhaps he was quaking inside – I doubted that anyone could look on the barbarians without fear – but he showed no sign of it to me. I was silently grateful that I hadn't been allowed to take command, although I would never have admitted it to him or anyone else. I wouldn't have made such a brave showing – although, as my father had once said, bravery is sometimes a substitute for brains. If they came much closer, they were going to overrun us, no matter what we did...

“Fire,” Tarfanaxe ordered.

The rows of matchlock-armed soldiers fired as one. The barbarians seemed to come apart as shots went through their heads, killing dozens of barbarians and sending them dropping to the ground, where their successors tripped over their bodies and stumbled themselves. At Tarfanaxe’s command, the second line of riflemen fired, while the first line went to one knee in front of them and desperately reloaded, preparing to fire apart. The barbarian line wavered again, just in time for the first line of riflemen to finish reloading, stand up and fire a second wave of shots into the teeming mass. At such close range, accuracy was a null point. Almost every shot missed the target.

I cringed back as a wave of magic suddenly emanated from the barbarian rearguard, taking shape and form as a translucent creature that swooped towards us. I knew that no one else could see it, which was lucky – anyone who saw it would have fled in terror. Maybe I would have fled too, but I was rooted to the spot, transfixed by the inhuman malice in its gaze. And then a swarm of similar creatures flashed forward and challenged the newcomer. I saw the sprites battling above our heads, invisible creatures struggling for supremacy. It was impossible to tell which side was stronger, but I told myself that it didn't matter. As long as the mages kept the enemy sprites from ripping the army apart, we had the advantage.

The barbarian line collapsed completely as the sixth wave of shots tore into their line. Somehow, the barbarians broke and turned to flee, crawling through the blood and guts on the field as they tried to escape the relentless fire. Some of them tried to make a fighting retreat, throwing stones and knives towards our lines, until one of the cannons boomed out again, throwing a single projectile into the retreating barbarians. At that, their remaining discipline broke and they fled, screaming in pain and fear. I had the distant feeling that their superiors, whoever they were, would be struggling to control them for hours. We had won a decisive victory.

Tarfanaxe wasn't inclined to let the barbarians retreat without a fight. He signalled the cavalry and our horsemen advanced, charging through the field, cutting in to slash into the enemy flanks. They knew to avoid the caltrops – I’d warned them, but some of the cavalry leaders were inbred morons from the Great Houses – and tore through the enemy, slaughtering hundreds of barbarians as they tried to flee. The cavalry maintained pursuit until they ran into the enemy archers, who killed seven horsemen and convinced the others to fall back and claim victory. I felt overwhelmingly tired as the fact of our victory sank in. My watch told me that the entire battle had lasted less than thirty minutes, but I didn't want to believe it. It felt as if we had been fighting for hours.

Our own discipline was on the verge of breaking down. The infantry advanced slowly and started to loot the barbarian corpses. When a few of the barbarians were discovered to be alive, most of them rapidly had their throats cut by vengeful soldiers. A handful were taken prisoner and rapidly interrogated, but none of them had anything useful to offer, even when they were brutally tortured by some of the lesser officers. Sickened by the bloodlust, I started to walk away, just before I felt an eldritch tingle running down my spine. The world seemed to turn upside down for a split second and I found myself lying on the ground, uncertain of how I had come to be there. Everything looked identical, yet everything had changed. I could feel it.

In the distance, I saw the sandstorm advancing. It looked nastier, if such a word could be used, intent on revenge. I could feel the magic flowing through the air and, as I peered towards the sandstorm, I saw tiny creatures within the whirlwind, directing the sandstorm towards our position. I looked up, hoping to see some of our own sprites, but the blue sky was clear and undisturbed by their passing. The mages, when I looked over towards their position, were talking rapidly in low voices. I knew what had happened at once. They’d lost complete control over their sprites.

Tarfanaxe didn't see it, not at first. I heard him barking orders at the mages as I walked over to join them, angry demands that they send a sprite to the city to inform the population of the great victory. The mages – even Brother Stone – looked downcast, almost as if their world had turned upside down. They mumbled out excuses and sob stories, none of which impressed him. Tarfanaxe hadn't learned that they were losing control over the sprites.

“They don’t have any sprites here,” I said. I saw shocked looks from most of the mages, and sudden realisation on Tarfanaxe’s face. The mages hadn’t understood that I could see the sprites, even if they weren't visible to anyone else. “The enemy is in control and is going to drown us in sand.”

Tarfanaxe understood immediately and started issuing orders. It was easier than I had expected to restore control - the oncoming storm deterred even the most greedy soldier from wasting time searching the dead bodies for loot – and he started marching the army back to the town at once. I listened long enough to be sure that the army was underway and then mounted my own horse. The mare was uneasy in the presence of the approaching sandstorm and I could feel her tension and her quivering desire to be somewhere else.

“They couldn’t tell me anything,” Tarfanaxe muttered, as he pulled his horse up alongside mine. “How did you know that they didn't have any more control?”

I hesitated, and then told a partial truth. “They should have been able to do it at once,” I said. I had the feeling that if they’d had full control, there would have been little left of Tarfanaxe after they’d finished with him. “Instead, they were just stalling.”

Tarfanaxe looked at me sharply, and then looked away, back towards the onrushing storm. I ran through it in my head and convinced myself that we would be in the town, under shelter, by the time it reached us. And yet, even if we did find safety...what then? We couldn't fight a storm, could we? And what would we do if the barbarians launched a sneak attack under the storm’s cover? What the hell could we do?

 

Very well done!!Almost a cross between the Rally Cry series,and Forgotten Realms.I eagerly await more!!Thank You!Matt

 

Thanks!

More will be along tomorrow, unless the vacinations get me.

Chris

 

WB We Readers missed you in your absence