+ "The Forgotten Hero" Short, part 4 - fini

* * *

"You're more familiar with the site currently, Iventz," Tassa said. "Do you see any damage?"

He pricked an ear at the use of his name, but he didn't comment. Instead he looked around. The badger had so fixed on them, the only signs of it were on a straight line from where it found them to where it died. He shook his head and pointed at the building they'd climbed. "Just the dirt fall."

She picked up the bent but serviceable shovel. "Let's go see what the damage is."

He nodded and began digging beside her. True to his habits, he wasn't removing all the dirt, but was driving a path to the building-side.

"What are you doing?" she said when she noticed.

"Following a hunch," he said. "We heard it scrape the wall, so I want to see what it did to the building." At her frown, he added, "I thought you wanted to see what damage there was?"

She looked doubtful, but pitched in with him anyway. Clearing off the wall was a revelation. The badger claws had left deep gouges in the artificial stone blocks. They cleared enough earth to see all the scratches. Sergei crouched down, putting his nose to the deepest set of marks and sniffed deeply. He looked up excitedly. "Smell that?" he said. "It smells old. Very old."

She took his place at the gouges. When she straightened her pale eyes glittered, as excited as he. "Get the pick," she said.

He smiled and brought her the tool. She swung hard and was rewarded with the sound of cracking blocks. After more blows, the narrow cracks turned into a hole big enough for them to crawl through.

"In the shack Iventz, get my travel bag," she said, peering into the darkness. Sergei ran to get it. He felt like a little cub at Winter Solstice time, and he was sure she felt the same way.

From her bag she pulled several precious artifacts from before the Harrowing. A wand thing she poked in the hole then scrutinized closely when she withdrew it. "The air is stale, but it should be all right if we don't stay long." She handed him a hand-flash, and said, "You know how to use this?"

He nodded. "Basic Acolyte training," he said.

Tassa turned on her flash and crawled inside. He waited for her word and crawled in after her, blinking in the beam of bluish light. From her bag she pulled a marker light. Similar to a hand-flash, it was built to stand upright instead of being carried.

Their entrance was in the southeast wall. To the right of them the hall beneath the broken windows was choked solid with dirt. There was less dirt to the left. She turned in that direction, searching for a path through the building. Every few meters she put a marker light down. He found the path of lights behind him to be comforting.

Halfway along the northwest side, they came on a metal railing. It guarded a stairway further down into the building. She lit up a sign labeled 'Basement' in Anglish. They went down the steps placing markers at the top, middle, and bottom of the stairs. A locked metal door blocked further progress until she used a tiny tool to open the lock. She pushed the door slightly open.

She used the wand again, and frowned. "We can't stay down here long," she said. "The air hasn't had a chance to freshen yet. Even so, the basement should be better preserved than the upper rooms."

"So, we're going, right?" he said.

"We're going," she smiled. "I'm in it this far, I might as well carry through." She tapped the air-tester wand. "Just be sure to get out of here if this should start chirping, understand?"

He nodded, and opened the door wide. The basement was one big room, with support pillars to hold up the weight of the upper floors. It was disappointingly utilitarian in appearance. Sergei wasn't sure why he found that surprising. There were aisles of metal shelving and many pallets of containers; boxes, bags, glass tanks and plastic crates. It looked like storage. "Wonderful," she breathed.

He looked at her with surprise. It seemed so mundane.

"All this," she said, "so well preserved. You must be right, Sergei. If Ramstein had been buried by mud, it would have flowed into here." She drew a hand along a skeletal two-wheeled device and rubbed her fingers together. "There's only dust down here, and even the wood products survived."

She turned her flash around, picking up the dull green of a brass floor lamp. "Even the Spirits know harrowed little of daily life from this era. This can change that."

He understood now. From what was stowed here, a picture could be formed of the Ancient's lives. It was all significant, when viewed that way. He shone his own light to a far corner. As he peered, his tail brushed something... that collapsed.

"Careful!" she said. "That pressed paper is very delicate." Gingerly he turned to see what he'd disturbed. The side of a peeling grayish box lay open, spilling objects to the hard gray surface below.

The light of their flashes brought out gleams from several small jewel-like things scattered from the burst seams of a fragile pouch. Carefully he picked one up. It was a transparent blue cube, with numbers pressed into its surface. It wasn't heavy enough to be stone, or even glass. Was it clear blue plastic?

He'd seen cubes like it used in gaming, but they were made of bone or ivory. Other types of numbered shapes lay alongside it, some pyramidal, others more rounded. He had no clue what their function was.

Tassa's attention had been captured by the contents of a smaller paper box whose lid jostled off when it fell. Pressed firmly into dark foamy stuff were small figurines. With the pads of her fingers, she pulled one out. "It's heavy," she said of the tiny wolf. She looked at the dull gray bottom. "I think it's lead or pewter, but painted." The colors were applied with the utmost care, heightening the illusion of life in the miniature animal.

"We need to take some of this back," she said, "but only what fell on the floor. We'll need a full expedition to catalog the rest of this." From her bag she brought out a wooden box with enough cloth wadding to accommodate all the numbered shapes, and the painted figures. She left a card describing the items she packed away, and stood. "Let's go."

Carefully retracing their steps, she carried her bag like it held the Crown of the Zahr. He picked up the marker lamps as they went and closed the basement door behind them. She sent him ahead of her, and passed the bag out to him before she wriggled outside herself.

Glowing clouds in the west were turning orange with the lowering sun. She took the bag again. "I'll put this in the shack, and then get our dinner. You should seal this opening. We don't want any moisture or animals in there."

"Yes ser," he said, with a friendly salute. He used a marker lamp to finish his work as the sky darkened. When he finished, the wooden barrier he built would stand up to another Iron Badger. Well, almost.

His job done, he loped up to the shack. He was suddenly aware he'd only eaten porridge that morning and not much dinner the night before. As he came up the path he could smell something delicious cooking. His belly cramped as he entered.

Tassa was fast searing enormous slabs of meat in the fireplace. There were huge mounds of meat ready, but he wondered if there would be enough for both of them. She put a platter of warm meat on the table and gestured it was for him. He sat down and started bolting down pieces as soon as he cut them small enough not to gag on. "What is it?" he mumbled. The meat had an unusual flavor he didn't recognize.

"Iron Badger," she said. "Of course."

He tried to stop in mid-swallow, and almost choked. His wide-eyed expression made her laugh.

"No, I checked it," she said. "The flesh isn't contaminated. Whatever mutation caused it was generations ago. Go ahead and eat." Finally finished cooking, she sat down and attacked her own generous portions just as eagerly. The lunch they'd missed was a long time ago.

They gorged themselves, and then she set the rest of the meat to cook more thoroughly. His eyes drifted lazily to the other side of the room. Her wooden box rested on a cleared shelf far from the heat of the fire.

Her gaze followed his. "Let's look more closely," she said, "but over there where it's cool." They carried their chairs over, and pulled the figures out of the wadding. Besides the wolf, there were several humanoid images.

There was a goat-legged Capran, wielding a syrinx. Next came a mutant Homan mel with bloodstained fangs. Most interestingly to them were several Lupine warriors depicted in the throes of battle. Between the intricate sculpting and the delicate painting, they were so lifelike it was amazing.

Sergei turned one of the Lupines figures around gently. "Can I keep one?" he asked, smiling at her.

"I suppose one should stay to represent the find," she said, and began to put the rest away. "I know you'll take care of it. Just make a drawing of it for my records."

He bent to his sketching tools, while she went to check on the meat. It was finished cooking, so she stowed it in the under-floor locker.

"You know," Tassa said, "it's been a long time since I've cooked for such an appreciative mel. Surely you don't want to sleep over on the floor again, do you?"

His nose picked up an intriguing scent, as delicious in it's own way as badger meat. He was even hungrier for what she offered him now.

* * *

Breakfast came at a late hour. Neither of them wanted to get up. Finally she rolled over him and off the pallet, leaving him wide-awake. The fire had gone out, but two-day-old sliced bread tasted good with cold badger. They ate in peaceful silence.

"Procedure says that I don't explain my methods," she said afterwards. "But I feel I owe it to you, for saving my life and keeping your head. Despite all appearances, everything I did was for a reason, to test your character as much as your skills."

She held up a finger. "Instinct driven Lupines have two reactions to being so thoroughly ranked down. They crumble, unable to respond, or they go for the throat. You did neither, acknowledging our ranks while keeping your pride. One mark in your favor."

A second finger was raised. "You have a good instinct for when procedure should be followed and when to replace it with common sense. Another good mark for you. A dull Acolyte would never deviate from procedure. A reckless one would dig randomly, while not properly caring for what, by sheer luck, they'd find."

She lifted her third finger and then her thumb. "The procedures have another use. Those content to follow them make good team members, as I told you. Those who know when to break them make good team leaders. The last thing is hard to test, but it reveals how a person reacts to a crisis. You know how you did at that," she added ruefully. "Better than I."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she put her fingers on his snout. "You're gallant, too." Her fingers drew away with a caress. He desisted.

"I suspected you'd seen the maps," she said, "because I drew the ones we had. However, yours are better. I found the big 'Welcome to Ramstein' sign you saw at the site briefing. That's how we knew it was called Ramstein. It was years ago during my solo, while I was violating procedure on a hunch. The road near the sign was my base measurement, but yours is centrally located, yielding better results." She smiled at him.

"The priority of this site will be upgraded. I'll recommend you join a team of second year Acolytes. I know I'd be glad to work with you." She shook his hand. "Congratulations."

"Th... thanks," he said, stunned. She was going to nominate him!

"It's only what you earned, Sergei," she said. "I have to report and request more teams and equipment. No more soloing at this site."

He smiled and took her hand, "I hope you'll return soon."

"I go where the Spirits send me," she said, "as will you. But… if I have my say, I will be back, and soon." She put on her traveling clothes and packed more sandwiches. Carefully stowing the wooden box she gave him a kiss and slipped out the door. He didn't look after her. He was afraid he would howl. Instead he brought out the little figure she let him keep and examined it in minute detail.

The little mel Lupine was in a contemplative pose. Standing straight it held up a large stone knife, letting knotted cords dangle from the hilt. Its legs had the backwards digigrade shape that modern Lupines associated with the primitive type. The figure had an aura of wisdom and power around it. Sergei turned it about, and noted the name carved on the base.

There was no way that this could be one of his ancestors. The era it came from was far too early. Still, he felt a kinship with it, and felt it showed a latent sympathy for his kind, yet unborn. The ancestors of the animaloid races were crafted for combat during the Golden Age. Their forms weren't stabilized until well after the Harrowing. This figure came from much earlier than that.

It was hard to believe that mere Homan hands had created this. The look of mystical revelation on the face so like his own, seemed beyond their powers to portray. It was so tempting to imagine that it was an ancestor. As if it invited him to wonder about its history. What glorious deeds had it accomplished, that prompted some cunning sculptor to capture for all time the image of a hero named Ral Partha.

~Fini

+ "The Forgotten Hero" Short, part 3

* * *

"Run?" she said. Then she registered the sound of the beast following them, and shook off his hand. "Where?"

"There," he panted, pointing at a building ahead of them. It was one of the medium sized mounds bordering the uncovered street. About half way up, there was a broad ledge. It was formed when he'd left a few meters of the general depth level she'd talked about next to the building as he'd dug further down. They scrambled up the ladders he'd left against the lower wall, and kicked them off behind them. Sergei realized too late, that their pursuer was far too large to have climbed them.

Snarling below them was an Iron Badger, a dangerous and rare mutation. The creature was bigger than a draft horse, with all the natural weapons of an ordinary badger, and a disposition that was just as nasty. Augmenting its toughness was a natural ability to absorb metallic elements from the soil and deposit them in its fur and hide.

It had chased them down the ramp he used to dispose of waste dirt. Now it snarled at the two morsels up on the sheer dirt wall of the mound. It rose on its haunches and tried to reach them. They were out of its considerable range, so it began to dig at the base of the ledge.

"What's it doing?" she said, shaking in shock.

"Digging out the ledge from under us," he said. He reviewed their options. The ledge they stood on merged with the general level the shack was on, but if they moved around the corners, it would follow and find them easy to reach. It was stymied now, but how long before they fell to its jaws? He looked up at the sheer dirt wall covering the building. It was as high as the one below them, and their ladders were now under the badger.

Its claws scraped and sparked as the beast struck the hard wall of the building. It scrabbled against the stone blocks furiously before leaning up to dig out at a higher level under them. The ledge quaked under their paws. A fracture developed on it close to the building wall as the support began to disappear.

Soon it would fall, and Sergei looked at Tassa to see if she had an idea. The fem was drawn in on herself, completely lost to fear. "What's the matter with you?" he said.

"D... do... Don’t like heights," she stuttered.

Oh great, he thought. It was up to him. The fracture widened. It was about two decis away from the upper wall, which wasn't wide enough to support them, unless... He began scraping against the base of the wall with his claws. Even if he ripped them out, it would be better than being eaten. Lupines weren't built for this anymore, but their wolf ancestors were great diggers.

She stared at him blankly. He turned on her. "Dig, you pale bitch! You're a Lupine, curse you. Or are you like one of those weak Homan females that have their mels do everything for them? DIG!"

Her ears flattened back in anger, and a spark showed in her pale eyes for the first time since they'd climbed up here. She began to scrape desperately at the wall. They ripped out the dirt with both hands and paws. They tried to carve niches for themselves that wouldn't slide away along with them when the ledge collapsed. The fracture was a yawning crack now, almost half a meter wide.

He listened to the ledge gradually crumbling away, and had an inspiration. "Push," he growled. "Push it all down at once. Getting it all at once ought to bother it, at least. Push!"

"But we'll go with it," she said. "Then..."

"Not if we jump to our niches as it starts to go," he said, praying that his plan would work. He planted his heels against the far side of the crack and pushed. A trembling beneath them turned to a rumble as she put her strength beside his. His arms burned with strain, and he heard the grunts of her efforts.

With a thunderous crash, the whole ledge shifted. Tons of earth and rock crashed below them. He felt his balance shifting backwards, and he started to fall. A gray hand held his arm and pulled at him, and that was all he needed. Firmly he grabbed onto his painfully carved handholds and waited for the echoes to fade.

For the first time in ages, it seemed, the sound of the creature's digging was gone. When the silence deepened, he dug a hole well to the side. When he felt it would support him, he switched his weight to it and looked below. He could only see the back half of the badger, and what he could see was deathly still.

"I think it's safe," he said. The loose dirt and rocks made a steep ramp under them. He leaped, landing on the scree and rolling to the ground by the creature. He sprinted to the tool shed and brought back two shovels and a pick. "Come on," he said. "If it's not dead, we don't have long to kill it. If it wakes up, we're dead."

Nervously, Tassa jumped where he pointed. She almost managed to make it down on her paws. She breathed a sigh of relief to be on the ground again. Her sigh turned into a whine when the side of the monster shifted. "I think it's still alive," she said.

He handed her a shovel. "We need to clear off its neck."

She looked down at the tool doubtfully. "I wish I had my sword," she muttered.

"You don't," he grunted. He'd climbed on the badger's dirt strewn back and was shoveling off the loose earth that covered its forequarters. She quickly pitched in, and together they bared its neck. He jumped down and handed her the pick. "Get up there," he said. He began slamming the point of the shovel into the short expanse between its massive shoulders and its almost non-existent ears.

Gingerly, she scrambled up on the unconscious beast, and swung the pick hard. It struck home, causing a definite dent. He redoubled his efforts while she swung again and again. They hacked through the metal-laced skin and reached the tough muscle. It began to stir feebly as its dark blood flowed, but by then it was too late.

With the scent of blood in their nostrils and the adrenaline of danger in their bodies, they ripped out its throat before it could fully regain consciousness. Tassa and Sergei leaned back, trying to recover their wind and strength.

He looked down at himself, then up at her, and burst out in laughter. Their pelts were matted with dirt, sweat and blood, and their clothes were filthy. They looked awful, but they were alive. A gray ear flicked back and forth several times as she strove to retain her composure. It was a lost cause, and she joined his laughter. Quietly at first, she only stopped when she took on a note of hysteria.

"Think we can get it out of here?" she said finally.

"I hope so," he said. "I live here, and after awhile it would start to stink." He picked up the gory tools, and wiped away the mess with handfuls of clean earth. Halfway finished, he had a thought. "Inspector?" he said.

"What is it, Acolyte?" she said wearily dropping the coils of rope she'd taken from the tool shed.

He held up a shovel that had seen better days. "Will you have to report the damage I've done to this equipment?"

"I'm afraid so, Acolyte," she said with a smile. "But I'll also include the mitigating circumstances."

With a bit of effort, they got several loops of rope around the half-decapitated animal. Slowly they dragged it up the ramp to the edge of the site. By the Spirit's grace they were safe. Now it was time to check on the site.

---
Go to TFH part 4.

+ "The Forgotten Hero" Short, part 2

* * *

Sergei's nose woke him up. He felt stiff and sore from sleeping on the floor, but he smelled porridge, mixed with leftover stew. He was relieved she didn't have a taste for the revolting sweeteners Homans liked to rot their teeth with. He pulled out clean working clothes from his trunk and turned away to put them on.

He dished himself some food and studied her over his bowl. She wore expedition clothes like his. That included a long vest with pockets and loops for tools, covered by a heavy belt with many pouches. She wore low spats to protect her arches like he did, but hers were fine-grained leather instead of thick canvas.

The only other thing different about her clothes from his was a utilitarian breast band. He had to admit. She looked much more... feminine this morning, out of her formal priest's garb.

After he cleaned up breakfast, they went to the digs in the bright morning light. She went straight to where he'd been spending most of his time for the last few months. After digging down several meters, he was uncovering large metallic lumps that were near the original street level. The metal plate he was soaking in the shack was found near them. The upraised letters and numbers stamped on it seemed to be placed a random order.

He felt bolder out here. This was the result of a year's backbreaking work. If he was to be judged on it, he was going to defend himself. "This hole," he said, "is where I found the road surface. A tar-based sand and gravel aggregate, just like in the books. This depth, compared to the present surface, is how I made those sketches. That was the critical measurement for the depth of the burial."

"And these?" she said, gesturing at the lumps.

"Vehicles," he said. At her raised eyebrows, he moved some tarps and pointed out two round shapes low on the side of one. "Those have to be wheels. As far as I can tell, the lumps were made of metal and plas-tek."

"Plastic," she corrected, "a lost technology. The Ancients were often wasteful with their resources and knowledge."

He showed her a metal pole that slanted over the roadway. He hadn't completely uncovered it. Instead he only bared one side from its base to its end. It sprouted from an artificial stone surface near the road, and twisted on its axis as it tilted across the street. At the end of the pole a graceful arch projected to the side with a large glass bowl on the bottom. "I think this was a lamp of some kind," he said. "A bright one, considering its height above the street."

"What do you think happened at this site, Acolyte?" she said.

Sergei scratched his ears. "I'm not sure, but it was quick. The metal lumps were not exposed on the surface long. They were buried rapidly under many feet of dirt, insulating them from moisture." He pointed to a vertical wall of dirt nearby. "This is the bottom layer, just above the street. Meters thick, it was all deposited in a single catastrophic event."

He pointed at several thinner bands above it. "This is a typical glacial pattern... or a sign of the Dark Winter. That would make this site very ancient. Before the Harrowing, the Golden Age, or the Reconstruction. Before even the Winter, what era was this?" He gestured widely at the site around them.

The look on her face indicated this was a sore point with her. Tassa shrugged. "The only answer I was given to that sort of question was 'spacer' or 'belter', which is worse than no answer at all. I've never been able to make sense of them. Officially, it's 'prehistory'."

She seemed to remember he was only an Acolyte. "I disagree with your interpretations, however. The site is old, but it's not that old. The solid band was made by post-Winter mudflows, followed by seasonal runoffs afterwards. That's as good an explanation as yours, and more plausible."

He frowned, "A mud flow might have knocked the lamp over, but could it have twisted it? My theory is the lamp's arch projected over the street toward the northwest. Whatever caused this sent massive winds from the northeast, and catching the arch broadside. It twisted the arch to the southwest as it is today, before knocking the lamp over. Northeast of here is Ber'in, a known target of the death weapons that caused the Dark Winter."

She snorted, amused. "Typical Acolyte, trying to make a mundane find more important by dreaming up a romantic history for it. Stick to what you can prove." She looked over at a trench he was driving to the side of a large nearby building-mound. He'd built a lean-to over something against the wall. "What do you have there?"

He smiled and led her over. "It's the first indication of the purpose of the site, I think." The lean-to straddled a slope Sergei had dug down to the artificial stone surface that he considered to be ground level. He pulled back an oiled canvas to show her what was on the side of the building. Bolted to the wall was a diamondite coated bronze shield, a meter wide and almost two meters tall. In deep bas-relief it depicted a gauntlet-covered homan hand holding three lightning bolts and a leafy branch, in front of a clouded sky. From its height compared to the depth of the stone below it, it originally hung more than four meters off the ground. An attached brazen ribbon below the plaque proclaimed, in pre-Reconstruction Old Anglish, 'Strategic Air Command'. He smiled again, "I think it shows this was a military base."

"Whoa," she said. "Why isn't this inside the shack?"

He turned puzzled eyes to her. "Be reasonable, Ser," he said. "The bolts holding this to the wall are five centis thick at least. The thickest parts of the shield are almost a deci. I don't know how deep the bolts reach. Even if I somehow managed to chisel them out without killing myself when it fell, how was I supposed to get it there? Carry it?"

He shook his head. "No, I was taught that the big stuff we just cover up and protect as best as we can. Not that anything can hurt this." He used a chisel to demonstrate the protection of the glittering covering. It made a clear 'ting' sound with the rich undertones of a big bell. "If it's important enough, the Spirits will send their metal servants to collect it."

"Protection is important," she said. "What about all the other metal you've uncovered, that is now corroding?"

He indicated piles of wood on the lowest levels. "I'm preparing shelters for the vehicles, but the lamp is a non-corroding metal. For now I use canvas against the dew, and a heavy coating of oil and grease. The shelters should be done before even an early rainy season."

The inspector shook her head and climbed back to the surface. From up here, the taller buildings were an irregular series of rounded grassy mounds, and the alien reality below them seemed like just a dream. She took a long pull from her water, and glanced longingly at the shack. She settled on a fairly clean spot of packed dirt. He sat near her, thinking the sun must be worse for her pale hide than for his.

"The procedures for this site call for a gradual dig," she said. "You're supposed to evenly lower all the level areas, excluding the buildings. We think a better picture of the site will be gained by only going down a meter at a time, and surveying after each meter. You've completely disregarded those rules, and pushed areas several meters deeper than they were when you were entrusted with this site."

"I can explain..." he protested, but she held up a hand.

"I know," she said. "'It's boring', 'There's five meters or more of plain dirt before anything will be found', 'It takes too long to do all that digging'. I've heard it all before. The point you haven't realized yet is that you," and she firmly pointed at him, "aren't here to be the great explorer. The priesthood owns this site. It was given to us by the Spirits to teach with. You are only part of the team, and the team is only served if you do your part. You've jeopardized decades of careful data collection here. In fact, I spent my own solo year at this site."

"Doesn't it bother you that the Acolyte assigned here for the bottom layer will get all the finds?" he said bitterly.

"No. Because he wouldn't," she said. "By the time the critical areas are reached, this will become a full dig, with priests supervising teams of second year Acolytes. We can only handle so many sites like that, and this one wasn't due yet."

"Because I pushed so far ahead?" he said, feeling depressed.

"Because you're so much a glory seeker," she said, "that you ignored the procedures to get to the 'good parts'." She shook her head again. "You couldn't stand just doing your job, and probably not finding anything. Not being a good team member doesn't look good for your chances of advancement."

He bowed his head and contemplated his dusty paws and spats. He refused to give in to depression. It wasn't that much of a shame to spend a second year as an Acolyte. Only the very best were nominated after only a year. There were no third year Acolytes. Either they made it by then or they were out. He sighed. "I just felt I could find things. Important things."

"You found a street," she said sarcastically. He winced. She looked away and changed the subject. "What's for lunch?" she said. He could hear her belly rumble.

"If we're lucky, roast rabbit," he said, glad to have something else to think about. "I have snares over there." They walked to the bushes along the edge of the site. They could scent rabbit, and see the bushes thrashing. She eagerly started forward but he thrust out an arm to stop her. The bushes were moving too much, and there was too much blood-scent... The branches were parted by the snout of an animal bigger than his whole body.

"Oh, curse me," he said. "Run!" He took off for the dig site, pulling her after him.

---
Go to TFH part 3.

+ "The Forgotten Hero" Short, part 1

A/N - This story is contemporary with TBR, but it's set far away, and has characters that know a lot more about the way the world is and used to be than the people of Redford do.

"The Forgotten Hero"

The inspector arrived at the site today. A messenger brought Sergei Iventz the word yesterday. He buffed a mirror with his furred forearm, and then rehung it on the wall to check his appearance. His brown fur and tail were groomed well. Above his long snout, his butter yellow eyes were clear of fatigue. His hands ran over his best Acolyte's robe, reassuring himself it was clean. He hoped he looked good enough.

To be allowed to study the artifacts and knowledge of the Ancients, one must enter the priesthood. Only the Spirits held the key to understanding the forebears of the modern day, and they had a monopoly on the study of the past. Sergei had yearned for that study since he was a cub.

It was said the fully initiated learned to understand the Spirits. To everyone else, they were just the oldest and most powerful force in the world. At night the junior students whispered to each other about them. The Spirits were the parents of the Ancients, they said, and they struck their errant children down with the Harrowing for disobedience. He wasn't so sure. The Spirits didn't seem that vengeful to him.

He checked the place settings on his rustic table, and sniffed at the pot of warm rabbit stew to the side of the fireplace. His bread hadn't risen well, unfortunately. Luckily, he wasn't being judged on his skills as a cook, but as a scholar. As an advanced Acolyte, he was given the responsibility of overseeing this archeological dig near the Lupine/Homan border. It was near the boundary of what the Ancients called Europa and Eurasia.

Many Acolytes had worked this site before him, and many would work it after him. He'd completed his mandatory solo year here, uncovering several minor artifacts. He was nervous because this inspection would be the first time he was eligible for a nomination to the priesthood.

Sergei padded out to look for his visitor and nearly jumped out of his fur, because she was there! Meters from the door stood a gray furred Lupine fem. The priest had a shock of longer blue hair at her forehead, the legacy of some faddish artificial genes passed down from the Golden Age. She surveyed the site and the caretaker's shack with a humorless, almost grim expression.

She turned her ice blue eyes to Sergei, and they raked him as he stood there. He stepped over to offer his hand, welcoming her to the Ramstein site. Her grip was brief and impersonal, but he felt the strength of her hand. What a warrior she would have made.

"My name is Tassa Steneva, your inspector," she said. "I thought you knew I was coming today." Her low voice expressed volumes of annoyance. With another critical look at the carefully maintained site, she brushed past him to enter the shack. She stood in the doorway for a long moment, scanning this area as well. He saw the blue was on her tail-tip, as well. Entering, she sat at the table, pointedly waiting for him to serve her.

There was an aura of disappointment around her as he offered her a bowl of the stew and some bread. He didn't get much for himself. He wasn't hungry anymore.

What did he do that was so wrong?

The meal passed in uncomfortable silence. Sergei racked his memory. He'd heard of this fem. She was said to be a fair inspector, but also tough. When she gave her recommendation to an Acolyte, they seldom failed to pass their Candidacy for priesthood.

He'd gotten the toughest inspector, and he'd already offended her. He wouldn't give up, though. He tried to manage his wildly flaring emotions, and only spoke to her in respectful tones. She wiped her mouth on a cloth when she finished, and nodded to him. It was the first positive reaction she'd given since he'd discovered her outside.

"You have potential as a cook," she said, "but none as a baker."

A cook! That was not what he wanted to do with his life, and she knew it. Her nostrils flared at the scent of his outrage, and her cold eyes glinted dangerously. He stepped back from her after gathering the dishes, keeping his tail low while he cleaned them.

"Your Journals, Acolyte," she said. "We'll see if you document your work as well as you cook."

Sergei passed her the small stack of books he'd triple checked in anticipation of her arrival. She sniffed disdainfully at their battered appearance, and he inwardly winced at the thought of every ink-smudge and grease stain inside them.

He sat down at the other end of the table, and looked across the single room. His sleeping pallet and the table took up most of the minimal living area of the shack. The rest of the room was held tools and shelves of artifacts in various stages of restoration. That's where the inspector would look next.

Inspector Steneva had a small book of her own she referred to often. The only time her expression changed was when she apparently found something in error, and gave a small malicious grin. She made an entry of it in her book when she did, something that happened with alarming regularity.

She questioned him about several points from his journal, the last concerning his activities during a rare summer storm. "Why didn't you record your progress digging for several days after that storm was over, Acolyte?"

"May I refresh my memory?" he asked. She shoved the journal over to him. He scanned the pages and handed the book back to her. "I was taught not to dig when the soil was like mud," he said. "I waited for the dirt to dry out, and repaired stakes around the site. "I also worked on cleaning my finds," he gestured to the other side of the room.

"It's this lack of dig progress I referred to, Acolyte," she said, "not your indulgences in out-of-season activities. During the summer, you dig. The rainy season is when you do restorations."

She was completely unreasonable, but he wouldn't argue with her. "Yes, inspector," he said, with as much dignity as he could manage.

"Then why didn't you follow the rules?" she demanded. "This isn't a critical site, and we expect you'll make some mistakes. You could have dug anyway. Isn't it possible to find artifacts, even in wet soil?"

"Yes, ser," he said respectfully, "but not wise."

"You were given the procedures for a reason," she chided.

"That's true," he said. "But I believe that one must use their own judgment sometimes. I treat this site as if the most critical finds could be made here. It is impossible to do that if I have to dig in mud. A mud-saturated artifact like paper or cloth could be destroyed before I knew it was there. I felt discretion was the better course."

She made a 'humph' sound and got up to inspect his artifacts. She moved slowly from item to item, making notes. Looking here at a Homan jawbone laid beside some tiny picking tools where he was carefully removing the encrusted rock. And there, at a rusty metal plate soaking in a weak acid solution that he hoped might loosen the rusty scaling.

She stopped for along time at a painstakingly accurate three-dimensional model he'd made, alongside drawings of what he thought might be under all the intervening dirt. He heard her pen scratch and draw in her notebook. She seemed to be sketching some it. He wondered if that was a good sign.

Sergei lit the oil lamps and tended the fire as dusk settled around the shack. He watched her study the results of a year of his life. He knew this inspection was a test of character as much as of procedure. Every Acolyte was given the basics, and then sent alone to a site to make of them what he or she would. They either learned what could not be taught, or they didn't. Right now his chances didn't look too good.

He carefully kept his chin raised and his tail down in submission. It was easy to do with her, she was taller than he was, and out-massed him easily. Among Lupines, the mels had at most a slight size advantage over the fems of the race. Fems were just as welcome to be soldiers in the Zahr's Army, and often were more feared in battle.

Tassa would have made a wonderful officer with that build, he thought. Her pale coat of blended white and gray was striking, and the blue tuft at her forehead and tail-tip would make her stand out in a press. He tried not to notice her shapely form. Her nose was quite sensitive, and he didn't need that complication with this inspection.

Sergei snapped to in the present realizing he'd been vacantly staring at her. She'd turned back to him sometime during his reverie and now regarded him with a stern but quizzical expression. "What?" she said.

A tilt of his head and a low sweep of his tail conveyed his wordless apology for his rudeness.

"Well," she said. "You're certainly an odd mel."

He sighed. Just to make things worse, now she thought he was daft.

She sat down at the table across from him after blowing out the lamps in the work area. "Have you ever seen any maps of this place prior to its burial?" There was a hint of accusation in her voice.

Sergei looked blankly at her for a moment. "Of course not. It's not possible to make such a map without conjecture, considering the site is still mostly buried."

"This place was buried long before the Golden Age," she said. "The Ancients never bothered uncovering it. But there were records passed to the Spirits about the positioning of the buildings here."

"My diagrams," he said. "Was I close?"

"Suspiciously so, Acolyte," she said. "Are you sure that no one showed you what this place was like?"

"I'm sure," he said firmly. "My sketch of the possible original layout of the buildings came from the diorama of the mounds, my training and from guesswork. Your suspicion that I'd seen a map I take to be a testament of my intuition and accuracy." He risked leaning toward her, allowing his ears to come fully forward for emphasis. "That is my work alone." She flicked an ear back, and watched him with narrowed eyes. He plunged on with a pang of fear. "I think it's wrong to send us out without all the information available." Having spoken his mind, he sat back again.

"It's not for you to criticize the way of the Spirits," she snapped. "If we gave you all we had, how would we learn what you could find out? This is about what you know and can discover. Not about what we know."

She sighed then, and yawned hugely. Sergei realized it was hours since supper and she'd walked kilometers to get here. She looked over his pallet, and put more logs on the fire. "I trust you have an extra blanket to sleep on?" she said, archly assuming the sleeping arrangements.

"Yes inspector," he rumbled, and got out his best spare blanket from his trunk. He stripped off his robe and curled up on the far side of the shack. It was cold over here, away from the warmth of the fireplace. He was hungry too. Now, he missed the full serving of stew he'd denied himself earlier. He'd be harrowed before he'd complain to her, though. Controlling his urge to toss restlessly, he willed himself to sleep.

---
Go to TFH part 2

No time for Revolving Doors.

Been a busy Saturday... I'll put up another part of TBR tomorrow, and continue to revamp TFH, as I prepare to post it.

Blood Rose isn't finished... in my hand draft, I'm halfway through the 13th page, and the computer file I have only extends to page 6 or so. So there's more to post, and more to input before I get to the point where to continue I'll start actually writing again. Not sure how long it will be, but it's already longer than TFH, and I don't think I've reached the mid point of the story.

I do want to finish the story. I have a hard time finishing them because I get this nagging feeling that I'm no damn good and who the fuck cares anyway? But that's why I started this blog... at least I can pretend that there's someone out there who's interested enough to want me to see it through.

Maybe someday, there will be someone there, to encourage me and cheer me on. I can dream. =/ Pathetic, aren't I?

{Extra points for anyone who can i.d. where the title came from... and googling is cheating.}

Turkey day, other stories, and illustrations...

I had a good turkey day... team effort of me, hubby and sonny-boy all doing our bits.

Been looking for a way to publicize the site and find someone to review my work. I was looking for a place that had published a story of mine that I won a prize on, but it was gone. It's set in the same world as The Blood Rose, but on a different continent, and with very different sorts of characters.

Since the Temple of Luna is gone, I'll repost "The Forgotten Hero" here. I even have a cool illustration for it. It dates from the same era as the other story, but it looks like it needs some editing. A short piece of fiction, it's complete and will be posted in 4 parts.

Speaking of illustrations, I'm working on one for "The Blood Rose".

* The Blood Rose, Entry 2: Act 1, part 1

Late Aprilo, 1382 OC.

Weeks later, Kaylli was able to slow down long enough to update her healer's journal. Thanks to the help of Rhysse, her inventory was better than it had ever been. They'd gathered more plants than she expected to use in a couple of years, even with the presence of the soldiers in the village. They had even discovered new places to find her most basic medicines, such as feverwort, and painbark.

The wounded soldiers mended quickly after they enjoyed a little rest and care. With Lieutenant Tokken, Redford set up a rotation schedule that gave the first group of the remaining soldiers a taste of home living. It still rankled Kaylli that she had to treat their unwanted guests. She'd done her best for their horses, though, and she was helping the local smith with the training of a new farrier from the ranks.

Her inventory might be full, be she knew how the village strained to keep the Dragons supplied as they required. It took a lot of labor to plow the fields of Redford, and to tend the many herds. The presence of the soldiers did mean the constables were free to lend a hand, but even with their help, necessary work was falling behind.

A scream from outside brought Kaylli to her door, with her medical satchel in hand. From her doorway she was appalled to see mounted soldiers riding down the villagers in the street, lashing the Homans before them like unruly bondsmen. The chief constable stood firm by the village well, his club in hand, ordering them to stop. A duocorn rider charged at him, gutting the Homan with a saber as he passed by.

Despite her shock, Kaylli suddenly noticed that these weren't Martez's men. The uniforms were different, ashy gray, and there was a sign of the Treecat on their sleeves, not of the Dragon. These were enemy soldiers, from the neighboring fiefdom. To them, the villager's lives were less valuable than that of their mounts, or their tamed big hunting cats.

A red-fletched arrow appeared in a soldier's chest. It was fired by Tenner, one of the village hunters, from a high fork of a tree behind the tannery. The enemy's cat handler, in his heavy leathers, loosed two of his gray-dappled charges to climb up and bring him down. She knew the hunter had a soft heart for treecats, but he fired a shot downward through the branches. One of the cats fell, sprawling limply on the ground to the handler's outrage. The other smoke colored cat kept climbing up towards him.

Kaylli heard a wildly blaring horn sounding from her right, announcing the arrival of the Fifth Dragon Company, charging the enemy from the other end of the village. As she turned to see them, she saw a blond head of hair peeking above the smithy's knee high boundary wall. It was Leydon, caught in the street instead of playing safely in the woods nearby. "Sweet spirits, protect my son from danger!" she whispered. She lost sight of him as the Dragons thundered past the smithy in a blur to engage the Graycats. Her flesh crawled from the hoarse shouts of the men, along with the sounds of ringing metal and the screams of animals.

Savage mayhem greeted her eyes at every turn. As a girl, she had never understood how warfare could be so deadly that a medic would be killed. Yet it was her uncle that gave her away at her wedding, because her father had been slain in a battle far from home. She bitterly resented the army for that. She didn't know what she thought the army was like, perhaps a sort of complicated constabulary, full of pageant and rituals, but ultimately civilized in essence. Instead, if this scrimmage was any indication, it was a thing of sheer butchery, wrapped in a cloak of fear and shouting.

The Dragons had momentum on their side, and they began to push the Graycats back, out of the village's lone stretch of street. Rhysse lingered by the smithy, his medic's short sword in hand, stained with blood. He and his mount were panting from their exertions. The beast's horns were crimson, and her fur was matted with blood around the fang-filled mouth, and on her paws near the wickedly sharp claws. The medic looked down into the smithy, as she saw Leydon again; huge-eyed, but apparently unharmed.

Kaylli closed her eyes in thanks. Rhysse had drawn his seldom-used blade to protect her son. For a moment, years of bitterness against the army twisted in her heart. She could well believe that her father would engage in combat to protect a non-combatant. His commander had told her mother he'd died saving a pregnant woman from harm. That hadn't been any comfort to young Kaylli, all she’d known was that her daddy was gone. But what she'd seen here made that deep held resentment seem shallow and petty.

Other villagers were throwing stones at the cat that was threatening Tenner. It paused and started to climb back down. Once it stood besides its dead companion, it turned to run to its handler to avoid the stoning. A rock to the head knocked it unconscious. The hunter quickly followed it down, tying the beast up securely. He had plans for it, it seemed.

Kaylli couldn't see any more fighting, so she left the shelter of her doorway, and hurried to the smithy. Rhysse nodded once to her, and urged his mount forward, in case his fellows needed his services. Leydon half-tripped over the low wall, as he rushed to hug his mother. She clutched him to her tightly, forgetting all else. "Leydon, are you alright?"

"Yes, Mama," he sobbed, "I was so scared."

"Healer," a weak voice called from near the well. "Help us..." She wiped the tears of relief from her face, and went with Leydon to help her patients. She treated the living, and laid cloths over the faces of the dead. Then, reluctantly, she followed Rhysse to where the soldiers had gone, to see if the medic needed any help.

At the edge of the forest, she stopped in shock. The chief guardian of their forest Spirit was there. Steelheart was formed like a towering man, all made of shining metal. Kaylli had only seen the Ancient's golem two times before in the years she'd lived in Redford. Now it stood between Captain Martez and the sullen leader of the Graycat soldiers.

"Thy lord must pay a were-guild for those wounded or killed this day," Steelheart's hollow voice rumbled. The golem held up the signet of the Cat's commander. "Thou should not have come to this land;.thy lord has no claim on it. This was not honorable warfare, Malkar, 'twas slaughter of another Lord's peasants. As such, Kannith is due payment from thy lord, Zamnes. As Redford's arbiter, I direct that thy Lord shall pay twice his weight in gold to Kannith. Thy signet will be held hostage for this payment."

The enemy soldiers complained bitterly under their breath. Their lord would take that payment out of their hides and wages. Steelheart's voice rose easily above their mutterings, drowning them out, "The Good Spirit, Pax, and thy King have decreed that battles between opposing lord's forces shall not include the peasantry. My master, the Spirit Jefers, has already sent news of this incident to both Crown and Cache." The enemy commander looked ready to spit at this news.

"Thou hast done well, Dragon Captain," it said to Martez. "My master thanks thee." Martez bowed low to the golem. It turned to Kaylli, who flinched back in awe. Gently, it said, "Healer, how many of your charges are dead or wounded?"

She curtsied deeply, "Great Steelheart, of the villagers there are four dead, including our chief constable, and seven are badly wounded."

"The Homan dogs should have stayed out of the way of their betters," the commander growled. His eyes raked the Healer with rude appreciation. Martez scowled at him fiercely, and stepped forward to block his gaze.

"Dragon Medic?" Steelheart asked Rhysse. Kaylli sensed that it would not ask about the Graycat's losses.

"Three dead, including our sentry on the forest road and four injured," Rhysse said. He then pitched his voice for Kaylli's ears. "Two of them I'd like you to consult on, later." She nodded, ignoring the commander's contemptuous snort.

Steelheart turned to Redford as he arrived at the gathering, and greeted him. "Good day, Headman," it said.

"It is only good that you are here, old friend," Redford said. "Much sorrow has come to us this day."

"They will go now," the golem said, turning to the enemy troops. "Go now, and do not return." The commander's haughty features twisted at the curt dismissal, but still he hurried to obey.

The unkempt cat handler sputtered in outrage when he saw his dead cat being skinned, and the second being carried in a net to the hunter's kennel. His commander cuffed him harshly when he protested, and all but shoved him onto his duocorn. "You have more cats," he told the handler. "You haven't another head." The villagers watched them leave with silent resentment.

"Do you think they'll be back?" Redford asked with concern.

"No," said Steelheart. "We will watch for them, but we do not think they will dare make such a mistake again." The automaton nodded in farewell to them, and turned to vanish within the forests of its master.

"Captain," Redford said formally, "would you come to my house tonight for a village meeting? The people would appreciate a few words from you."

"We'll be there," Martez said, nodding at his Lieutenant.

'Good', thought Kaylli. 'Then I can tell him just what I think of him, and his soldiers.'

"Would you look at my wounded now, Kaylli?" Rhysse said.

"Certainly," she said, checking her satchel.

Two of the four wounded were what Kaylli considered seriously injured. The veteran sergeant, Bren Drake, risked losing his right eye from a long sword slash. It ran from his left forehead and cut into the bridge of his nose, nicking his lower eyelid on the right, and ending deep along his cheekbone. If the cut became at all infected, he risked blindness, and she told the Medic that.

The other was the youngest officer, Ensign Josur Dragon. The teenager was slipping into a fever despite all of Rhysse's efforts. Kaylli loosened the heavy bandages on his right leg and despaired for him. A treecat had dragged the flag-carrier down from his mount, and his thigh and calf muscles were heavily lacerated. Rhysse had given him broad stitches to close some of the worst gashes, but his expertise lay in treating straight edged weapon damage, not the kind of jagged tears carnivores made in flesh. He'd rightly figured she'd have more experience in this kind of wound.

The treecats were often known to give serious infections to their survivors, along with a deadly fever. She had seen such injuries before. Tenner had brought her a wild treecat cub with similar wounds on its haunches. He'd made a pet of it when it recovered. It had never regained its full mobility, and was too lame to release to the wild. Now the hunter hoped he had a mate for his beast.

As she had for the cub, months ago, Kaylli treated him with dozens of careful, tiny stitches. Rhysse gave their best antiseptics and fever fighters to the boy. Still, for all their work, she didn't know if he would survive. Even if he did, she didn't think he'd ever walk normally again. "If he is to survive," she said," he must be in my care for many days. You should bring him to my house."

"Do you think there's any chance?" Rhysse said. "He's a lord's son."

"I wouldn't care if he's the swineherd's son!" she snapped, taking the Medic aback. "I'd still do all I could for him." Seeing the hurt in Rhysse's purple-flecked eyes, she said more softly, "If I thought there was no chance, I would have offered him the Cup of Peace." They both knew this was a strong dose of heavy narcotic, to ease the suffering patient from this life. Administering it was considered the greatest kindness a Healer or Medic could give.

With the ensign momentarily stable, the medic ordered him to be moved to Kaylli's house. They settled him in one of the small rooms she kept for seriously ill patients. Kaylli gave him a sedative, and told Leydon what to do for Josur should he stir while she was at the meeting. If all else failed, she would only be a few doors down, and Leydon was a fast runner. As quickly as she could, she washed and prepared to go.

Horses and wagons lined the short stretch of cobbled main road that Redford boasted. Less than half of those who claimed to hail from Redford actually lived within the village proper. Most of the Redford's craft masters and representatives of the outlying communities were crowded into Joa's great room. She saw grizzled old farmers, weathered head ranchers, and the burly boss of the local logging camp, all of whom seldom made an appearance in the village. They eyed the Malkar officers curiously. They'd heard more about them in the last few weeks than they'd actually seen in person.

Kaylli settled by the fireplace, hoping the wood smoke would help to counteract the odor of some of the more pungent bodies present. The Headman raised his hands to quiet the scattered conversations. She watched Martez, and saw him register how quickly the villagers responded to their elder's gesture.

"My neighbors and friends, this is a terrible day," he began. "We have lost members of our families, and we would like to know why. Why did this enemy come, and what is the cost of our rescue? I have asked Captain Martez Dragon if he would answer these questions. Captain, if you would?"

Assured and confident with his troops, the officer hesitated before addressing the villagers. "The Dragons have been fighting with the 'Cats all winter in the south. Kruek, their commander, personally hates us, and that was the only reason he gave Steelheart for following us this far into our lord's lands. He'll be disciplined by his lord by violating the Pax accords, and costing Zamnes steep reparations."

Kaylli mulled over this news. Kruek, she thought, so that was his name. An ugly name, and a fit match for an ugly man. Her anger at the day's senseless bloodshed smouldered as she listened to the Captain.

"As for the cost," Martez continued, "that would be about the same as before. There are new injured to billet, and we'll need mounts for the horsemen. We had to put a couple of ours down today. That should cover it."

"Is that all?" she snapped. "We die, and they *may* be punished, and oh, by the way, you need to take even more from us? If you'd just leave, then we wouldn't have these problems. What about that?"

"Kaylli, please," Redford said. "Don't antagonize them."

"You'd better control her, Headman," Tokken said coldly. "There are limits to how far a peasant can push her luck with her betters; even for a Healer."

"She's only saying what they're all thinking, Tokken," Martez said. "I'm afraid I can't oblige you, madam," he said to her. "We've been told that Lord Zamnes was emboldened by the Fifth Company's withdrawal from the contested territory, and that he might try to seize more land, even as far as Redford."

“They wouldn't understand the politics involved, sir," Tokken said with a faint sneer.

Martez gave him a quelling look. "So, with that said, we're staying. It's for your own protection."

"Our protection?" she said sarcastically. "I'm sure the survivors of today's dead will thank you. What about the planting that's undone, the shearing that's delayed, all while we fete your soldiers so they can do their maneuvers?"

"Is this true, Headman?" Martez asked.

"Ah, there are some small... tasks that are unfinished this spring," Redford said, with an exasperated look at Kaylli.

"Then we will help, as good neighbors should," the Captain said with a smile. "Many of us come from rural areas, and we can steer a plow or shear a sheep as good as any."

"We will sir?" Tokken said, surprise evident on his stoic face.

"If only you would, Captain," Redford said. The relief on his face betrayed the seriousness of their situation. The other villagers looked cautiously pleased with the offer.

"I said we would help as we could, Healer," Martez said. "I intend that Redford will be no worse off for our time here, and will possibly be improved because of our presence."

"That possibility is to be hoped for, sir," Redford said with a bow. Kaylli held her tongue. Time alone would tell how much help to the village the soldiers would actually be.

---
Go on to the next part.

Spoiler posts... Purpose and Usage

I'm going to be posting snips of the story, and then 'Spoiler' posts... I hope that the story speaks for itself, but I will explain new concepts if readers don't quite understand what I'm trying to say. If you don't want me to explain things... Don't Read!

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The reason I'm doing this is to invite reader participation to show me points of confusion, and to possibly suggest better ways to say things.

Teaser:

* Aprilo... the names of the months have been altered, and the way the calender is organized has been changed, and the year counts the time since this reorganization.

* Homan... Humans, regular standard variety type people, similar to us.

* Duocorn... A creature about the size and shape of a horse. The main points of difference are, a curved horn over each eye, a carnivore's teeth in the mouth. Instead of hooves, they have paws with durable pads something like a canine, but graced with sharper claws.

* Malkar... Genetically altered humans, whose odd colorations are the flag and warning of the DNA tampering the race received. The majority of these changes are to make them stronger, faster, and smarter than base humanity, but the definition of the Malkar is command, they have an enhanced charisma as compared to the ancestral stock.

* Merekan... Names are similar sounding, but the spelling is pretty much different. The nation name, in this case, is meant to indicate that the setting in what used to be "America".

Act 1:

* Treecat... a wild greater feline descended from the native cougar or puma. They are rather more muscular than a puma, and their heads are lynx-like, with tufts of extra hair on their ears and cheeks.

* Steelheart... a remotely directed mechanical representative of the local spirit (and one of the few clues in this story that this world is NOT a fantasy one). Picture a burly robotic body taller than any man, whose authority and decisions trumps even the most power Malkar.

* The Blood Rose, Entry 1: Teaser

A/N: This world has changed a lot from the one we new, the spelling, and at time the usage, of several words are different from what we know in order to indicate a language drift. The calendar differs, as well... but I try to leave enough connotations to make evident what is meant.

Early Aprilo, 1382, Old Calendar.

Kaylli washed the tender herbs she'd gathered this morning from the forest. She wondered if she could make enough medicine from them to last the village until next spring. It was getting difficult to find some of the early plants she needed for her tinctures. The seasons were turning and the spring growth was almost over.

She took her responsibility as Healer of the village of Redford seriously. Her dead husband, who'd taught her the trade of rural healing, would have expected no less of her. It was a different kind of healing than she had learned from her father, an Army medic.

It was nearly two years since she had lost her Donis. She was thankful for the way the village had rallied behind her and her young son. They had gone out of their way to make the two of them feel comfortable. She could certainly understand why. A village with a healer stood a far better chance in the Meraken wilds then one without. Kaylli often wished that Donis could see how much their boy had grown.

Her reverie was broken as her tow-headed son burst into the room, his face flushed with excitement. He wore one of his father's shirts, the green embroidered one that Donis had liked so well. Even though he was nearly thirteen, it was so big on the boy that he had to belt it at the waist, like a tunic.

"Mama!" Leydon said, his green eyes wide. "You've got to come and see! A troop of soldiers is here, and some of them are riding duocorns!"

"Officers are the ones who ride duocorns, Leydon," she said with apparent calm. Her hands began to tremble slightly as she laid out the cleaned leaves to dry. "The common soldiers either walk or ride horses." She quickly tied her dark brown hair back with a twist of yarn, striving to conceal her sudden anxiety. She knew from her father that the Malkar Army wasn't always kind to the peasantry, especially not to mere Homan peasants, like those who lived in Redford.

After a glance to see if her workroom was tidy, she let her son pull her out of their house to see the soldiers. Outside their home and shop, other villagers lined the streets, gawking at the dusty column. Kaylli could see on her neighbor's faces a worry that mirrored her own. The soldiers' arrival could just be an exciting event on a lazy afternoon, or it could be serious trouble.

The youngest of the officers leading the column was just a boy really. Only a few years older than her son, he proudly carried a grimy ensign emblazoned with the image of a Dragon rampart, clutching five swords. Their ochre uniforms bore dragon symbols, too.

The soldiers that followed the leaders rode well-seasoned horses, trained not to shy away from the meat-eating duocorns. Some of the men and animals wore recent bandages, Kaylli noted, and all of them looked like they were weary to the bone. She wondered if they had been in one of the recent battles in the south they'd heard rumors of.

The Dragon Companies made up the army of their Malkar Overlord. Units of them patrolled his fief regularly, to protect against both hostile forces and rebellion. They had the right to billet in the homes of any of those who lived on Lord Kannith of Golddrake's lands. However, Army units seldom chose such a small community as Redford for this purpose. Kaylli was not alone in her silent prayers to the Spirits that they were just passing through.

The dusky gold Captain looked around intently at the plain but sturdy buildings of the village center as they rode up to the ancient well. His dark amethyst eyes took in the neat smithy further down the street, and the faded sign of the Healer that hung over the head of Kaylli and her son. She had the uneasy feeling that he was judging the place, but for what reason, she didn't know.

He held up his hand to stop the column, and with another gesture commanded his troops to drink and to water their mounts. While the soldiers refreshed their water supplies, the grey-haired Headman stepped forward and said, "Greetings, good Captain." Kaylli remembered his given name was Joa, but he'd been the Headman so long, that he usually went by the name of the village he was responsible for.

"You are the Headman?" a pale gold man wearing Lieutenant's insignia said.

"That's right, sir," the elder answered. "What can our poor village of Redford do for you? If it is possible, can we provide you with something for your journey?" Kaylli hid a smile at the faintly hopeful tone of his voice.

"We're staying," the Captain said with finality. He held up a signet that conveyed the authority granted him by Lord Kannith. "My men and I need to rest and heal, and your village seems as good a place as any for that." He put the heavy gold ring away in a silken pouch.

Redford's shoulders slumped in dejection, and Kaylli sympathized. The Dragon Company would almost double the number of menfolk in the village proper, and possibly that of the outlying areas. In all probability, they would not perform as much labor as their support would require. It meant the villagers would have to work that much harder to do all that needed to be done, and the needs of the soldiers would come first. "Yes, sir," he said in a dull tone. There was no other option but to obey.

"Good," the Captain said firmly, "I'll need you to work with the Lieutenant to see where the injured will billet. We'll need to locate a good campsite. If you'll give your input to him, we can make the assignments quickly, and figure out a rotating schedule for later."

Redford looked up in surprise. "Not all of you are billeting, sir?" he said with a measure of confusion in his voice.

"No, Headman," the Captain said, his gem-colored eyes scanning the few buildings again.. "I can see that you can't put all of us up in your homes, and usually we take care of ourselves. The only men I'll want billeted at first are those who need healing. After they have recovered, then the other men will billet in shifts to give them a break from living in the field."

He looked up again at the sign of the Healer, with its red crossed bars topped with a pair of antlers on a green field. "You do have a Healer, I hope?" A jolt of apprehension went through Kaylli as he asked the question.

Leydon answered for her, when he nudged her and said in a loud whisper, "Mama, he's talking about you!" She looked down at him with her gray eyes narrowed. His expression shone with such pure innocence that she sighed, and smiled back at him.

There was no hope for anonymity now, so Kaylli stepped forward as the Captain turned to see who had spoken. "Captain," she said, with an appropriate salute. Sometimes, she thought, being the daughter of an Army medic had its advantages... but only sometimes.

The Captain nodded in interest at her salute, but he betrayed no surprise. "You will assist Rhysse, our medic, madam." For all the graciousness of his address, it still wasn't a request, and she resented it.

"Then I will need his assistance in turn, Captain," Kaylli said with a challenging tone. "Just this morning I was worried that I didn't have enough medicines to last the village 'til next Spring, and now I have to share our medicines with you?" She took a deep breath and continued. "Your right to billet doesn't include a right to impoverish us any more than we already are, nor to take from us what we need to survive."

"Why, you impertinent bit..." the Lieutenant snarled, raising his riding crop to strike her. The Captain seized his arm, restraining him.

"No, Tokken, you can't whip her for being correct." He turned back to Kaylli as he released the junior officer. "We won't cause any hardships, Healer, and we'll help as we can." He continued in a more personal tone, "My name is Martez, Captain of this Company."

"You will address him only as 'Captain Martez', or as 'Sir'" Tokken hissed at her. "Do you understand?" His lavender eyes glared piercingly at her.

"Of course I understand, Lieutenant Tokken," Kaylli bowed with a show of respect. She had seen enough of them to know that even through the trail dust, these soldiers were all of Malkar blood. Under the laws of the Kingdom, they each had more rights than the entire village of Homan peasants.

She was fairly certain that the Lieutenant's display of temper was designed to endear the Captain to the villagers. Tokken would play the arrogant lordling, asserting his dominance over the peasants, while the Captain would demonstrate his compassion. Her father had told her of this kind of drama being performed occasionally to manipulate reluctant townsfolk.

The medic, Rhysse, dismounted, and passed the reins of his snarling duocorn mare to the wrangler. Hanging his medic's bag over his shoulder, he strode over to Kaylli. He bowed to her, and then tousled Leydon's pale hair with a smile. "After you, madam," he said, waiting for her to precede him inside. As Kaylli passed him, she noted that the golden highlights of his skin and hair were very faint. There was a lot of Homan blood in this man, unless she missed her guess.

"The Captain sure is a nice man," Leydon said, as he trailed after the medic into the house.

Kaylli nodded, "It certainly seems so, dear." She bent to fetch a medicine satchel and gave it to him. "I noticed some of the horses need to be treated, Leydon," she said. "You know enough Healing that I can count on you to take care of it."

The boy looked quizzically at the medic, who shrugged expressively. "I'm a Medic," he explained, "not a veterinarian. Our farrier died recently, and with him, we lost our knowledge of horse-healing." He gave a heavy sigh, "I did what I could, but it hasn't been much," his voice trailed off. "Have him stay away from the ‘corns though, the wrangler cares for them." Leydon nodded, and Kaylli patted her son on the back and sent him out to check on the animals.

The medic watched her closely as she prepared her satchel with what she would need to work on the soldiers. "So," she said dryly, "it's Tokken's turn to be the 'bad' officer."

Rhysse stared at her, momentarily mute by the sideways accusation. Then he laughed, and applauded quietly. "By Pax, won't this be fun! What a find we have here in you." She frowned at him, but he grinned even more. "A woman with spirit, skills, and an appreciation for 'theater'. How wonderful!"

Kaylli curtsied to him for his applause. The medic was a hard man to hate, and she found herself smiling back at him. "My father was an army medic, and I had heard about such performances before."

"Ah! That explains many things," he said. Her lips thinned and her frown returned when she spoke of her father. "Before we return outside, I've run out of several medicines. Do you have any to spare?" He told her of several items that he no longer had.

"I have most of those," she said, pulling some of what he asked for from her supplies. "You'll have to help me get more, though."

"Captain Martez has already agreed to that," Rhysse said, putting the items carefully away in his bag. "After you, madam?" He bowed, and gestured for her to precede him. With an appreciative smile, he followed her back outside.

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