Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2014 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

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[Note to readers: the events in this story begin during Somewhere Else Entirely chapter 90, although nobody in that tale will be aware of them for some time, if ever. Specifically, the 20th day of Bretherin is the day Garia demonstrates trusses to the Guildsmen of Blackstone.]

20th day of Bretherin, Year 1174 since the Great Flood, sometime after midnight

"Eh, Sarje, there's someone in the ditch!"

"What? Where?"

"Down there, see?"

The armsman was already sliding down the bank toward the edge of the ice-rimmed water, a lantern held high in order to help him find his footing.

"Is he dead?" the Sarjant called.

Ferrond knelt and placed his free hand on the neck of the body, looking up at his sergeant.

"No, he's still alive. Do you want him out, Sarje?"

"Aye, we'll need every man we can get. Kennan, go help Ferrond, that looks like a big sod for one man to pull all the way up here."

The two armsmen each took an arm and dragged the unconscious man up to the road, where their Sarjant glanced down at him. The man was wearing a rumpled nightshirt over black tights, not unexpected given the circumstances. No, not tights, leggings, the man was barefoot, his feet stuffed into simple thong sandals which were far too small.

Poor bastard, the officer thought. Probably dragged from his bed at sword-point and driven out of his house in what he stood in. Well, one day we'll take back what is ours, and then we'll require justice.

The face looked handsome, though slack now there was no animation in it. The hair was almost blond and longer than Jothans customarily wore it. The Sarjant wondered who the man was, some merchant's son, perhaps? Good shoulders, narrow waist, but soft, somebody with a sheltered life before today. Well, that was about to change! To answer those who had stolen their city Joth would give reply. Only first...

"Any chance he can walk?"

Ferrond bent down and gently slapped the fellow's face, attempting to bring him round. There was movement, the head rolled and then righted itself, the eyes fluttered open. A groan came.

"Oh, God! What happened? Oh, my head!"

The accent was strange, the words slurred. The man's hand reached toward his brow.

"Sarje, looks like he had a bang to the head. I don't think it would be a good idea to -"

"Aye," the Sarjant interrupted. "He'll have to go on a wagon or we'll be here all night." He pointed. "That one! I don't care who's on it, they'll have to make room for another. We're still too close to Joth should those... unmentionable bastards decide to attack."

* * *

"Those slippers! We have to get them off, Stammand. They'll cut into his feet if we don't."

"Aye, my dear. I guess he looked for footwear in the dark and those were the first he found. Must have belonged to his wife. Let me..." A shake of the head. "They are on too tight. Darmon, have you a knife? I'll have to cut them off."

Stammand's manservant handed over his small knife and the merchant gently inserted the tip of the blade under the taut strap, trying not to cut the man's foot as the wagon jolted. Eventually he slid it far enough and severed the strap, allowing Stammand to remove the sandal. He repeated the operation with the other foot. The night was cold so Stammand's wife pulled a piece of sacking over the man's feet to keep them warm. She looked up to find the man watching her.

"You're awake! How do you feel?"

"Terrible," the man said. "Thank you for removing those... shoes. They were beginning to hurt." He winced. "I have a pounding headache. Where are we? What's going on?"

"We are running away from Joth, master," the woman replied. "Do you not remember? Those of Yod came at dusk from the river and expelled all who were in our city. Some may have been killed, we do not know." She remembered her manners. "Oh! I am Rathinda and this is my husband Stammand."

The man looked confused. "Joth? Yod? I don't know those names. Come to think of it, I can't even tell you my name. No, there's nothing there at all. Only pain." He winced again.

"Just lie there, if you can, and we'll try and find a healer when we stop. Stammand, we are going to stop, aren't we? We can't keep running all night, surely."

"Depends if they are chasing us, my dear. No doubt the Sarjant will let us know when it is safe to stop." He turned to the man. "Do you remember where you come from? You have an accent I can't place."

But the man had fallen asleep again.

* * *

Early morning, and a hastily made camp in the yard and nearby fields of a farm along a country road. Awnings had been stretched and anchored to the motley assembly of wagons and carriages. Between the wagons fires were burning on which a scratch breakfast was being prepared for the refugees. Under several of the awnings lay those who were injured or otherwise unable to function normally.

Two faces loomed over the man as he woke.

"How do you feel?"

"I don't... I'm not sure. My head was pounding earlier, I think. What time is it?"

"Just after dawn. Can you attempt some food? I'm sorry, it will not be as you are accustomed to eat, but it will fill you."

"Thank you, yes." The man squinted as one of the figures moved to allow in more light.

"Ah," said the other, a woman's voice. "I have seen this before. Can I examine your head, master? I think you may have a wound we have not discovered."

The man pushed himself up by the elbows, wincing at the effort. "Go ahead."

The woman gently probed his skull, finding no bumps, no wet places. She drew back, puzzled.

"I can find no lump or wound, master, but it looks like you have concussion. What do you remember of last night?"

The man shook his head, then wished he hadn't. "Nothing. I don't even know what my own name is, anything." He looked up at the two, troubled.

"Is there anyone else with you? You appeared to be wearing your wife's shoes when you were found. Where is she?"

"I don't remember a wife. It's all a blank."

A younger woman appeared with a bowl of stew, consisting mostly of vegetables in a watery soup. She knelt down and handed it to the man, along with a spoon. He fumbled with the spoon to begin with but the presence of the food kicked in an automatic response so that he began eating with more and more assurance. Soon he was able to hand back the empty bowl and spoon to the younger woman.

"Thank you. That's better. I... feel cold."

The man grimaced. "I wouldn't wonder, being thrown out of your house with just your nightwear! There are several in our party with attire no better than yours. It is almost winter, I am not surprised you are cold. No doubt when we may organize ourselves, we will provide clothing for those who are without. Rest you here for the while, we will find something to cover you while those who know better decide what to do."

The man sighed and closed his eyes.

* * *

"Try these." Lunchtime, and a man and a woman had arrived carrying armfuls of clothing. "I'm sorry, it's all mis-matched and some of it is old, but it will be better than freezing to death."

The man tried several of the tunics until he found one that fitted comfortably. He kept the nightgown on underneath, on the other man's advice, for extra warmth. The leggings he was wearing were judged thick enough for now, but appeared to be of a material which wouldn't stand up to much abuse in future. Already there were two tears in the fabric from knocks gotten along the way.

His feet had to be wrapped in sacking strips secured by twine made from straw, as there was a shortage of suitable footwear. It was agreed he would continue to ride on a wagon, so the footwear would cause little difficulty. A small sack, with the open end rolled up, made a makeshift hat. Another sack could be wrapped around his hands if they felt cold.

Lunch was more of the same kind of stew, or more likely more of the same stew that had been kept simmering since breakfast. It seemed tasty enough, though the flavors meant nothing to the man. He felt well afterwards enough to assist with cleaning the bowls, spoons and knives used by the various diners. When everything had been cleared away a meeting of the party was called.

"Calm down, there! Can you hear me at the back? Good. I'm Captain Jarbon, late of Joth's Town Watch. You'll be pleased to hear that Duke Wallesan, Duchess Fanis and their children have gotten safely away from the city." There were several cheers. "As far as we know, there don't appear to have been many killed by those of Yod, only some of the Watch down by the waterfront when they attacked. They seem to have just wanted everybody out of the city rather than blood." He looked angry. "By the Maker, I'll tell you now there will be blood when we take our city back! Honor demands it!"

There were several shouts of "Aye!" and "You bet!" and similar sentiments.

Jarbon continued, "We can't stay here, this was just the first place we could find to stop and tend our wounded, give everyone a hot meal and so on. We'll have to move on this afternoon since there's no more food the good farmer can spare us. It wouldn't do to let him and his family starve throughout the winter, would it? Life is hard enough in the countryside as it is."

He looked around and then pointed a direction. "We're eight marks from Galdarin and they've sent a rider to tell us that there should be shelter there when we arrive. It won't be anything fancy but you'll all have roofs over your heads and it will be warm enough. Once we've settled in and we know who we have and what state we're in I'll send to the Duke and ask for orders. Any questions?"

"Aye, Captain. What about those of Yod? Do they pursue us?"

Jarbon shook his head. "As far as we can tell they just hold the city, no more. We have no idea why they attacked or what they may intend but perhaps the Duke knows more."

"Captain, have we sent for help?"

"Aye, we have sent boats downstream to warn our neighbors and ask for help. Of course, it may be days before we have any answer. Until then we must assume we are on our own." He looked around. "Any more? No? Right, let's get our things packed up and leave these good people in peace."

* * *

Ferrond gestured at the hay loft.

"Tis a good enough place to lie, if you have no other," he explained. "There is so much fodder above that there is barely room for the two of us, but the feed will ward off the cold," he grinned, "as will the warmth from the animals below. I hope they won't be too noisy tonight. I could do with the sleep, given what last night was like."

The man stared at the animals. They looked... wrong, somehow. There was something familiar about their shape, but strangely distorted. From what? Even that thought caused a spike of pain.

"Your head still giving you trouble?" Ferrond asked sympathetically.

"Just now and then," the man replied. "Everything all looks kind of strange, like it's in a kind of dream. Do you know what I mean?"

"Aye. This whole day seems a dream, or maybe I should say a nightmare. What are Yod thinking of? I doubt they know themselves. Why attack at the start of winter? 'Tis madness."

The man let the words flow over him, they meant nothing at all. He continued, "What I mean is, every time I see something, it seems almost right. Then I try and remember what it should look like, and that's when the pain comes."

"Ah, I know what you mean." Ferrond grinned. "Maybe after I've had a few too many jugs in an evening! Still, the Captain ain't going to want you to do nothing in your state. Are you even any good with a sword? Bah! Stupid question, forgive me. You won't know that if you can't even remember your own name. Let's get settled in, see how you feel in the morning."

~o~O~o~

21st day of Bretherin, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

"Ah, Armsman Ferrond, good morning to you. And..? Your friend still has no name, I take it?"

"Good morrow, Master Stammand, regrettably not. I thought to call him 'Dooclor' till his brains come back, he seems to think the name good enough."

"Aye, perhaps an appropriate choice given the circumstances. Dooclor it will be, then. Goodman Dooclor, welcome to the house of my cousin Falden. Go through, both of you, you will find breakfast within."

There was a long table in a large, gloomy room. Around it sat many of Falden's household, though the man didn't know that. Falden himself, his wife Midrena, cousin Stammand and his wife Rathinda would eat elsewhere, as befitted the owner of the mansion and his relatives.

"Sit here," Ferrond gestured, taking the adjacent seat. "We'll have some proper breakfast this morning, I think."

Servants brought bowls of a thick grain porridge together with a jug of milk. The man picked up one of the spare spoons and began eating, adding milk to temper the taste and texture. The rest of the servants looked briefly at them, then resumed their low-voiced conversations.

"Say," Ferrond asked the woman sitting opposite, "Any fresh news today?"

"Not that we've heard," she replied. "Doubtless we'll be told if there is any change."

"Aye. I'm itching to get back at those... people, but I know Captain Jarbon has to find out what resources we have before we can do anything useful." He grinned, apologetically. "Otherwise we're just eating your winter stores away, aren't we? I'd rather be doing something useful."

"As you say." She jerked a thumb. "What about him?"

"We found him in a ditch on the way out of the city. Looks like the... invaders knocked him on the head, his memory is completely gone. We know nothing about him, not even his name."

"Poor thing. He looks kind of confused, doesn't he? What'll happen to him now?"

Ferrond shrugged. "No idea, mistress. He can't fight, that's for certain. Healers say his memory may come back, if that happens we'll see what he's made of. The Maker knows we could do with all the good men we can get!"

"Aye." The servant woman eyed the man speculatively. "He's a fine specimen, isn't he? He'd get some attention if he was to stay round here, that I can tell you."

Ferrond grinned. "Your wish may come true, mistress. We're to stay here for the while until Captain Jarbon comes back with instructions."

"You're not going, then?" The woman smiled. "In that case, my name is Bardra. Perhaps we can get together later today, when all our jobs have been done. Can he work?"

"No idea, Bardra. He did help out yesterday, come to think of it, cleaning up the lunch things."

"Well with all you extra bodies around the mansion His Honor will be wanting some more help. Where's Loren? I'll ask him if there's anything you and your friend can do."

* * *

"Watch them! They got a temper. You might get bitten."

Dooclor turned to the speaker, his hands holding a forkful of animal feed.

"They look strange to me. What are they called? I don't remember these animals."

"They're called frayen, Dooclor. Haven't you seen the men riding them? Trouble is, sometimes they don't want to do what we want them to do and those teeth are mighty sharp."

"Oh. I'll be careful, then."

Dooclor heaved the feed in the general direction of the manger which the animal had in its stall, dropping the bundle neatly in. The beast eyed him warily before lowering its head to the manger.

"That's it! You got a good aim. Do the rest of those down that side while I do this side and we'll be finished for the morning. Then we can go find ourselves a beer, right?"

"Right."

The task of cleaning out the stables had taken all morning and a lot of energy. All the animals had been moved out to a paddock while this took place so that Dooclor hadn't had a close look until just now. Pilbar had shown him how to shovel the manure into buckets and carry it outside to a pile out the back, then wash down the floor before breaking down the compressed blocks of feed ready for the animals. It had begun to rain before this task was complete so the beasts been brought inside before they had finished. The animals had watched as the two men had doled out their lunch before going to find their own.

Pilbar slapped Dooclor on the back as they walked across the courtyard. "A job well done! How do you feel? Tired? How's that head of yours?"

"Tired? A little." A surprised realization came. "Not as tired as I thought I might be, after the last day or two. My head? Aye, I do still have a headache but it doesn't seem to be affecting me as much."

"That's good news to hear. Do you remember anything more?"

"No, not a thing. I get the feeling all this," Dooclor gestured around at the porch where they were rinsing their hands, "looks faintly familiar, kind of, but nothing more than that." He frowned. "Those beasts, frayen, they did make my headache worse."

"Aye. Well, you keep clear of them teeth, like I told you. Frayen are easy enough to look after but they can take offense, if you know what I mean. How's your feet? Them boots ain't too tight, are they?"

"No, they are fine, thank you."

Dooclor had been found a pair of canvas trousers and a heavy leather apron to protect him while they cleaned out the stable. Because the temporary footwear he had been provided with had been inadequate for work an old pair of boots had been donated. Fortunately they seemed to fit without causing problems.

Dooclor followed Pilbar into the room where the servants usually ate. This time there were wooden bowls with a warming stew of meat and vegetables, together with mugs of beer and roughly torn chunks of bread. Dooclor discovered he had a hearty appetite and concentrated on eating what was put in front of him.

Most of the food could be eaten in the hand or with the spoon so he left the two knives alone, although some of the others seemed to be using them. Occasionally, a bowl would reveal a larger than usual chunk of meat, often attached to a bone. The usual procedure was to gnaw the meat off while holding the bone in one hand or two, the eater didn't seem too bothered about being messy.

There was a different woman facing him this time.

"You're eating a lot, Dooclor," she remarked.

"I seem to be hungry, uh..."

"Renita," she answered. "What have you been doing, to be so hungry?"

Pilbar remarked, "We've just mucked out the stables, Ren. That would give any man a good appetite."

"I can tell that," Renita snorted. "You two smell like you've been rolling in it."

Pilbar looked hurt. "Don't be like that, Ren. Somebody has to do it. Anyhow, it's hard work, what he did this morning, don't begrudge him his food. Say, what's on for this afternoon, then?"

"Ask Loren, not me. Master Loren!" Renita called the length of the table. "What you got this pair doing this afternoon, then? Hope it's nothing near me, 'cos these two stink like anything!"

There was general laughter. The older man, who had handed out the assignations that morning, replied from his chair at the head of the servants' table.

"I can believe that, Ren. Pilbar's off to wash down those carriages and carts that brought Master Stammand and his party to Galdarin, that I know. Perhaps he can wash himself down at the same time." He thought for a moment, while Pilbar pulled a face. "Ah, the other one - what's his name? - Dooclor, that's right, he'd better stay in the kitchen for now, that Healer said he ought to be doing something less physical for a while."

"As you wish, master." She inspected Dooclor a little more carefully this time before telling him, "I guess we can find something for you to do. Do you mind helping out in the kitchen a while? I guess a fit young fellow like you would rather be outside most of the time."

"I don't know... mistress. I'll do anything to help."

Renita puffed out her chest. "If you treat all women like that I can see we'll get along just fine, Dooclor." She wrinkled her nose. "Only, you'll have to have a good wash first. I'll get someone to show you the servants' bathing chamber."

* * *

"Ow!"

"What? Here, put that knife down, you'll hurt yourself - or one of us." Renita looked sympathetically at Dooclor. "That head of your still hurting? Here, I'll get you a drink of water."

Dooclor put down the knife and stared at the tub of... somethings that he had been peeling. It was a small, round vegetable, certainly. He was also certain that he had never seen anything like it before in his life. In fact, apart from some loaves of bread and several items that were obviously cheeses, on a shelf in the pantry, nothing in the kitchen that was intended as food was familiar at all.

What had caused the headache were several carcases which the Head Cook had brought in and hung up on hooks on a wall. When Dooclor looked at them his brain supplied the word birds but these could never have been birds. There were no feathers, for a start, and they had two strange wings that looked more like those of... Ow!

"Thank you, Renita," he said, handing back the mug. "I needed that." He frowned. "What are those things the Chef hung up over there?"

It was Renita's turn to frown. "What's a Chef? Oh, you mean Possen, he's the Head Cook in Master Falden's mansion. Those what are hanging there? They're brifilis, anybody knows that."

"Brifilis..." Dooclor shook his head. "No. I thought something was coming but it's gone now." He brightened. "I might be able to help cutting them up, if that's what you do. I seem to remember I might have done that before I came here... wherever we are now."

Renita was thoughtful. "If you're offering to help, that's good, but I don't think you ought be cutting up meat when your head is in that state. You might hurt yourself."

"That's true. It was stupid to think I could do something like that."

"Not at all! If you think you can do work like that Possen will be glad of the help, I know that." She smiled. "Only, we don't cut brifilis up before cooking them, only strip the scales off and clean out the insides. Then they gets roasted on those spits, see?"

"Ah, I see." Dooclor wriggled uncomfortably.

"What's the matter? Got some friends in there with you?"

"I'm feeling warm, now. A bit uncomfortable."

"Oh, aye, you spent all morning outside, didn't you?" Renita thought, then suggested, "Look, why don't you take that undershirt off, it'll make you feel more comfortable. I'll go and rinse it, if I hang it up in here the heat will dry it in a bell or two and then it will be fresh for you to wear tonight. What about that?"

Dooclor said doubtfully, "If you think it would be a good idea..."

"I do! Come on, it will give your headache a chance to get better."

Dooclor wriggled out of the tunic, then the nightgown before putting the tunic back on. Renita inspected the undergarment carefully.

"This is strange," she remarked. "It is thinner than I expected and I can't work out what it's made of." She examined the designs covering on the outside. "These are strange, I've never seen anything like them before, either. They aren't woven in, but painted on the top. However..?"

Renita held up the garment by the shoulders and eyed it thoughtfully.

"This is cut for a woman," she said eventually. "Is this yours? Perhaps you had to grab something in the night to wear and this was the first thing to hand. Does it belong to your wife, perhaps?"

Dooclor shook his head. "I'm sorry, mistress, I have no idea. I don't remember it at all."

Renita was not satisfied. "Well, it's all you have so I'd better give it a wash, I think. Now you carry on with those chizzen or Possen will be shouting at us."

"Aye, mistress."

* * *

The Healer regarded Dooclor. "Apart from the occasional headaches, you seem to be fit and well, young man. I thought a little exercise and some food in your belly would brighten you up. Has any of your memory come back?"

"It's strange, mistress. Every so often I see or hear something that wants to trigger off a memory in my head, but then if I think about it too much the headaches come again. There are strange words and strange ideas, I don't know what they mean."

The Healer nodded thoughtfully. "It is as I thought, you have concussion, which will mean that your headaches will get worse for a while and then fade away. At the same time your memory should gradually improve." She turned to the other watchers. "I'm sorry, I think he ought to stay here for a few days, perhaps as many as five or six. I'll come back and examine him again in three days, see if things are improving or not. Will that be a problem?"

Falden said, "For my part, mistress, he can stay with us for the while. He is a willing worker and with so many more people here I am thankful for the help. I will instruct that he should not be overworked, and to be rested whenever a headache should strike."

Ferrond added, "Mistress, I would agree. Captain Jarbon ought not take a man in his condition, he may be a danger to the rest of us. But we should not burden this household any longer than we must, we must think about taking back what has been stolen from us and for that we will need every able-bodied man there is. As soon as he is able, he must join the muster."

The Healer asked, "You would send him to battle, so soon after such a blow?"

"Nay, Mistress. Before we may face the enemy there must needs be training, preparation and scouting. We cannot face those of Yod if we do not know where they are. There will be time enough for Dooclor to recover properly before he is asked to march forth."

"You will abide my decision?"

"Aye, mistress, as always."

~o~O~o~

24th day of Bretherin, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

"How do you feel today?"

"Nothing different, Mistress Healer," Dooclor replied politely. He added, "The headaches still come, and most of them are worse, not better. That green stuff you gave Possen for me seems to help but I have to have more of it each time. Is that bad?"

The healer's expression was grim. "Aye, Dooclor, it is. Normally it is only given for two or three days except in extreme need. If you take it for too long it will act like a poison inside your body." She thought. "There is a different potion I will ask you to take, if you would, but I must needs go to my dispensary and prepare it for you. I'll return here this afternoon with it." She gave him an encouraging smile. "Will you survive until then? You ought not take any more of the green potion today."

"If I must, Mistress Healer."

She rose. "Then I must leave you to your work and seek out some of my other patients. I will see you again this afternoon."

There was a frown on her face as she turned to leave.

"I wonder..." she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "This seems less like the usual concussion than I first believed. I wonder if Vannet has any ideas?"

Dooclor walked out into the yard and headed for the stable. This morning he was on his own, since Pilbar had accompanied his master on a trip into Galbarin for some reason or other. This presented no problem since the work was straightforward and Dooclor had paid attention when he had been instructed previously. He entered the stable and called out to the animals.

"Ho, friends! I've come to clean you all up this fine morning. Now play me fair and I'll make sure you all get a little extra feed."

The language was Pilbar's, but the greetings and promise were Dooclor's own. He moved to the side of the door and picked up the shovel. The nearest frayen, seeing him do that, moved to one side to admit the man. The creatures were large but showed no animosity towards Dooclor.

Perhaps, he thought as he swept and shoveled, the problem is with Pilbar, not these beasts.

Another thought came as he loaded dung into buckets to carry it outside, This is crap, why don't they have wheelbarrows on this farm? He smiled at the double meaning.

There was a sudden stabbing pain. The broom dropped from his fingers and he sank to his knees, his hands clutching his head. The frayen looked at him from their stalls. If it had been possible for them to have facial expressions, these would have been of concern.

A hand was shaking him. Groaning, he rolled over, squinting at the light coming in through the stable door. It was Renita.

"Maker, you look bad. Can you stand, do you think? Come outside, get some fresh air. I came out to tell you there is a pot of pel waiting, it looks like you need it."

"Uhhh. My head."

"Maker! Stay there, I'll fetch help."

Soon there was a circle of servants surrounding Dooclor, all giving conflicting advice.

"Quiet there!" Possen fixed the others with a glare. "Can't you see he has a bad headache? Bring him out into the yard, and gently. Renita, fetch out that pel you had ready for him."

Willing hands carried him out into the yard and propped him against the side of the stable, all the while grumbling under their breaths about the stink and the mess on his clothes - and their hands, now. Renita gently brought a mug to his lips.

"There, now, drink this. Careful, it's hot."

After a few moments Dooclor recovered enough to take the mug and drink on his own. Most of the kitchen servants drifted back to the main house.

"It feels terrible," Dooclor explained to Renita. "It's like something is trying to tear my head in two, and then it just snaps back together again. What's the matter with me? Am I doomed to be like this the rest of my life?"

"I couldn't say," Renita said. "Perhaps it's one of those ailments that has to become worse before it gets better."

"Oh, I hope not. I don't think I could survive if this gets any worse than it is right now."

"We'll look after you," Renita said confidently, while knowing nothing of the sort. "Those of Yod did this to you and it is they who will pay. Say," she added, "didn't you say that you had some kind of strange thought just before your headaches? Do you remember what it was this time?"

"I do. I thought it was silly to carry the dung out in buckets when a wheelbarrow would make the job much easier."

Dooclor braced for the inevitable stab of pain but none came.

"Huh. I thought of it again and nothing happened. I wonder why that is?"

"What's a wheelbarrow?"

"Why, a..." Dooclor frowned. Didn't they know what wheelbarrows were in this odd place? Why not? "Let's see. Imagine a wooden box about so big. At one end you have two handles sticking out so that you can lift it -"

"Why have handles at one end and not the other?"

"- That's what I was coming to. The other end you don't have handles but a wheel. That means that you're not lifting the whole weight off the ground, just supporting it and directing where you want it to go. When you get to the dung-heap, for example, you just lift the handles up in the air and tip the dung out."

"What a strange idea! Do they have these wheel whatsits where you come from, then?"

"Where I come from? I don't know where I come from. Why... how do you know I'm not from that city - Joth, you call it?"

"Because your accent is funny, that's why. That and the fact that hair your color isn't often seen in the Valley, so you must be a foreigner, I mean a traveler, perhaps someone who just happened to be in Joth when the invaders came."

"Oh."

Dooclor considered this information. He hadn't noticed the accent, but then people never thought their own voice had an accent, did they? It was always other people. The hair, now - he reached up and pulled the end of his hair round so he could see the color properly. Yellow, certainly, but now he thought of it most of the staff at this house had hair that was darker in color. So what of it?

"That's another thing," Renita added. "Your hair's somewhat long so I am guessing it has been a while since you last had it cut. That's another reason we thought you might be a traveler."

"It is a bit long, isn't it? I've noticed that it takes longer to clean myself up." Headache forgotten, Dooclor looked at Renita. "Do you think I ought to have it cut? It might make working a little easier."

"Maybe," Renita said, pointing out, "When they come to take you for the levies you'll need your hair much shorter anyway. I deem you wouldn't get all that under a helmet."

"I'll get it cut, then. Can somebody here do that for me?"

"Aye, I'll ask Loren to arrange it."

* * *

"There, now. Isn't that better?"

The woman who had cut his hair handed him a well-polished oval of metal. He held it up to his face, looking at the hair. It was strange, after all this time, to feel the air on his neck but it seemed to feel right somehow. His ears were exposed and that felt strange, too, though he could not have said why.

The face was that of a stranger. A broad forehead over a strong, straight nose. Two eyes of dark gray/blue stared back at him. The chin was firm and square, though for some reason indistinct. Automatically he put a hand up to feel.

"You have a good growth of fuzz there," the woman who had done the barbering said. "Must be some days since you last shaved, probably before they came and threw you out of the city. Would you like me to shave you, seeing as you're here?"

She made the word they sound like a swearword.

Dooclor felt around his face, noticing the stubble around his chin, jawline and under his nose, where it was thicker and stiffer.

"If you please," he said.

She smiled back at him. "I don't think you usually wear a beard, do you? If you did, it would be longer and thicker, I deem. Let me clear that off and we'll see what you look like." As she made lather in a bowl she remarked, "You're lucky, having hair that color. Most of the men have dark hair and it shows on their faces right away. Now, hold still while I put this on you."

The shaving took little time but Dooclor could feel the difference immediately. He resolved to have his face shaved again in the future, if it could feel this good. Somehow the soft skin felt right.

"My, you are handsome under all that hair, aren't you?" The woman smiled at him. "I can see why Renita has taken a shine to you."

"She has?"

"Indeed, my good fellow. Now don't go upsetting her, you hear? Do right by her and she'll do right by you."

"I will. Uh, thank you for the hair cut... and the shave."

* * *

The morning's scare meant that Dooclor was given light kitchen duties following lunch. He was to tend the joints roasting on the spit in front of the huge fireplace. There was a long-handled ladle, to lift up the juices from the drip tray and pour them over the meat while not roasting himself at the same time. Dooclor looked at the joints as he turned them and was puzzled. The shape of the meat and bones just seemed wrong, somehow. There was a faint memory of other joints, other animals roasting on spits, but this time over open pits or fires built in... oil drums. Huh?

The stabbing pains came again but Dooclor resisted them, attempting to concentrate on his task instead. However, the task was a simple one and that left a lot of time for reflection. The impression of a dream, a nightmare, increased all the time and he didn't have the faintest idea why, there was only the increasing conviction that things would shortly come to a head.

Since the kitchen was hot and steamy and Possen was no tyrant, he permitted the kitchen staff to take a short break for a drink and to stretch themselves from whatever task they had been doing. Dooclor took his turn, receiving another mug of pel from Renita as they took seats at the servants' dining table.

"More headaches?"

"Not this afternoon... not anything I could call a headache, no. But everything is feeling stranger and stranger, if you know what I mean. It's like when you wake up and you're not sure if you're still asleep or not." He hesitated. "The kitchen begins to look odd to my eyes... old-fashioned, if that makes sense. I keep thinking it should all be all metal surfaces and white tiled walls. The light could be a lot brighter, too."

"Metal surfaces? In a kitchen? Where on Anmar did you live before, Dooclor? In an armory?"

"Anmar? What's that?"

Renita was beginning to become worried, now. "Where we are is Anmar, Dooclor. Here is Anmar. The world is Anmar."

"No, that's not... Oh, shit."

Dooclor put his hands to his suddenly pounding head, but before he could make contact the light faded and he slumped off the bench onto the floor. Renita immediately called for help and others came running.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, Master Possen. It seemed really bad this time. He talked as though he didn't even know what world he was on."

It was just at that moment that the two healers came into the servants' dining hall and the onlookers parted to give them room.

"See, Vannet? He's still having the seizures. I'm hoping that the new preparation will help him."

"Aye, Junis. Is this what happens every time?"

"I don't know, I usually find out about them afterwards." Junis turned to the servants. "How long has he been like this?"

"Mistress, he collapsed barely twenty breaths ago, just before you entered," Renita replied. "He spoke of some strange things and that may have triggered it."

Vannet had knelt down to check pulse and breathing and now she looked up.

"He's still alive and his pulse is strong. Let's move him somewhere comfortable out of everybody's way."

Some time later the man revived enough to find two faces looking down at him. Things were still hazy and he supposed he had had some kind of fainting fit.

"You're awake!" one said. "Take it easy, you've had a bad experience."

"Here," the other said, "Have a drink, that may help."

A mug was thrust in his face and he took it with numb hands, the woman guiding the vessel to his mouth to help him drink. The warm fluid tasted unusual but very refreshing, so he drank some more before looking up at the two women.

"Thank you. What happened?"

His voice sounded odd, like a stranger speaking from a distance.

"We were hoping you could tell us that," one said. "You had another seizure. How's your memory? Do you remember anything now?"

The man's brow furrowed. "Yes, I think I do. Some of it, anyway."

"So," asked the other, "do you remember your name now?"

"Why yes, my name is Marilyn. Marilyn Baker," he replied, realizing that some memories had returned.

"Maralin? An unusual name for Joth, but then we already knew you must have been a traveler. Do you remember where you came from? Where did you live before you came to Joth?"

Still partly befuddled, the man smiled. "That one's easy. I'm from Chicago, Illinois."

Junis frowned. She didn't know anything much about lands beyond the Valley and she was hazy about the details of the more distant ones within the Valley.

"I don't know this Shi-car-go or Illy-noy. You must come from the far south, I deem."

The man pushed himself up to sitting and propped himself against the wall. As the woman spoke, things began to crystallize out, like a fog beginning to clear in the morning sun.

The far south? Where am I now, then? I knew Canada was different than the US, but surely it can't be that different!

Startled by that thought, he looked down and received an unwelcome jolt. The body looked all right for a man... but not for the body that Marilyn Baker had considered hers. He raised his arms and examined his hands, with sight that was now clearer and sharper than ever before, seeing the large, strong hands of a male of the species attached to muscular arms bristling with fair hairs. The shock was immense.

Oh, sweet Mother of God, no! I'm a man!

Maralin tries to make sense of the bizarre situation he finds himself in: a new body, one he would rather not have, and a new world where everything is strange and different.

Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2014 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

---

24th day of Bretherin, Year 1174 since the Great Flood, continued

Oh, sweet Mother of God, no! I'm a man!

The reaction was immediate and visceral. He doubled up, his stomach trying to empty itself of its contents, mostly without success.

"Quick! Grab him, in case he hurts himself!"

Junis and Vannet each grabbed an arm and pushed Marilyn back down against the wall.

Grab him. In case he hurts himself.

It was almost too much to bear.

"Here, drink this."

It was the same mug, filled with a drink he now recognized as 'pel', whatever that was. The brew settled his stomach immediately, although his brain was still outraged. The hands that held the mug were his and the mouth that swallowed the drink was his and it was all too much to take in at once.

The Healers began cleaning up the little he had brought back. Everybody else in the room clustered round, which added to the surreal circumstances. The people were strangely dressed, as though for a film or a re-enactment meeting. The women were clothed in what appeared to be long-sleeved woolen dresses, their legs which showed from mid-calf covered in thick, crudely knitted stockings. The men wore short tunics which barely came down to crotch level, their legs being encased in thick tights. Their bodies looked distorted, as if they were all too small, although correctly proportioned.

"What is this place?" he asked, hoarsely. "Where am I?"

"You're in Falden's mansion, on the edge of Galdarin, don't you remember?" This was a man dressed in a tunic of blue and white panels. "We found you on the way out of Joth, somebody had whacked you on the head."

"Yes, yes, I remember all that," Marilyn said. "But, where are we? What is Joth and where is it? I remember -"

Marilyn stopped abruptly. She, he, remembered, all right. Only thing was, knowledge could be dangerous, even here, wherever here was. She had learned to keep her mouth shut, back in Chicago. Saying anything at all could get her another beating - or worse. After a heartbeat she, he, decided on a policy.

Everything is clear as crystal, except for where I am now. I know who I am, rather I know who I was. But what is this place? Who, what am I now?

He removed a hand from the mug and looked at it afresh. It was definitely the hand of a man. There was a mystery here and the wrong word could be dangerous - assuming he wasn't already in danger.

Best pretend that not all my memory has come back, I think. Not until I can figure out what has happened.

I appear to be a man! Since I'm not a man, perhaps I'm insane. Perhaps that bastard has finally driven me out of my mind, God knows he's made enough attempts to do it.

Perhaps I'm in a funny farm, and all this is a dream caused by all the crap they're pumping into me.

Don't be stupid. He wouldn't bother with a funny farm, he'd just dump me in some alley, that's more his style.

The Healer woman spoke, the one who had attended him previously. "You said your name was Maralin. Is that right? You are Maralin of Shicargo?"

The accent made it sound as if she said the words slightly different, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that here, in this land somehow made out of his own dreams and nightmares, the names appeared to sound normal - and acceptable. Well, so be it.

"Uh, yes, that's right."

"Do you remember much more? Do you remember how you came to Joth? What you were doing in our city?"

Maralin shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't remember much at all. Some of it comes back but..."

The Healer nodded. "I understand. With an injury like yours it can take some time for everything to come back. Sometimes you never get it all back. Do you understand? You might never know who or where you are or how you came to Joth."

Maralin nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I have my name, and that's a start."

"Good. Now, are you safe to be left with these good people?" Junis stood and turned to Possen. "I think you'd better let him rest for the remainder of the day, he's had a considerable shock and there may be some remaining pain. I think the worst of it is over, though. Tomorrow, let him work in the kitchen, but make sure he doesn't fall or injure himself on anything."

Possen bowed. "As you wish, Mistress Junis."

"I'll come back the day after tomorrow and check on his progress. I have a call to make on Mistress Rathinda in any event. If there is any trouble before I return, you know where to find me."

"As you say, Mistress Junis."

Maralin was given a chair in the kitchen and left to watch the others work. Possen thought it was too soon to even give him anything trivial to do so all he could do was sit and watch. And think. There was a bustle in the room to get the food ready for the evening meal, made worse by the unexpected interruption. He watched with interest as the women, boys and girls peeled and chopped, cut and carved, boiled, stewed and roasted ready for their masters and mistresses to eat.

It's like I've gone back two hundred years, he thought. This is a kitchen from a frontier town, a Puritan camp or something like. Only... that carcase had six legs before they chopped it up and what were those weird bat-like things hanging up? And I don't recognize any of those vegetables. I can't think of anywhere that does all this kind of nonsense for real. I must be out of my mind.

Perhaps I'm in some Emergency Room in a coma?

Madness, madness. How can I possibly be a man? How can I possibly be one of those evil creatures? Am I being somehow punished for what I did on Earth? Is this some kind of purgatory?

One hand came up to his chest, finding only flat, firm muscle instead of soft, mobile flesh.

Gone. They're gone. I'm not me any more. But I'm me, how can I be me and not-me at the same time?

His eyes flicked down to the top of his legs, seeing thighs that were certainly not female in proportion. He shied away from what might be between those legs, putting off that inevitable examination for later - much later, if at all possible.

His mouth was dry. He searched the kitchen for Renita and waved to attract her attention, afraid to raise the soft, tenor voice he had used without thinking the past few days. When she saw and came, he kept the volume low.

"Can I have some water, please? My throat's dry."

"Of course! Poor thing, sitting like that in a hot kitchen, of course you're dry. Why don't you come through to the dining hall and we'll sit together with a drink. I'm sure Possen will allow me a few moments to attend you."

She came with two mugs of water and he stood, noticing with surprise that he was taller than most of the women and as tall as the men. The lintel of the doorway suddenly seemed lower as he walked through into the cooler room where the servants ate. They took facing seats and he gratefully took a sip from the mug Renita gave him. She cocked her head to one side.

"There's something troubling you," she said. "Something bad, I deem. Is it anything I can help with? Are you in some kind of trouble? You're not running from the Watch, are you?"

Maralin shook his head. "No, I'm not running from anybody, at least not that I remember." Though I'm glad to be away from Benny. "What is the 'Watch'? I don't know what you mean by that."

Renita looked at him with sympathy. "Poor thing, you still haven't all your wits about you, have you? The Watch is the Law in our towns and cities. They are men who go round and find the lawbreakers, the thieves, murderers and drunks, bring them in to be judged by our Lord or the local Justice."

"So you mean it's like the -" Police. No, I'd better not say anything since that might prove I have all my memory back. "Uh, I don't know," he finished lamely. "I thought I had the idea but it's gone now."

Renita leaned across and patted his free hand.

"There, there," she said. "Don't worry, I think you're on the mend now. You have your name back, and where you came from, and that's a good start. It can only be a matter of time before the rest of your memories return."

Why is she behaving like this? Men are the enemy! She sees a man in front of her, why isn't she wary? This is all so weird.

"If you say so. But... I still don't know where I am. The names of places all sound so strange and this house is nothing like I would expect to find."

Renita shrugged. "You must come from far away, then. I don't know much about far away places but I have heard they dress different and their houses are made different. Here, we have to do things the way we do because of the rains, you see. Every year the river floods and sometimes the water reaches the houses. Here in Galdarin we're raised up a little so that doesn't happen but it did in the village I was born in."

"River? What river?"

"The Sirrel, of course. That's the great river that flows through the Great Valley. Why? Did you think you knew the name?"

"Uh, no, but I think I remember hearing of rivers that do flood every year." Maralin shook his head. "The name doesn't sound like any I recognize, though."

"That's a shame. Perhaps they use different names than we do where you come from." Her eyes narrowed. "That's strange," she said slowly. "I never thought of it until now but you speak our tongue very well, seeing as how you come from so far away. Didn't you speak different words in Shicargo?"

"It never occurred to me that I wasn't speaking English," he said, astonished. "You're right, where I come from we do use different words. Somehow I thought that I was speaking the... tongue I grew up with."

This just proves this is all a nightmare. How can I be speaking this lingo when I've always been bad at languages? A few French and Italian words, that's all, because that was what was on the menus. You can't take food orders if you don't know what anything is called.

How can I get a bang on the head and suddenly learn a new language? ...and turn up in some medieval mansion in a country I've never heard of?

The pressure was beginning to build in his forehead and he rubbed it with a hand. Renita's expression was one of concern.

"Headache come back? Poor thing. I'll go and fetch that pot the Healer left for you, that might help."

"It's not like before. I think it's because I'm trying to take in too many things at once and it's getting confusing." There was the hint of a smile. "I'm not used to thinking this much."

"As you say. Still, I'm fetching that pot."

Renita got up and went back into the kitchen, returning with the small pot and a little spoon. With her came Possen, who looked hot and harassed.

"Ah... I wonder, I know the healers said you weren't to do anything, but you're taller than I am." He gestured to a door which Maralin remembered went into a cool pantry. "Your arms are long, might you come in here and lift down a ham for me?"

The word jarred. The sense Maralin had was ham but it clearly wasn't something that had originated from any pig.

Maybe from a different animal, but cured like a ham would be?

"If I can help," he said, rising.

He followed Possen into the storage room. The cook inspected the joints hanging from ceiling hooks, finally selecting one.

"There! That one, I deem. If you can just -"

Maralin reached up, discovering that his arms easily reached the impossible distance to the meat, lifting it enough that the loop of waxed cord which suspended it came free of the hook. He brought it down and Possen immediately took it from him.

"My thanks, Dooclor - oh! I suppose I should call you... what was it again, Renita?"

"Maralin, Maralin of Shicargo," Renita supplied.

"Ah, well, Maralin, you have my thanks. Now, if you will excuse me, this must be carved for our masters. Renita, shall you return to the kitchen? They will be demanding service very soon, I deem."

"If I may give some of this potion to Maralin first, Master Possen."

"Of course, but you are needed. Since Master Stammand and his retinue came to our house we have more mouths to feed and more food to prepare."

"I understand, Master Possen."

The potion was more of a cream than a liquid but it didn't taste too bad. Renita replaced the stopper and Maralin followed her back into the kitchen, carrying both mugs. He regained his original seat and resumed watching the frenetic scurrying of the kitchen crew as they transferred things out of pots into serving bowls, carved meats and poured gravies and sauces into jugs.

This is poorly arranged, he thought. If that table was moved nearer the window, between the range and the door, they wouldn't get in each other's way so much.

I don't dare say anything. I have no business ordering these people around and they might have good reasons for doing things the way they do.

Some unseen and unheard signal was given and certain of those in the kitchen began carrying trays of food out through the door. Possen and another man went out the back and returned carrying a number of bottles of wine, which they wiped over with a damp cloth before taking through to the mansion. There was a brief lull until the servants came back with empty serving bowls and dirty plates to begin taking out the next course. Maralin considered the unreal situation of which he appeared to be a part.

This is all so crazy but there must be some sense to it, some reason. Is this all some kind of accident, some cosmic joke? Am I being punished for standing up to Benny? Am I being punished for not standing up to Benny? Is this some kind of afterlife, or have I been reborn like those Hindus would have it?

Why the fuck am I a man? I don't want to be a man!

The response came again but he managed to blunt most of it. He sat in his chair, his body shaking with a mixture of fear and fury. Fortunately, the others in the kitchen were too preoccupied to notice him or the expressions which came and went on his face. By the time that the mansion's owner and his relatives had finished their meal and the servants were able to eat their own he had worn himself out, relying on automatic responses to get him through the meal.

"I said, do you want some beer or some wine? There's a little wine left over from their lordships' meal."

"Oh! I'm sorry, Renita, I was daydreaming, I guess."

Wine or beer? A difficult choice, and one which might mark me out if I'm not careful. In Chicago I usually drank a little wine, usually what was left over from the customers, but what does it mean if I drink wine here? Does that make me seem like someone who has airs and graces? They seem to have ranks, like in the old movies, is wine-drinking only for the upper classes? Is it even something that men do here anyway? Men like I appear to be, that is, one of the casual help in this crazy place.

Better play safe, I guess. I never drank beer before I came here but what I have drunk so far doesn't seem too bad.

"Uh, beer, I think."

"Here you are."

Renita handed him a tankard and he took a cautious sip. It wasn't very cold but that didn't seem to matter. A strong, bitter flavor with a body that promised plenty of calories.

Calories? Should I even care? Do I even know whether I would gain weight or not? I don't know squat about men's bodies, except they usually end up with beer guts, but that's from sitting around all day doing nothing but watch TV.

He took another slug and let his mouth explore the taste.

Quite a strong flavor. I can just about drink this, but it will take some getting used to. It could be very refreshing in the warmer weather.

Now, why did I think that? How do I even know there is going to be any warmer weather?

He smiled at Renita. "It's good, thank you. It tastes much stronger than what we drink at breakfast and lunch."

"What we get then is small beer, Maralin. That's just to quench your thirst without making you drunk. This is the proper drink, though I find it too strong myself." She smiled. "Master Falden allows his outdoor workers - and folk like yourself, who may only be here for a day or two - to drink strong beer in the evening when their tasks are finished for the day. It is said that it will help you to sleep at night."

"Do... folk like me drink wine? I'm not sure of your customs, you see."

She nodded. "We do, but that is usually reserved for festivals and other at-ease days in the summer months. I'll drink a little wine sometimes but I don't like the beer very much. Of course, the wine we are usually given is nothing like that the master drinks."

"I see." He nodded. "The beer will do for me, I think."

Of course, drinking beer has an inevitable result, so just as everybody was getting up to leave the table he had an urgent question.

"Uh, I have need of the bathroom, Renita."

"The bathroom?" She looked at him curiously. "What do you want to wash yourself for?"

"Uh, comfort room? John? Head? Men's room?"

One of the other men turned and said, "Did you mean the privy? I can show you the way. Come."

He followed the man outside and quickly recognized where he was being taken.

"Oh, of course. Thank you, my memory is still bad and I forgot the word."

"As you say, Maralin."

The man gestured to the door and he rushed in. Knowing that the installation was just a hole in the floor, he pulled his leggings down, turned and squatted. Remembering what had happened on previous occasions, he used a hand to make sure that the urine would come out in a suitable direction.

Wait, what? I don't have to do this any more, do I? If I'm a man now, I can do this bit standing up.

That will be strange, but men do it all the time so it shouldn't be difficult to learn.

Finishing, he wiped with some of the provided wool clippings, rose and pulled his leggings back up.

Cross that one when I come to it, he decided. I don't really want to think about what's down there, at least not yet.

Another thought came then, one that should have made itself known earlier.

These are the same clothes I had on back in the apartment!

He pulled up the tunic hem, exposing the nightdress underneath.

I'm wearing what I would be around the apartment, right down to my old nightdress. Why would that be? Is that part of the dream? Is that what I was wearing when Benny did whatever he did to me?

Shaking his head, he adjusted his clothing and left the small outbuilding.

Later, lying in the animal bedding above the stables, he was furiously thinking. Beside him, Ferrond was snoring. It seemed the... soldier? bodyguard? security man? - Maralin didn't know what - could fall asleep almost anywhere and any time. He wondered what the uniform the other man wore signified.

There seemed to be a strange hierarchy in this place and he understood none of it, which made the whole situation very threatening. There was some kind of war, and he was known to be a foreigner, so that wasn't good to begin with. Then there was the whole language business. What was that about? It had a good side, in that he could understand these people and hold a conversation with them, but like any visitor to another country the language wasn't everything. There were always assumptions, assumptions that could result in some very unpleasant results if extreme care wasn't taken. Like that screw-up with the bathroom, although that was just a case of remembering the right name.

Then there was the whole body thing. It was that which caused him most concern. He shuddered.

Why in heaven's name did I have to be a man? Being tossed wherever this might be is bad enough, but why me and why make me something I detest?

It is the surest sign that none of this is real and that I am either crazy or off my head on some kind of drugs.

I wonder if Benny found something new to try out on me?

Hey! I don't appear to be addicted to anything here, do I? Trust me to find an upside.

I don't want to be a man!

~o~O~o~

25th day of Bretherin, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

Firm hands held him down by the shoulders. He struggled, but it was impossible to rise.

"Easy, there! Easy."

Maralin relaxed and opened his eyes. There was the faint glimmer of daylight and he was lying on the bedding in the hayloft. Over him, Ferrond loomed, now lifting his hands from Maralin's shoulders.

"You were having a nightmare," the other explained. "It was getting rather violent. Apologies for man-handling you, but there's not a lot of room in here and you were smacking me on the arm with your fists."

"Uh." Maralin raised his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. "Uh," he said again. "Sorry. Did I hurt you? Did I say anything?"

"No real damage. Aye, you spoke, though it was in your own tongue, I deem. Twice during the night you talked also, though you did not strike out those times." Ferrond hesitated. "It might be none of my business, but... who is Benny? Is she your wife?"

"No, she's not..."

...a woman.

What kind of crazy fucked-up world is this where Marilyn is a man's name and Benny is a woman's? I must be off my head!

"...my wife," Maralin finished. "Why? Did I say... uh, her name, then?"

"Aye," Ferrond replied, nodding. "Several times. Like I say, I don't know what you were talking about but it sounded like you were afraid of this Benny, whoever she was. She sounds a bad sort, all right. I've never met a woman that bad though I've heard from some of the other men that such exist. How is it you were not master of her?"

"It's... complicated."

How do I tell this man that Benny picked me out of a promising career and threw me into the gutter? How do I tell him that he degraded me so much I had no will left? That he beat me whenever he was drunk or high and that meant almost all day every day. How do I tell him I ended up a drudge who was virtually a prisoner in Benny's apartment - if you can call it that - afraid to even go down to the mailbox every day?

I can't, because that would involve too much explanation and I can't afford that right now. I'm just going to have to fake something up, but that shouldn't be a problem since this whole world is fake anyhow.

Maralin sighed. "It's... a long time in my past. I was abused when I was younger. That's all I'm going to say about it now."

"You're sure? Benny isn't the one who hit you over the head, for example? If she was in Joth and the invaders threw her out, then maybe she's with another batch of refugees. I'm assuming you don't wish to meet her again?"

Don't wish to meet Benny again? You got that damn right!

"No, no," Maralin denied. "She's from a few years back. From when I came from... wherever I came from."

"Oh, Shicargo, you mean?" Ferrond nodded. "Aye, that would be a good reason for leaving, I deem! Look, now we're both awake, I think I'll go and empty out some beer, if you know what I mean. It's early, I can get to the privy before the rest of the household wakes up."

Ferrond clambered down the ladder into the stables and his footsteps faded across the cobbled courtyard.

Jesus! It's bad enough I'm talking in my sleep now. Thank the Lord that nobody can understand me! I can't afford that kind of explanation now. Just keep my head down and try and get along until I can figure out if there's anything I can do.

How is it I can have a nightmare inside of a nightmare? This whole trip is getting weirder and weirder.

A stray thought came.

If Benny is in Chicago and I'm here, wherever here is, then maybe staying here is preferable to going back? Assuming the drugs wear off and I do go back? Do I even have a choice what happens?

This is impossible!

Sensing that Ferrond's absence might be a good time to do a little exploring, Maralin began using his hands to investigate his 'new' body. His hands and arms were already familiar to him, now he realized that the shoulders were huge compared to the old body back in Chicago. The waist seemed about the same, but the chest that tapered from armpit to waist was solid with no spare fat at all. It seemed to be longer, as well. Below the waist came the biggest discrepancy, there was no width at all to the hips from which strong, parallel thighs descended.

No hips at all! Yeah, okay, there are hips but they are so tiny I'm wondering how men stop from falling over, if their legs are that close together.

A hand went down to the soft parts between the legs.

I'd better leave those alone until I get to the privy, I think.

Eew! I'm still wearing the same clothes I wore a week ago! The only thing that's been washed is my nightdress, which now seems to have become an undershirt. God! How do people ever put up with it?

Yuck. I'm stuck in the middle ages and I guess people don't know any better. Perhaps I'm better off as a man? Ooh. That means I won't have to...

That's impossible! Why did I have to be a man? I don't want to be a man!

Maralin let his head fall back to the hay, frustrated. It seemed that his revulsion at being a man battled seductive suggestions that there might be advantages to his new situation, advantages he certainly didn't want to know about in case they won out.

Marilyn had hated and feared men and with good reason. Every single one she had ever met, including her father, had treated her like dirt or worse but she had early recognized her complete inability to do anything about it. They were men, and men could do what they liked. Oh, theoretically, there were men who treated women right but she had never met any of that fabled band. Perhaps they were just fantasy creatures made up by TV executives to lull women viewers into a false sense of security, to give them hope that their situation might some day change. Fat chance!

Now here she, he, was, living out what must definitely be some kind of fruitcake fantasy. How could any of this possibly be real? Was it possible to shut one's eyes, to will oneself awake, out of this nightmare?

The bigger question was, did she want to?

Maralin hugged himself, feeling his arms against his chest and hating that they supported nothing but themselves. Groaning, he rolled over into the space left by Ferrond rising and realized that the day was advancing rapidly. He decided to rise and get to the privy before a line formed.

By the time he reached the door of the privy he found that Ferrond had finished and gone somewhere, probably into the servant's hall to find food. He shut himself in and pulled the leggings down.

These barely fit my new shape, he thought. It is lucky they are such a stretchy material. Pity about all the holes, though. Now, how do I do this?

He held his penis with thumb and forefinger and pointed. It took some thought to start the flow coming but when it did he found he could aim it accurately into the hole. At the end it dribbled to a stop and he shook the drips off without thinking. He looked around for the bucket of clippings.

Do I need these? I don't think men wipe, do they?

Who knows? I have no idea what goes on in a mens' room. Okay, I know they don't do makeup or any of that shit and they don't talk much but that's all. Why would I ever have had any need to know?

After some more shaking he decided to try without. After all, his clothes had already been worn for days, so a little more urine wouldn't make them any more fragrant, not that anyone would notice, anyhow.

But it still irked him that he couldn't wear clean clothes each day.

Now, about this little thing.

Marilyn had seen Benny's penis when both small and large but having the same thing yourself was something different. It seemed much smaller than he expected and very soft and flabby.

Now how the devil does one get it to go stiff? I have no idea. Not that I'm ever ever ever likely to use this thing on another woman.

And then there's these things.

He felt the skin bag which held his testicles, feeling them slide about inside as he probed.

Weird. They don't appear to be very sensitive, though.

On an impulse he grabbed penis and testicles in a fist and immediately regretted it.

Holy shit! Mother of God, that hurts. Oh, if I'd have known that kicking Benny in the balls would make him feel pain like this, I'd have done it every time he ever came near me.

Assuming I could ever work up the guts to do it, of course.

Fortunately the pain subsided quickly and he began to pull up the leggings, just as somebody tried the latch to the privy.

"Just a moment! I'll be right out."

It was Pilbar.

"Good morning, Maralin. I'm pleased to see you about so early. How's the head?"

"My head's all right but I was told I had nightmares last night. Apparently I was hitting Ferrond in my sleep."

Pilbar grinned. "He's a warrior, he knows how to take care of himself. Now, if you'll excuse me - If you go in the kitchen there's an early pot of pel on."

"Thank you, Pilbar."

Maralin traded places with Pilbar and stared at the lightening sky.

This place is really peculiar. Even the sun goes over back to front!

He turned and looked into the still-dark portion of the sky, receiving another surprise.

Huh. That makes about as much sense as anything else in this crazy place. I mean, two moons? Come on!

The door to the servants' hall opened and Renita stepped out, seeing him immediately.

"Ah! Maralin! Good morning. Do you wait for the privy?"

"No, I've just been, thank you. Pilbar's in there."

She gestured at the door behind her. "Go in there, there's pel waiting." She walked toward him and asked, "How are you feeling? Any more headaches?"

Maralin shrugged. "Don't think so. Ferrond says I had nightmares and started thrashing about." He managed a small smile. "No permanent damage done - to either of us."

She reached him and looked up and down at him, pursing her lips.

"You've been wearing the same things ever since you came out of the city, haven't you? Those leggings have seen better days." She wrinkled her nose. "Shoveling frayen dung probably hasn't helped. Tell you what, I'll ask Loren if we can find you some fresh clothes to wear while I or one of the other girls cleans what you have on and gets them repaired. What do you say?"

"Well, thank you, but won't I be getting the new clothes dirty as well?"

"Aye, but Mistress Junis said that you're to help in the kitchens for a day or two until she knows that you are getting better. With an apron on, you shouldn't get too much on whatever you wear."

"That's true." Maralin nodded. "I'll go over to the hall, then, and have some pel. It's a bit cold standing out here."

The first couple of hours - no, bells they called them here, he remembered - were frustrating for Maralin. If he thought at all about his new body shape, and how it must work, he was all over the place, stumbling, knocking doors, letting things fall out of his grip, but if he forgot and just concentrated on whatever his immediate task was it all seemed to flow smoothly.

It must be like breathing. I do it all the time but when I try to breathe consciously it's different. If I don't think about it everything just works okay. I guess I just have to let this body do what it knows to do and not think about how it is doing it.

Especially if I'm chopping things up! I don't want to lose a finger or two.

There had been morning chores to do, stirring the great cauldron of grain porridge, fetching and carrying wheels of hard cheese, washing dirty plates, knives and spoons, and mostly these had been without incident. There had been spills but Possen had put those down to his alleged head injury and not shouted at Maralin the way he had shouted at the other kitchen staff when they did something similar. Preparations for lunch began and Maralin was slicing a loaf which had come out of the oven a bell previously.

"You have skill with a knife, Maralin," Possen remarked. "Did I hear you say you had knowledge of kitchen work?"

"I do, sir," Maralin said cautiously. "But the kitchens I once worked in, a long time ago in Shicargo, they weren't like this place. I mean, they were set up different and all the meat, the vegetables and fruit were all different as well."

Possen hesitated and then said, "If you have any kind of experience, I would not let it pass by, not now. As you know, we have extra mouths to feed," he grinned, "including your own, and your help would be welcomed."

"Well, I don't know, sir. I mean, I would like to help, but I don't know the meats or the vegetables. I wouldn't want to burn anything or cook something wrong."

Possen flicked a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't concern yourself about that, my lad. I'll tell you what you have to do, or one of the others will. I know your memory still has gaps, so if you need something naming, or you want to know how something is prepared you have but to ask."

Maralin felt his face grow warm. "Thank you, sir. What do you want me to do next?"

"Finish slicing those two loaves for our lunch and then Grif has brought a dish of fruits from the store. He'll show you how to peel and segment them and then -"

* * *

Just before lunch a woman came from the main part of the mansion with an armful of clothes. She spotted Renita and the two held a conversation, Renita pointing at Maralin. Finally she had a word with Possen, who beckoned him over to join them.

"Master Falden has graciously consented to providing you with some more clothes," he explained. "It is not seemly that you continue to wear the same clothes every day, especially as they have become dirty and worn. Take these things, Maralin, go into the store-room there and try them on. You have time to do that before we must needs take things through for the Master's lunch."

"I should bathe..."

"Not now, there is no time. Go!"

Inside the store-room Maralin gratefully shucked off the clothes he had been wearing for four days straight and heaped them on the floor. The bundle he had been given included an undershirt, a tunic, tights, a pair of soft house shoes and a narrow length of cloth the others called a 'sash'. The undershirt was of some very closely woven material, but thick enough that it would afford more warmth than the nightdress.

The tights were less closely woven but included feet and fitted his new shape rather better than the leggings had done. In truth, the leggings, holes and all, had been too warm to wear in the hot confines of the kitchen. The tunic was short-sleeved, but again that was fine - provided he spent most of his time indoors. It was more coarsely woven but for some reason the material didn't rasp against his skin.

They always said that men don't have such sensitive skin. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

He looked down, in the dim light from the store room window, at the arm that issued from the tunic sleeve. Idly he ran a finger along the fine hair, not expecting to feel anything but being surprised by the result.

Now that is sensitive! Perhaps we had it wrong all along. I always thought body hair was like that of a cat or dog, little feeling at all. These are more like sense hairs, like a cat's whiskers perhaps.

His hand moved to his head, running his fingers through the shortened hair.

Funny, that doesn't work with head hair. Why?

Realizing that he was daydreaming, he picked up the heap of old clothes and went back into the kitchen.

"Where's that sash? You've left it behind!"

Renita went into the store room, collected the sash and brought it out. Facing him, she held out the sash.

"Lift up your arms!"

She wound the sash twice around his waist and tied it off at the left hip, like all the others, he noticed.

"There! Now you look proper. Master Possen?"

"Aye, he'll do. Give those dirty things to Binny and get some plates. The Master will be wanting his lunch!"

* * *

Through the afternoon, during the preparation of the evening meal, Maralin worked in the kitchen and became familiar with the ways of food preparation in this strange world. He learned of chizzen, freehee, gallin, koonklis, malm and vaytris, fruits and vegetables, also of brifilis, ganifilis, gavahkan, pakh and vikhanis, all meat animals, although some details were still obscure. He saw ways to prepare vegetables, roast meats, slice joints and whip cream to decorate the fruit desserts.

During this period he became aware that the detail was being absorbed but not discarded, his memory seemed to be much better than before... he came to wherever here was. There was another idea which had been bubbling away in his mind since the morning, and it surfaced when he once again had to go outside to use the privy.

Two moons... perhaps I have this all wrong. Perhaps this is like some wild plot out of one of those lame sci-fi movies, where people end up in other people's bodies.

This isn't Earth. There's no way that those six-legged... gavakhan and vikhan came from Earth. But pakh seem to be four-legged, what's that about?

So where am I? Why am I here? And why am I a man?

Pilbar emerged from the mansion and saw Maralin.

"Oh! Are you about to go in the privy?"

"I was, but you can go first if you like. It's not urgent."

"Thanks."

When Pilbar came out Maralin said to him, "My memory's still got holes in it. What are those two moons called, again?"

"Two moons? You mean three, don't you?"

"Three? I saw two this morning, that's all, and I was reminded that I'd forgotten the names. Three moons?"

"Aye, of course! The biggest is Kalikan, which goes around once a month. The next is Annis, which goes round every seven days - a week, that is - and Tiede is the smallest, it goes around three times each day. Look! There it is now."

Maralin looked and saw a speck of bright light which visibly moved against the evening sky. His bladder made any extended observation impossible. He turned to Pilbar with a wave and "thanks" and entered the privy.

This is madness. Madness!

What happens to someone when they become the thing they most fear and loathe? Armsman of Joth by Penny Lane 3: Recruit

Maralin faces his next challenge: to learn to fight with weapons his world had forgot and worse, to mix with a company of men who all think he's just like them...

Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2014 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

---

27th day of Bretherin, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

Maralin had settled down into something approaching contented domesticity. He had worked in the kitchen of Falden's mansion with the other kitchen servants, and for most purposes he was no different than any of them. He peeled, cut, sliced, poured, stirred, ladled, washed, scrubbed and dried as Possen required, just as everyone else did. And yet... there was an indefinable barrier between himself and everybody else. Some of it was because he was just a 'casual' in the kitchen, so to speak, but the women treated him differently, and the boys treated him differently, and he did not know how to deal with Renita at all.

She's not sucking up to me. She's attracted to me! She thinks I'm something I'm not, and that means I can't talk to her the way I want to talk to her. She knows nothing about me, and yet she still wants to befriend me, in a way I can't return. Don't know how to return, even if I wanted to.

Are all women so blind that they will latch on to the first man who attracts them?

Worked for me... damn you, Benny! May you rot in Hell! I should have stuck a knife in your skinny body the first chance I got, but you were a charmer at first. I didn't know how black your soul was until it was too late.

If indeed you ever had a soul at all.

"Maralin?"

"Yes, Master Possen?"

"If you would carve this joint for the Master's lunch, I can attend to this mess Grif has made. Do you remember what I told you?"

"Yes, Master Possen. It's the memory of my past which is faulty, not the memory of recent days. This joint?"

"Aye. Slice it thick as I showed you, the Master prefers it so."

As Maralin finished his task, the slices tastefully arranged on a serving plate, Ferrond came through the door from the courtyard.

"Master Possen, greetings. I have just come from the Castle. Our Captain has arrived back and bids me bring what able men I can to his muster."

"Aye, Ferrond, I expected it. Well, you'll have Maralin, that is certain, but there is no other within my kitchen who may serve, I deem. For others you must needs ask of Loren." The cook shook his head. "The Master will not like it, with so many in his house we are already sorely pressed for willing hands."

"As with every other household in Galdarin, Master Possen. Master Loren has already sent me three, we are to join the muster after lunch today." He added, "I have told Loren that, once the men are enrolled, they will receive pay as might be expected, and the household will be expected to support them through training. Master Falden will receive a billeting allowance, so not all is bad."

Possen was still unhappy. "As you say, friend. It will still leave me short a pair of able hands. Maralin has some useful experience in the kitchen."

"So I see. I'll mention that to the Captain, it might be useful to us as well."

Ferrond turned to Maralin. "Friend Maralin, you are well? Did Mistress Junis attend you this morning?"

He nodded. "Yes, Ferrond, she did, thank you. Mistress Junis said she could find no reason why I shouldn't go." Maralin was naturally apprehensive. "What will happen to us today?"

"Ah, nothing much, not today, there will not be the time. They will take your name, add you to the muster, and ask you for an oath of service, that much I know. If there is time then they may divide you into groups according to ability, or size, or age, or I don't know what." Ferrond grinned. "Sometimes the ways of the military mind are mysterious, even to me. I was just a member of Joth's Watch until the invader came." The grin faded somewhat. "It is tomorrow that the hard work begins. His Grace thinks highly of his people, he would not send you to fight without due preparation."

After lunch Maralin joined Ferrond in the courtyard along with Pilbar and two servants he did not know the names of. The five set off through the carriage entrance out to the roadway, where Maralin discovered for the first time that the mansion was situated on a wide street in a prosperous district of Galdarin. They walked in the roadway since there was almost no traffic and their pace was steady enough that Maralin had time to look around as they progressed.

The houses, prosperous mansions here, were set back from the highway and were built almost entirely of wood, with steep roofs of green-glazed tiles that overhung, giving a covered veranda to each house. In front of each building were neat gardens, although because of the season most were almost bare now. The sidewalks alongside the highway were raised a foot or so above the pavement and most had rails one side or the other to stop people falling off.

What's the deal with the sidewalks? I can't see any obvious reason for them to be that high. Is it something to do with their transport?

As they walked toward the center of town the front gardens gradually disappeared and the houses grew closer together, although still richly appointed. Taverns and small shops appeared. At an intersection Ferrond turned left and headed for a stone tower, visible above the surrounding buildings, some of which were obviously commercial here. There was road traffic here, too, and a wagon pulled out from a warehouse causing Maralin to stop dead and stare.

Jesus! That's a hippo pulling that wagon!

"What? Maralin, what's wrong?"

Maralin swallowed to hide his confusion. "Ahh, that's something I didn't remember, those... animals. Took me by surprise. I'm sorry, what are they called, again? I assume they are safe, aren't they?"

Ferrond raised an eyebrow but didn't press Maralin. He knew of the other's strange gaps in memory and merely answered the questions.

"Aye, they are called dranakh. They are safe enough, especially to their owners, but they serve at their own pleasure, not ours. They will defend themselves and their owners at need, they can be very dangerous if not respected."

Pilbar asked, frowning, "You don't remember dranakhs, Maralin? Do they not have them in Shicargo?"

Maralin shook his head. "No. I mean, no, not that I remember. Like I told you before, there are big gaps in my memory."

What other unpleasant surprises has this insane place got in store for me? I have to remember, this can't be Earth. He looked up at the sky to reassure himself of the fact, noting Tiede on its frantic backwards journey through the heavens.

The stone tower proved to be the gateway into some kind of ancient fort, the fabric of which had been repaired over and over again. Lining each wall were wooden buildings, some seeming stables, others offices or accommodation, it wasn't immediately clear which. The space between the buildings had perhaps fifty men standing around, with more arriving every minute. Ferrond led the way over to a line and the four men joined it, Maralin being last. The line inched forward, more joining it behind Maralin as time progressed.

"Name?" This was a man seated at a table.

"Pilbar, of Master Falden's household."

"Galdarin, that would be?"

"Aye, sir."

"Age?"

"Thirty, maybe thirty-one or thirty-two."

The man eyed him carefully. "Don't know the year, hey? I'll put you down as thirty. Here, you'll be number 832 in the Galdarin muster. Go stand over there."

The man handed Pilbar a small wooden disk and waved him off. The line shuffled forward.

"Name?"

"Jayn, sir, of Master Falden's household."

"Age?"

"Thirty-nine, sir."

The man eyed Jayn critically. "You're a little old for this business, aren't you? We'll take you, of course, but you might find the going hard."

"I done this before, sir. Served the Duke twelve year ago when we had that problem with pirates."

"Oh, that's different. Old hands are welcome, we need the experience. What did you carry?"

"Crossbow and spear, sir."

"Right. You'll be 833 this time, go join your fellow over there. Name?"

"Simonar, sir."

"Of where? Kalikan?" There was laughter along the line.

The man flushed. "Sorry, sir. Falden's household, just like Jayn and Pilbar."

Another long stare. "You don't seem to me a man who spends much time with weapons."

"Ah, no, sir. I'm an under-clerk to Master Falden. I have used a sword, of course, but it was many years ago."

"Hmm. If you're a clerk I might find you of some use myself. These documents are endless. What age are you?"

"Twenty-eight, sir."

"Right. Number 834, go join the others. Your name?"

Maralin's throat was dry. He felt as if he was about to be pulled into the gears of some monstrous machine, never to be spat out again. Everything he had seen or heard screamed danger.

"I said, name?"

"Uh, Maralin, sir. Maralin of Shicargo. I'm currently staying with Master Falden's household."

Maralin got the stare. "You're a foreigner? How is it that you are here, then?"

Ferrond answered for him. "Sir, I found him in a ditch, the night we were thrown out of the city. He'd been knocked on the head by those of Yod and lost his memory. We think he'd been staying in the city, but because not all his memory has come back we don't know where, with who or why."

"I see. He has been judged fit enough to join the muster?"

"Aye, sir. Healer Junis attended him."

The man looked up at Maralin. "Lost your memory, eh? Do you want to fight, get back what those of Yod did to you? You deserve some justice, if there is any in this world."

This was difficult. How could Maralin refuse and live with himself? If he stayed, safe in the kitchen - which was what he earnestly wished to do - others would think him a coward, or worse. He might even be imprisoned, or thought a spy. He wanted to find out what was going on in this nightmare place and staying in Possen's kitchen, while comforting and familiar, wouldn't help. On the other hand, joining the muster would be like jumping off a cliff with no idea what would happen.

On the other hand, this whole trip has been like jumping off a cliff. So far, there have been plenty of surprises but nothing particularly unpleasant. Except finding out I was a man. I think I need to do this.

"Sir, I don't know if I can fight. My memory - I don't want to become a liability, sir. But... justice, I'd like to help you take your city back, if I may."

"Good man. I don't suppose you remember if you have any training in arms? Sword, bow or spear?"

Maralin shook his head. "No, sir. I think I've handled nothing bigger than a kitchen knife."

The man nodded. "We'll teach you what you have to know. If you have used weapons before, it should come back to you soon enough. The muscles remember better than the mind."

Sword, bow or spear? Fat chance. I didn't even really know how to use a gun, even if I could have gotten hold of one.

"Thank you, sir."

"Polite, too. You'll go far... Maralin. Shicargo, that would be in the far south, I deem?"

"Yes, sir. That is, so I have been told."

"And your age. Remember that?"

"I guess about twenty-five, sir."

The man eyed him critically. "You sure about that? You don't look that old."

Damn! I forgot, this can't be Earth! I can't assume the years have the same number of days.

"No, sir, I'm not sure. It was just what I was told."

"Hmm. I'll put you down as twenty-two, looks more your age to me. Here, number 835, go stand over there. Next!"

After everyone had been signed in they were sorted into rough rows and faced the same way. Maralin didn't recognize the Captain who strode forward but the voice sounded faintly familiar. The officer stood on the table so that all could see them and took them through an oath to serve the Duke of Joth for the duration of the hostilities. Once that was done he put his hands on his hips and addressed them.

"I'm Captain Jarbon, late of the Joth City Watch, and I'll be in charge of the levies raised in and around Galdarin. I'm sorry to drag you out of your comfortable homes in winter but you're all aware of why that is. The men of Yod came at night and drove us out of our own city! Many of those who were sent forth had nothing but what they were sleeping in. A great injury has been done to us and we are determined to have justice.

"Men, you know what awaits us. Our city has been taken from us, stolen, and we are determined to have it back. I'll not hide from you that there will be deaths and injuries in the re-taking, you all know that from past experience. We don't like deaths or injuries, unless it is that of our foes, so we'll give you the best chance of surviving what is to come that we can. Attend your officers closely, they will make sure that you are prepared the best that we know how to do.

"This afternoon you'll be sorted into tengroups for basic training, but don't be surprised if you are moved from one tengroup to another along the way. Once you know which way is front and how to march we'll test you with weapons, find out who of you can make the best use of them. Then we'll do some basic training exercises in the fields and villages around Galdarin. Only when I deem you are fit to fight shall I send word to the Marshal that Galdarin Regiment is ready.

"Of course, should the enemy decide he wants more of Joth than just our city, then we'll have to change our plans. It was ever thus with any war. You must be prepared, and we will teach you to be prepared. That is all."

Maralin's tengroup was led by Ferrond, newly promoted to Sarjant for the duration, and included Pilbar. The other eight men he did not know. Ferrond handed out sashes in the Ducal colors of blue and white.

"Wear these at all times, men. They will show all who see that you are now the Duke's men and none shall interfere with you. They all know what you have pledged in order to re-take our city. For the present time you'll remain in those dwellings you came from, we have not the room to house all in the barracks here and I deem none of you would wish to live in a tent through winter? I thought so.

"Tomorrow we'll begin basic training but you'll also be measured up for a surcoat like mine and issued with some clothing and equipment. I see some of you don't even have knives! The surcoats will take some time to provide but by then you'll probably have had enough of marching about and be eager to try out some cold steel. I know I was! Hang on to those tally discs, they will be used to feed and clothe you. Get a thong or a cord and secure them round your neck. You can probably guess what else they might be used for.

"You should address me as Sarjant or possibly Sarje, never sir, understand? Sir is for those who think they have the brains to order this war. We at the bottom know better, of course. Understand? I said, understand?"

There was a chorus of, "Aye, Sarjant!"

"That's all for today, men. Meet back here at the second bell tomorrow, and anyone who's late gets to clean out the privies. Fall out!"

28th day of Bretherin, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

"Aw, Sarje, why do we have to do this?"

Maralin knew the voice, it was a spotty youth he had internally named The Whiner. From his clothing he was probably the son of a prosperous merchant or maybe some minor noble. Maralin hadn't had much opportunity to find out how this society worked. The Whiner questioned almost everything Ferrond had told them and it was beginning to get on everyone's nerves.

"Son, I'm doing it to keep you alive. The idea is to get you used to following orders, right? Then when you're out in the field and facing the enemy, you'll follow orders and it may save your life, understand?"

The Whiner was sulky. "No, Sarje."

Ferrond rolled his eyes. "Look, suppose somebody spots an enemy armsman aiming a crossbow at you and shouts 'Get down!'. If you isn't obeying orders you'll get given an extra hole, get my meaning? If you spends time looking around trying to find out why you were told to get down, it may be too late, see? The idea is, somebody tells you to do something, you do it and no arguing. You can find out afterwards why you're still alive."

"Yes, Sarje." The agreement was forced out.

"Now, 'bout turn! Straighten up, there!"

Maralin followed the evolutions on the courtyard like all the others. The commands and everything else were a disconcerting mixture of familiar and strange. The only experience Marilyn had of military matters was the movies and she, he, had been prepared for the basic drill. But it wasn't like boot camp on the TV at all. There was the usual amount of square bashing but the standards were appalling.

This is only the first day, he thought. Most of these, like me, have no idea what to do. Half of them can barely tell left from right. Hardly any of them are as fit as I am, except the one or two who work outside. I think. Give it a week and I may see some changes. If I'm lucky.

Part way through the morning their square bashing was interrupted by a man and a woman wearing the Duke's colors. The woman used a tape measure to find the sizes of their bodies and the man wrote it all down on a square of parchment. The woman gave Maralin a particular looking over.

"Goodman, are you wearing an undershirt?"

Maralin assumed she was addressing him. "Yes, ma'am, I am. Everything I have on has been donated, I was wearing very little when they found me."

"Found you?"

The man commented, "He's the one lost his memory. Said they found him in a ditch outside the city."

"I found him," Ferrond said. "He weren't wearing much at all, he'd probably have froze if I hadn't seen him."

"Oh," the woman said. "In that case we'll find him some warmer underwear. An undershirt with long sleeves, at the least. Some underjohns. We can do that much for him."

In addition to the measurements they were asked to stand on a sheet of canvas in their bare feet. The man drew round their feet and wrote their muster number inside each shape. When they had gone Maralin asked Ferrond why.

"You'll be getting a pair of boots out of it," the other explained. "Maybe there'll be a pair in the store that will fit, maybe they'll have to make you a new pair. If you was to carry on tramping round in those what you are wearing now there'd be no soles in a month."

"How's that, Sarje?" one of the others asked.

"Wear and tear. The issue boots will have hobnails - like mine."

Ferrond lifted his foot to show the iron nails studding his boot sole.

"Right, that's enough talk. Fenis, Joril, go get eleven of those spears from the pile over there. You need to know how to carry them properly, for bells at a time. You know how to count to eleven, I trust?"

"Aye, Sarje!"

* * *

"You look worn out!" Renita was concerned when Maralin, Ferrond and the others returned that evening, just before dinner. "What have you been doing?"

"Just marching about," Ferrond answered for them all. "I got enough of that in the Watch, of course, but these four are new to it. They'll soon toughen up, just you wait and see."

"I hope so," Simonar muttered, "I don't think I can do much more if I don't."

"That's because you haven't done anything like real work for years," Pilbar pointed out. "You'll manage, just like the Sarjant says."

"My calves are killing me," Maralin complained.

"That's because of those boots of yours," Ferrond said. "When you get fitted out properly you'll find the new boots put less strain on your legs."

"As you say. Uh, can we bathe before the evening meal?"

Ferrond shrugged. "Can do, I suppose. Might help to loosen up your leg muscles. There will be plenty of hot water, what with all the cooking. Renita, do we have time?"

"Aye, Sarjant Ferrond, if you do not tarry."

In the bath house they all stripped off. By this time Maralin had gotten over the shock of being among other male bodies, but it still disturbed him on several levels.

"Hey, Maralin! You take your clothes off as a woman does! Come to think on it, you dress that way also."

Oh shit. Busted. Force of habit there, caught me out again. Memo to self: be more careful!

"Yeah, uh... I was brought up by my mother. She didn't know any different. What's wrong with doing it that way anyway?"

"Your pardon, Maralin, I didn't realize. You might get comments if you do it that way once we're in the castle, or later. Might get bullied, or something."

"Thanks, Simonar, for the warning. I'll remember that in future."

It was difficult, after bathing, to realize that there was no opportunity to check his face and hair, no moisturizer to help keep his skin supple. The only mirror he had seen was the piece of polished metal owned by the woman who shaved him each morning. All he could do with his hair was run his hands through it as it dried and hope it looked all right.

At least it is short enough that I can wash it easily. If it was as long as I had it before it would look a real mess.

Pity I can't say the same about my face. This beard hair is relentless! It's nice and smooth every morning but by the evening meal it is all scratchy again. Almost makes me wish I could have my period back... almost.

Later, Renita looked at Maralin across the servants' dining table. Maralin, with a mug of beer in front of him and full of food, was feeling warm and sleepy.

"Is it too much for you, do you think? Is it too soon after, you know..."

"Hmm? No, I don't think so, Renita. I haven't had a single headache after that last time. I'm feeling quite fit, as it happens. This body... uh, I mean my body seems to soak up all the marching about. I'm tired, of course, who wouldn't be?"

"Oh... have you tried a sword yet?"

Ferrond answered from along the table. "No weapons yet, Renita, not until they wear the Duke's surcoats. We practised today with spears, it is true, but only how to carry them during the march."

"You'll have uniform like Ferrond, then? I do like a man in uniform." She cocked her head. "I think you'll look nice all dressed up proper."

"Thank you, Renita - I think," Maralin replied. "I just hope I don't get blood all over it."

"You'll get blood on it, Maralin," Ferrond observed. "What you have to do is make sure none of it is yours."

1st day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

It was odd. Like any woman Marilyn had been both intensely aware of her breasts and at the same time not aware of them at all. They had simply been part of her body, just like her fingers or her ears. She knew the effect that they had on men and expected it whenever she entered a room, it was just what happened when you were a woman, after all.

Now Maralin tried to come to terms with the fact that his chest was flat and nobody saw any reason to look at it at all. He missed seeing the swelling shapes at the bottom of his vision, missed folding his arms under them, missed feeling them move as he walked, stooped or sat down. To his surprise he could clearly see all of his waist, although nobody paid attention to that either. It seemed that men didn't pay that much attention to each other's bodies at all.

He was conscious of his wide shoulders and large hands and feet, but everyone else had those so nobody considered him remarkable. In fact, the whole experience of being a man was odd, the others spoke to him but it was mostly grousing about the drill or some jokey remark about each other's abilities - or lack thereof - nobody wanted to have a deep conversation about what they were doing or why. Nobody wanted to talk about their home life, who they had left behind or their children, what they had been doing when the call to action had come, or anything like that. It was like a bad topic best avoided, like somebody's death.

It could be a male thing or something to do with the way this society runs. I've heard that you don't talk about certain subjects in some countries but that's what the TV says, and we all know they have no real idea at all, they just put out what they think an American audience wants to hear.

All the same, being ignored is a new sensation for me. Given the circumstances, maybe that's for the best.

The tengroup's drill had improved, to the point that nobody turned the wrong way and collided with the rest any more, but the standard was not something he thought a Marine Drill Sergeant ever ought to see. Still, it should be enough to get them through the next few days, until the next phase of training kicked in and there were new demands on body and mind.

Some of their equipment had appeared that morning, to the amusement of several. Maralin gained some boots which seemed to fit reasonably well. They were extremely heavy, compared to most of Marilyn's footwear, but his large feet and sturdy leg muscles didn't seem to notice. A blue and white surcoat from the castle's stores made him feel like an extra out of a fifties medieval movie. There was a boiled leather cap and a belt to hang a knife and sword from, though no sword as yet. Strange strips of felt which Ferrond taught them to wind round their calves from ankle to knee.

"These'll keep the muck and brush off your legs," he explained. "When we're out in the fields, any weeds or undergrowth will rip your tights to shreds. If you ever get round to riding frayen, these'll stop your legs rubbing on the hide. Dorbin! Not like that! If you do it that way they'll just unravel."

The uniforms made a difference. Those who wore them stood straighter, marched taller, saluted better. Maralin felt it, too. It made him feel part of something at last, though he could not have said what. With the uniforms came the next stage of training, for those who wore them.

"Maralin. Tresk. Bosko. You're out of this tengroup, go off with Sarjant Panno for weapons assessment." Ferrond eyed the three approvingly. "You three are the best of this sorry lot. Now go show Panno you know what to do with cold steel."

This time Maralin was apprehensive. Marching about was one thing, actual fighting was something else. He wasn't going to be able to hide his complete inexperience of the weapons he had seen being used in the courtyard by other tengroups. Panno led the three over to join five others in another corner of the yard.

"Right, who has used any weapons before? Don't be shy, I don't want to waste my time with somebody who can use a blade. You," he pointed at Maralin. "You're the one Ferrond said had patchy memory, right?"

"Aye, Sarjant."

"I'll have to assume you don't know what you're doing, right? Doesn't mean I'm treating you like an idiot, though, not the way I saw you marching about. What about the rest of you? Any bowmen here?"

"Aye, Sarjant." Two men put up their hands.

"Good. We'll test all of you on the range but not today. Spears? Anyone can use a spear but you'll need to know how to do it properly. What about crossbows? Let's make a start there."

It seemed, to Maralin's great astonishment, that he could use a crossbow and use it well. He scored second at the target practice and was fastest when Panno held a reloading race.

Panno scratched the stubble on his face. "That's good work, Maralin. Seems you somehow remembered using a crossbow from before. Does anything come back to your mind?"

Maralin shook his head. "No, Sarje, it doesn't. At least it means I won't be completely useless when we have to fight."

What the hell? I have never ever handled anything remotely like a crossbow ever before. I can't possibly remember something that didn't happen... I liked doing it, though. It has been a long time since I felt that satisfaction in being able to get something right.

Swords were a different matter. Most of his tengroup went to the barrel and picked out practice swords, swinging them about to test them and changing them for others of perhaps better weight or balance. Maralin didn't know what to do since Marilyn had never even seen a sword in real life. Panno handed him one at random.

"Try that. How does it feel?"

Maralin tried to copy what he had seen the others do but the result was clumsy. Panno studied him critically.

"Too long or too heavy, I deem."

The Sarjant sorted through those swords left in the barrel and came up with another one. To Maralin it seemed slightly lighter but it was still awkward to hold and swing about. Panno shook his head.

"That'll have to do for now. Right, men. Some basic sword instruction, since several of you look as if you'd be more danger to yourselves than the enemy."

Sword practice exposed Maralin's worst fears. He was hopeless using a sword.

"By the Maker, Maralin, you fight a sword as a woman does!"

Maybe there's a good reason for that, Sarje.

Panno came behind him and adjusted his grip.

"Look, like this. Keep your wrist flexible, see? Then you can swing the sword easier where you want it. Angle it like this, that way you'll catch the other's blade on the flat of your own and won't blunt your edges, right? The blades'll go blunt soon enough but there's no sense helping the enemy kill you, is there?"

The afternoon wore on and progress came painfully. Maralin was bottom of the tengroup for sword use but Panno hadn't expected much better. He eyed his men, now all breathing heavily and with sweat-stained uniforms.

"I don't think you can do much more today, men. Go home, rest, get yourselves and your gear cleaned up. Just remember, when the time comes the enemy won't let you go home and come back the next morning. You'll have to learn to fight when you're tired. Tomorrow we'll try you on the longbow range and then there'll be knife work. Fall out!"

It was a long walk back to Falden's mansion and the new boots began to feel very heavy after a day of hard physical activity. Maralin was glad to get back to familiar surroundings and people. All were fussed over when they arrived, dressed in the blue-white surcoats that showed they were the Duke's men. Renita headed for Maralin.

"See? I told you that you'd look good in the colors. How do you feel?"

"Stiff and tired, Renita. Look, I want to get this gear off and have a wash, okay? Is there anything I can wear afterwards? I don't want to put these clothes on again, they're all sweaty."

"Surely, Maralin! We have robes to wear after bathing, I'll have to ask Possen if you may wear one to eat, though. I can't think he will object, since you serve the Duke now." Renita considered, then brightened. "If you do that, I can take your things and wash them for you. That way they will be fresh for you to wear tomorrow morning."

"But..."

Maralin was extremely uncomfortable having Renita run round and serve his every need. In fact, he could probably have done most of the chores himself even though he was tired and stiff.

If there was ever a man I didn't want to stick a knife in at first sight, I'd be doing for him just what Renita wants to do for me. Are women really so dumb?

What do I do? What's the custom in this place? Do I have to put up with it?

"Maralin?"

"Uh, I'm sorry, I'm not used to having so much attention. I don't want to give you extra work, Renita. You have enough to do in the kitchen as it is."

She gave Maralin a smile which worried him greatly. "It is no trouble, Maralin. Everything is cooking, there is ample time before we have to serve up. Come on, I'll get the wash-house ready for you and the others."

Ferrond said, "Maralin? You have found a good one there. Renita, your suggestion is welcome. Can you find four robes? It will do us good to sit in clean clothes for a change."

Later, Maralin shrugged into the fluffy bathrobe, tying the belt before remembering that men did it the other way. He surreptitiously checked the others before correcting his mistake. The tub had been good, if a little large. There were two, which looked like half-barrels, and each man had shared with another, though none had touched each other as they washed. He'd heard stories, but the reality was they all just wanted to get clean and soak tired limbs where possible. There was little talk and nothing that could have been considered erotic by even the strictest religious authorities on Earth.

The food was ready when they returned to the servants' hall and everybody sat down together. As on the previous evenings the four described their day at the castle to the others, to varying degrees of interest and fascination. As Renita leaned over to put down his mug of beer she rested her hand on his shoulder and he winced.

"What? Did I touch something?"

"It's only a bruise. They tried us with swords and I... I'm not very good with a sword. We practiced against one another and I kept getting hit."

"Oh, no! You should have told us! Master Possen, may I tend to Maralin?"

"Surely, Renita. If you others of the Duke need bruises tending, I'm sure the girls will oblige."

Maralin had to take his arms out of the sleeves and pull the robe down to his waist. There were intakes of breath at the purple patches, which were on his torso and arms as well as his shoulder.

"I'll get the salve," Renita muttered. "You should have said something, Maralin!"

Simonar had bruises too, but he was married and his wife tended his injuries. Renita came back with a pot of salve and smoothed some on, carefully and gently working it into the discolored skin.

"That's better, thank you," he said to Renita with a smile of appreciation. "I couldn't have done that myself. Next time I'll listen to you when you suggest something to me."

There was a wolf-whistle from the far end of the table which was met with a glare from Possen.

"Now, I'll have none of that in my hall! Maralin is a stranger here and his words were innocently intended. Leave him be, he has serious matters on his mind and he is not interested in the foolery of the kitchen."

Maralin was red-faced, but Renita had that speculative look in her eyes. If the suggestion hadn't been there before, it certainly was now. He was glad to take a turn about the courtyard with Ferrond, even though the air was cold and the night promised rain.

"Sarje?"

"Ferrond while we're here, lad. I'm not on duty now. What is it?"

"I'm not sure about all this. I mean, I think I can use a crossbow -"

"I'll not disagree with that! I was surprised myself at your skill."

"Yes. Well. Even if I get any better with a sword, I don't know if I have it in me to kill somebody when the time comes. I'm afraid I might freeze up and let everyone down."

Ferrond nodded. "Aye, lad, I know what you mean. Tell you a secret, I never killed anyone before either." Maralin looked at Ferrond with astonishment. "What did you think we did in the Watch? Break up brawls and drag drunks back to the lock-up, mostly. Chase a few thieves, now and then. I have seen the odd body, though. Men killed in street fights, drunks who fell out of upstairs windows - or off the jetties into the Sirrel. I never did it myself, though, weren't no need."

"Then, why..."

"I look at it this way, lad. When we face the enemy, I know that if I don't kill them they'll kill me, got it? It's a question of survival. Most of them haven't killed before either, I reckon. If they're conscripts like us chances are they may not even have seen a body before. They'll be as green as we'll be. That's our only chance, lad. Stick 'em before they can do it to us, I say. Use their inexperience against them. Now if it's regular troops we face, well... I just hope they give us a decent pyre, that's all. We won't last half a bell before proper men-at-arms."

In the moonlight, Maralin's face was white.

"You're not helping... Ferrond. I'd hoped for some words of encouragement."

"Don't worry about it, lad! Chances are, we won't have to do that kind of fighting anyway. They're inside the walls and we're outside, aren't we? Crossbows and longbows, that'll be the way this battle will be fought."

"I don't know about that. Eventually, we'll have to get inside the city, won't we? They aren't going to just open the gates for us."

Ferrond was silent a long while. "Aye, lad, true enough. Look, tomorrow, tell Panno you need more sword practice, and get him to give you a cuirass to practice in. Come to think of it, all the men should be wearing them by now anyhow. Hmm. I'll have a word with Captain Jarbon tomorrow..."

2nd day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

Maralin had a revelation in the night. He had these great wide shoulders, didn't he? With long arms hanging off each one. Supposing he twisted his upper body, that would give him much greater reach...

This time, he went through the barrel and tried every sword before the others got there. With the little experience he had gained the previous day and a new idea about how to stand and fight, he chose a different blade, one that was longer than those he had used before. It was lighter and had a different shaped hilt, one that felt more comfortable to his hand.

Panno raised an eyebrow. "Trying something different today, Maralin?"

"Yes, Sarje. If you would try me for a moment or two, let me get used to this sword."

"As you say."

The two faced each other and their blades met. Maralin noticed that his body was now too far away for Panno's blade to reach it, except on rare occasions. Despite holding the sword at arm's length the grip felt firm and easy. His wrists were relaxed, moving the tip easily to deflect the other's approaches. After some moments, with the others now gathered round to watch, Panno lowered his blade.

"That's a definite improvement, Maralin. Did you remember something, or what?"

Maralin's reply was simple. "I decided I didn't want to die, Sarjant. To do that, I had to learn how to hold a sword properly. That's all."

Panno nodded. "The best reason of all for learning to use a sword. All you others take note. Maralin, you'll still need practice but I deem you'll improve with time, if you keep that attitude."

"Thank you, sir."

"Sarje!"

"Uh, thank you... Sarje."

Mid-morning they were taken outside the castle proper to a nearby field which was being used for longbow practice. Even on this chill fall morning there were spectators gathering to watch the proceedings, most keeping well out of the way of wayward arrows.

Maralin couldn't, as he had expected, pull the longest and strongest of the offered bows. Although he was reasonably fit he simply didn't have the upper arm strength for such a weapon. It would have been like handing a sniper rifle to a raw recruit on Earth as his first firearm. He could, however, pull some of the lesser bows and his arrows went more or less in the right direction once the grizzled archer testing the recruits showed him how to aim, pull and release.

"Not too bad," the man nodded at Maralin after a while. "Not bad at all for someone who tells me they never held a bow before. If you keep up your practice you could make a decent bowman one day."

"Practice? How much practice are you talking about?"

"Oh, say five years or so."

"Five years? But..."

In five years, I'll either be awake or dead, I guess. I can't see this business with the city of theirs taking five years! On the other hand, the Great War was supposed to be over by Christmas...

Maralin nodded. "Thank you, sir. Uh, Sarje. I don't know how much chance I'll have to practice but I'll try."

"Good man!" The other gave an approving smile. "That's the sort of attitude Joth needs right now. Right, who's next?"

Back inside the castle Maralin mentioned cuirasses to Panno.

"You're right, Maralin. Can't think why I didn't think of it myself. It'll keep the worst of the bruises off but, mind, your arms are still bare and you don't want them to get too sore while we're practicing. Best way is, improve your sword work and you won't need body protection."

"As you say, Sarje."

By the end of the day all their kit had arrived, including a bedroll to be slung diagonally across their backs, knives, canteen equipment and the extra clothing they would need including a bulky roll of waterproofing. There was, as promised, a long-sleeved undershirt which made a big difference on a cold day, together with something that looked like knitted cycling shorts - the garment the woman had called an 'underjohn'. There was a boiled leather cuirass, to be worn under their surcoats, but Maralin thought it probably wouldn't stop very much other than a stab from close range with a knife. There were leather vambraces to cover each arm from wrist to elbow, held in place by laces that they had to help each other with.

By the time all this had been bundled up and made into a backpack, and with sword, crossbow, quiver of bolts and rectangular wooden shield added, the extra weight meant that just marching became a wearisome task. Maralin's new boots were both good and bad, the design and shape supporting his legs as Ferrond had assured him they would but the stiffness and extra weight made every step an effort.

"Right. Let's see you dressed for parade! That's good. Bosko, don't slouch! Dorbin, what on Anmar have you done with that bedroll? Never mind, I'll deal with it afterwards. Right, listen! Men, tomorrow we leave the castle for field training and tomorrow you'll leave your billets in Galdarin. Take all your gear with you tonight, it will give you practice walking around with it. When you're dismissed, go over to Tenant Bastan at the table there and show him your number. You'll be given your first pay and you can spend it how you like. Be back here tomorrow morning by the second bell - sober - or there will be trouble."

Most of the men had a waist pouch but Maralin did not, so he was forced to carry the few coins he had been given in his fist all the way back to Falden's mansion. He dumped the coins on the table in front of Renita.

"Can you look after these for me while I clean myself up, Renita? I don't have anywhere to put them."

"Surely, Maralin, but... most of the men will have spent theirs in an ale-house this evening. Do you not wish to do the same?"

"Not really. Remember, I'm a complete stranger to this whole area and the people here are the only ones I know, apart from a few at the castle. Besides, the beer here is enough for me. I don't want to have a hangover in the morning. You might as well know, we'll be leaving for field training tomorrow and I don't know when I'll be back."

Renita was disturbed. "You're going?"

"Aye, so they tell me."

Decision made, Renita swept the coins into a hand. "I'll keep them for you, Maralin. Go on, go and get yourself ready for the evening meal."

When he came back she had a small leather pouch which she fixed to his belt.

"There, that's better. You need a pouch to put small things in, I'm surprised they didn't give you one at the castle."

"All the other men already had one, I think. I don't think they considered somebody would turn up who wouldn't have one. Did you put the money in here?"

Renita blushed. "If you wish to take your coin, Maralin, I will bring it to you. I thought... you might want to leave it safe with me while you are away."

Maralin considered, then shrugged. "As you will, Renita. You know more about this business than I do."

I think I trust her enough for that. Besides, I have no idea how much I've been given or what it might be worth. Not very much, probably. Just enough for most of the recruits to get drunk tonight, I suppose. If I ever get through this I'll have to find out how this whole money system works.

Much later, in the courtyard, Maralin walked with Renita. It was obvious what Renita wanted but Maralin found it difficult to analyze his feelings.

"Renita, the other day you said you thought I had a... problem. Well, you're right. Trouble is, I'm not sure I can tell anybody about it, because if I did you'd probably never want to speak to me again. Let's just say that it might make it... difficult to have relationships with anyone." There, he'd said it.

"Oh." Her face looked up to his in the moonlight. "Is it because of the knock to your head? Or something in your past, perhaps?"

"Both. Neither. I don't know. It just affects how I look at everybody here in... Anmar."

Renita looked at him strangely. Anmar?

"It doesn't matter," she said finally. "You're going off to fight, and the only thing you need to know is that I'll be waiting here for you when you come back. I doubt not you'll have plenty of time to think about your... problem and decide what to do about it, and I'll be waiting when you return with an answer."

There it is again. How the heck do I deal with this? She wants a man but I'm not a man. Only, I am a man, here and now. The worst of it is, I feel the need to look after Renita, keep her safe from whatever threatens these people. I owe them a lot and it's time I repaid some of that.

Much though the idea irritates me, I'm beginning to like this body. At first I felt all big and clumsy but I see now how much easier it can be to do a lot of things. I've met many men who are kind and decent, not shits like Benny. Perhaps I can make a go of this. I don't like the idea of going out and killing people - at all - but it's no different than being drafted back home, is it? Let's see what the morning brings.

I can do this.

What happens to someone when they become the thing they most fear and loathe? Armsman of Joth by Penny Lane 4: Fugitive

Training moves out into the countryside between Galdarin and Joth. Maralin learns much about the art of soldiering. Then comes a shock... Maralin faces accusations of spying but there is no time for arguments - they must run and hide!

Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2014 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

---

3rd day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

When Marilyn woke that morning Ferrond had gone, as was usually the case these days. He yawned, sat up and stretched as he usually did, discovering that there was a body problem he hadn't experienced before. When he attempted to bring his legs together, there was a firm lump preventing it. Leaning back and reaching down, he found that the loose sack which had held his testicles was now a close, tight bag that felt very different. Very different, too, was the warm, firm tube of flesh which issued from above the testicles and lay tight against his belly.

That's... different. So that's what it feels like when it's erect, and I still have no idea how it is done.

Maybe I was having an erotic dream? No, that's stupid, since I wouldn't want to do... that... in any dream of mine, would I? I don't know how and I don't want to know how.

So what do I do now? I need to pee and I'm not sure I can do that with this thing sticking up this way.

Another thought came then.

Eew. Pee and sperm come out of the same orifice? Gross! Who designed this body, anyway?

He struggled to his feet and down the ladder, hoping nobody was around to see the bulge under the bottom of his tunic. Fortunately the courtyard was empty, though he could hear activity in the kitchen. The air was cold and by the time he had made it to the privy his problem had mostly gone away, though the pressure on his bladder had become more urgent. With some relief he aimed to allow a great stream to descend steaming into the hole.

I can't ask anyone about this and I'm not sure I want to anyway. What weird bodies men have!

Breakfast was different, too. Everybody knew that those who had lived and worked in the mansion, some for many years, would soon be going away into hardship and danger. The talk was low, as if nobody wanted to bring certain subjects up.

Renita had a request.

"Would you wear my favor, Maralin?"

"What? I don't know. What do you..?"

"It's nothing much, just a token. It isn't heavy and it won't get in your way."

She held up an length of cord which had been made by plaiting several lengths of different colored wool together.

"This. I want to tie it round your wrist."

Maralin stared at Renita, wondering what to do, before nodding assent.

If I refuse, I am publicly rejecting her, and that wouldn't be fair to do in front of the whole household. It would either make them unite against me or they'll make fun of Renita, when it wasn't her fault.

She came around to stand beside him and he held up his left wrist. She wound the cord loosely around it three times and then deftly plaited it into a single bracelet, one that would be too small to slip off his larger man's hand but big enough to move easily on his wrist. Her slim fingers carefully threaded the loose ends into the bracelet so there was nothing hanging.

"There," she said when she had finished. "There is only so much a woman can do to keep a man safe, but I do what I can. Return safely to us, Maralin. Return safely to me."

"Aye." There was a murmur of agreement from the others at the table. Maralin noticed for the first time that, with the exception of Ferrond, the other men also bore such bracelets.

Ferrond protested, "We're only going off for more training, Renita. We should be back in a week or ten days."

"Still, there is always a chance for accident or misunderstanding," Renita said.

Ferrond nodded but added, "I do not think you need worry, not just yet. I deem this kitchen to be more dangerous than where we are going."

Possen looked outraged at that but he understood what Ferrond was getting at. The whole of the kitchen crew came out into the courtyard to see the five set off, along with the families of the other mansion conscripts.

At the castle they were sorted into groups of twenty, each led by a Tenant and two Sarjants. Every man was inspected by the Tenant to check their equipment and the officer scowled in front of one man.

"Where are your boots? These aren't the ones you were issued!"

"They hurt my feet, Tenant. I got blisters so my Mommy told me to wear these others."

Maralin recognized the voice of The Whiner, who he had thankfully avoided during the weapons training sessions.

The Tenant stared at the youth. "You great stupid fool! I ought to make you walk home with all your gear and change into your issue boots before coming back to face a charge! Those fancy town boots won't last a week on the march! We've no time for all that nonsense now, though, we have to be leaving to get to the practice area. You'll wear what you have on your feet, you hear me, and if they fall apart it will be your problem, not mine. Understood?"

"Aye, Tenant."

"Brisk, Relban, get the men started. I'll catch up with you outside the gate."

"Sir!" Brisk, the senior Sarjant, turned. "Attend! Right turn! Ready... Standard March! Left... left... left! Wheel to the gate! Pick it up there!"

Their route took them through a different part of Galdarin and out into the country, along a straight, well-built highway. Galdarin appeared not to be a walled town. Immediately Maralin could see that the land was flat and heavily farmed. There were many cottages, sheds and barns dotting the landscape and most fields were plowed ready for the winter cold to break the clods. Here and there were stands of trees which broke the emptiness of the landscape, most now bare of leaves. One or two fields showed crops that could withstand the winter temperatures and several pastures held animals, none of which appeared familiar.

After the troop had passed two white-painted roadmarks Brisk called a halt.

"Right," he said. "Any of you have any problems? Boots hurting? Got your gear settled comfortably? I don't want you to walk fifteen or twenty marks or so and end up with skin rubbed raw. Best find out if there's a problem now before it gets that bad."

The crossbow had been banging against the back of Maralin's left leg and one of the others showed him how to hang it a different way so that didn't happen. Several of the others made kit adjustments before Brisk started them marching again. After some more of the marker stones Brisk took them right along a gravel-paved side track for some distance. Another right and they pulled into the yard of a deserted farm.

"Sarje? What happened to the people?"

"The Duke ordered them to evacuate, Sennis. We're close enough to Joth that the Duke thought better of leaving his people here."

"Joth? Where?"

Brisk jerked a thumb northwards. "There. Can't you see it? We're still four marks away, it will be safe enough here for us to use this area for training, though."

To the north, silhouetted by the sun, the walls of the city of Joth loomed in the distance.

"Right, Relban," the Tenant ordered. "Your tengroup will take the barn, Brisk will use the stables. For the moment the house is off-limits. They may have left some of their possessions inside."

The Tenant dismounted and led his frayen into the stables. Brisk shrugged and gestured his half of the men to follow.

"Aw, Sarje, why did we have to get the barn? It will get cold at night."

It was The Whiner again. Relban looked at him with exasperation. "Look, you clown, everywhere else is taken! It's the barn or nothing and like it. If you don't fancy the barn, go sleep in a ditch. We may end up doing just that in the next few days."

7th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

The two tengroups had done just that one night of the four days of training. It had been uncomfortable and miserable, made worse by early morning drizzle. By now the troops had learned not to complain, because they knew that whatever they suffered now, the next day it would only get worse.

Hygiene had been almost non-existant. Maralin's bristles were by now stiff and unpleasant to the touch. He had not removed his clothes since leaving Falden's mansion and they were sticky, sweaty and grimy. Although he could not smell it himself, he suspected that his body stank enough to keep clean people at a safe distance. His teeth felt all furred up since there had been easy no way to clean them, although one or two of the men seemed to make do with twigs from certain shrubs.

Body functions were simply conducted by squatting with your back to the water which was in the bottom of the ditch you were currently standing in. There was no privacy at all. Washing hands meant sloshing them in the ditchwater and then rubbing the worst of the dirt off using the hem of the wearer's tunic. Maralin was surprised that the whole civilization hadn't died out through disease, although he supposed it might mean that they all had some level of resistance to the local bugs.

There had been some mock skirmishes where they had been shown how to fight by themselves, in small groups and as a line of soldiers protecting each other with shield, sword and spear. There had been ambushes, patrols, advances and retreats. There had been several injuries, mostly caused by running over ploughed land without care. Falling onto a spear-shaft - while not letting go of the spear - had led to a sprained wrist that had caused one man to be sent back to the castle. Others followed.

With sentries positioned, they had camped in a small stand of trees, just enough to provide cover from the elements while a meal was prepared. Nobody quite understood how but Maralin naturally took charge of the food, handing out assignments and making sure that everything was well organized.

"This is good, Maralin!" Tenant Maxenar waved his spoon. "I didn't expect to eat a meal this tasty out in the country, especially after four days."

"Thank you, sir."

"You have experience in the kitchen, I believe?"

"Aye, sir. But it was a long time ago, and I am still not that familiar with the vegetables or meat found in Joth, sir."

"Oh, that's right, you're from the south, aren't you?" Maxenar waved his arm to encompass the Valley. "Is it different than this?"

"I don't know, sir. My memory, you see. What I remember is very patchy. I know how to do certain things but not what the names of things are or what places looked like. It's not pleasant."

"As you say." The Tenant grinned. "So long as you remember how to cook, and you can fight, I'll not worry. Good food can make all the difference, so I'm told."

Sennis commented, "Makes a difference what we can scrounge up, Tenant."

"Aye. Well, we're not thieves, but all these farms have all been abandoned so we might as well eat what food we can find or it may spoil." He frowned. "There are beasts in some of these fields. I'm not sure we can take those, since they are so valuable to the farmer. When we get back to the castle I'll mention that to the Captain. Those beasts should be tended or moved, before the real bad weather sets in."

The attack came as they were clearing the lunch things away. The sentries screamed a warning and within a few heartbeats another of the castle's training troops had plunged through the trees, attacking from two directions. The fight was short and bloodless, resulting in an honorable draw. The two Tenants drew to one side to compare notes. Since nobody really knew what they were doing they were making up doctrine as they went along.

"How is it my sentries didn't see your men?"

"I think you posted your men wrong. That one over there," the other Tenant pointed north-east, "was facing the sun and can't see very well. That one," he pointed again, south-east, "has his view blocked by the buildings of that farm. We used those as cover, then went along the ditches out of sight."

"Right. So, take a note of the sun, and place accordingly -"

"- or just get him under cover. Just standing two strides further back under the trees and his eyes would have been shaded. And he'd have been less visible."

"Aye. Well, there's nothing we can do about that, is there? We're the Duke's men, after all."

Maralin could hardly believe his ears. Here they were, facing an enemy who had managed to throw everybody out of an entire city, and they were discussing basic tactics! The fact that they were all walking round in these blue-and-white surcoats worried him greatly as well. Why not just put a target on his chest saying 'shoot me' and have done with it? Is this how these crazy people made war?

8th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

They had made a sweep over to the river and so Maralin saw the Sirrel for the first time. He had been surprised at the size of it and how fast it had flowed past the small beach they stood on.

"Is there much traffic on the river?"

"Of course, Maralin! This is the main way that goods get up and down the river, though it takes too long for normal travelers to bother with. The river winds from side to side of the Great Valley and so you spend more time going backwards and forwards instead of where you want to go."

"Aye, Maralin," another agreed, adding, "You will not see many boats during the winter months, I deem. The river can be rough, and winter storms can make it a perilous journey in any boat."

"So... you say that normal travelers don't use the river, because it takes so long. How do they travel round, then?"

"Oh, there are ferries which cut across the Sirrel from country to country," Brisk explained. "The roads are straight and usually well-kept."

"Country to country? So... is that another country over there? You don't have territory both sides of the river, then?"

"Aye. Over there is Smordan, I deem. All the land this side of the river is Joth."

Several of the men laughed and Brisk grinned at Maralin, who failed to see the joke.

"What the Sarjant means," Sennis explained, "Is that for reasons unknown Joth is an island. The Sirrel flows both sides of us, so that if you were to walk along the bank, you would return here eventually."

"Oh, I see." Maralin frowned. "So Joth is the... country, as well as the city?"

"Aye, of course." There were several nods. Sennis said, "Such is the custom in the Great Valley. Only Palarand is different, now, and that is since the river chopped it in two."

"Palarand?"

"Aye." Sennis gave a vague wave downstream. "A great kingdom at the end of the Sirrel, where it meets the sea, or so I am told."

"A boat, Sarje! Look!"

Brisk gestured. "Right, you men, let's get ourselves under cover. No sense asking for trouble. We don't know if it is some innocent trader or a boatload of Yodans looking for the Duke's men."

* * *

Their troop had been split into two tengroups and each had made their separate way west to attempt a rendezvous at a hamlet known to be abandoned. From there they would combine and work their way to rejoin the main highway back to Galdarin and the Castle. Maralin, like the others, was looking forward to a rest, a bath and a day or two off in a warm bed before beginning proper operational duties.

His half of the troop had taken the southernmost of the two selected routes and walked cautiously between the fields, clambering down to cross the ditches to move from one to another, jumping the foot of water in the bottom of each. He wondered about the number of ditches lining the fields. Were these necessary because of the river flooding? He remembered that somebody at the mansion had said that happened from time to time.

Relban called a halt outside a small farmhouse where they paused to take a drink and scrape the mud from their boots. The Whiner's boots didn't need scraping, they were beyond that level of care. The boy had wrapped sacking around his feet to try and get some warmth into them but it was all too late. Sometimes experience is the only teacher.

Approaching the rendezvous hamlet they were all alert. Those who had crossbows held them cocked and ready, but these were the men's only real means of defence. Their other weapons, spears and swords, were practice models which would give the recipient a heavy bruise but in most cases no worse an injury. Nobody had yet found a way to make a practice crossbow bolt that fired true. They cautiously crept between the dozen or so buildings, checking each as they passed.

"Nothing! Do you think we got here first, Sarje?"

Relban shrugged. "Who knows? I can't think Brisk got here first and then moved off without waiting."

"...Unless they were forced to, Sarje."

"By who, exactly? There's nobody around for marks, is there? Not with them sitting over there watching."

He jerked a thumb at the walls of Joth in the near distance.

"Very well," he continued. "Sentries. Maralin, over there. Sennis, between those two buildings. Varran..."

Having detailed out four to keep watch, Relban chose one of the cottages which made up the hamlet and moved towards it, intending to use it as a base while they waited for the others to arrive.

"Sarje," Maralin called. Relban turned. "What about that barn? Shouldn't we check it over?"

He pointed to a lone barn about a hundred paces away from the village.

Relban stopped and nodded. "As you say, Maralin. They could be holed up in there, hoping to surprise us once we've settled in. Let's just make sure, we have plenty of time."

The men gathered together and moved out from between the buildings before spreading apart. They walked slowly toward the barn, expecting Brisk and his men to burst out at any moment. What they were not expecting was for brown-clad men to rise from the ditches either side of the track, nor for the weapons some of those men aimed at them. Maralin's eyes widened.

"Guns! Look out!"

The men turned, confused. Maralin was shocked. Why weren't they scattering? Why didn't they -

Dear God. These men have no idea what a gun is! We've got to -

He screamed, "Get down!" just as the guns fired, creating a thump-thump-thump sound. Some reacted to the command, most didn't have time before they were slaughtered by a hail of shot from the primitive weapons. There was a huge cloud of smoke which obscured the enemy but brown-clad shapes came cautiously through the murk to make sure of any who had survived the shots.

Black powder, Maralin thought as he readied his crossbow with shaking hands. I thought I saw a second man holding... what was it called? Slow match, I think.

At this range he could not miss. The first figure folded as Maralin frantically cocked the weapon again and fumbled for another bolt. Two others had managed to loose shots as well and the attackers paused. Perhaps they hadn't expected much resistance at all, certainly not crossbow fire. Maralin noted that one of the other bolts had penetrated the loose tunic the enemy wore but then just hung there, indicating it hadn't gone into the flesh. Why?

No time to think, just aim and fire, but he adjusted his target at the last minute and shot his opponent in the thigh, causing him to stumble and fall. To his right there was a clash of blades as somebody tried to use a practice blade to fend off something considerably more deadly. To his left there was an ominous silence.

Oh, shit. We aren't getting out of this, are we?

Whack! Somebody brought the butt end of a spear round and caught the sword-wielder's neck, making him crumble, following the stroke up with a kick between the legs. The blue-and-white clad figure then whipped out his knife and cut the other man's throat as he fell to the ground. Sennis muttered thanks to Varran and the two moved to join Maralin, who was fitting a third bolt to his weapon.

By now the smoke was beginning to clear and he could see the center gunner readying his weapon for another blast. Maralin raised the crossbow and loosed, aiming for the man's head, but the other moved and the bolt hit his right shoulder. This was fortunate, since it meant he dropped the gun on the ground as he spun from the force of the blow. Sennis ran forward and rammed his sword through the other man's body, angling it up from the stomach. The 'assistant' who was holding the smoldering rope end turned and fled.

From Maralin's right another bolt struck one of the enemy in the upper thigh and he collapsed to the ground. This seemed to be enough to decide the others who turned and began retreating. Sennis used his sword to finish off those who remained behind and alive.

"Your sword," Maralin asked as they joined him. "I didn't think those blades would go in like that."

Sennis grinned. "Isn't mine," he said. "Got it off that bastard who was facing me. Our own swords are useless, I suggest we take those of the enemy in case they come back."

There was a muttered, "Aye." Maralin realized that the number of voices seemed few and turned around.

Five of us, that's all that is left. Jesus! We're dead lucky they ran when they did, another volley and we'd all be done for.

"Okay," he said. "Let's find any of our own who are still alive and then we'll have to get them to a place of safety, which this village obviously isn't. Who knew that the Yodans sent patrols out of the city?"

"No-one did, Maralin. We all thought they just stayed within."

Four of the others were outright dead, three so badly cut up that they could barely be named. The Whiner would whine no longer. One was so badly injured there was no hope of survival and the last had a shredded right arm. Maralin organized a torniquet for him and saw to minor wounds of the others. Seeing the damage, two of the survivors had to clear their stomachs and the rest were white-faced. By that time the badly injured man had died.

The reason for the crossbow bolt failure was discovered when they examined the enemy dead. Each wore a cuirass under his thick, coarse tunic. The loose cloth was enough to take the power out of the bolt so it bounced harmlessly off the underlying leatherwork. It would also tangle a sword thrust, which was why Sennis had chosen another method.

"Let's go," Maralin said, once they had cleaned themselves up and equipped themselves with their enemies' swords. "We'll go that way."

He pointed south. Nobody seemed to object to the fact he had taken over leadership, in truth the others were still so shocked by the confrontation that they were barely functioning at all.

"What about Brisk?" Varran asked. "Suppose they turn up and get ambushed as we did?"

Maralin looked thoughtfully at the barn, which they still had not examined.

"I think they already did, Varran. Let's go check out that barn."

Inside they found the bodies of all of the other tengroup plus Brisk and the Tenant, together with six enemy bodies.

"Ah, shit," Sennis said. "Poor bastards, walking into something they couldn't deal with."

"You're right there," Varran agreed. "Who knew about... guns..." He tailed off before turning to Maralin. "You knew about guns! Is that the word for those pipes? What are you? If you know so much about these weapons, are you of the enemy?"

"Me? No..."

Damned if I do and damned if I don't. If I hadn't said anything we'd all be dead. Get out of this one, Maralin!

"I don't know these weapons, no. We have something vaguely like them in Shicargo, that's all. I'm surprised they haven't reached this far north yet. I haven't seen anything like these men used before. I'm not a Yodan or a spy. They were trying to kill us all, weren't they?"

Varran was still suspicious. "You say your memory is bad. Perhaps that's because you remember more of Yod than of Joth, isn't that so?"

"Varran, I'd never even heard of Yod or Joth ten days ago. I really have no idea where I am or what I'm doing here. All I remember is scraps of life in Shicargo, and vague ones at that."

"He did shout at us to get down," Sennis offered. "He'd hardly do that if -"

"- He'd want to save his own skin, wouldn't he?" Varran countered. "They couldn't have known where any of their spies would be, could they? We've been marching all over the countryside for days."

One of the men who had gone outside to vomit again reappeared to gasp, "Men coming! Get out, quickly!"

The others turned to go. Sennis said, "What about all these? We can't leave them like this!"

"We have to," Maralin said. "Unless you'd like to stand around and dig graves while those men get here."

"Dig graves? What would we do that for?" Sennis asked. "Is that what they do in Shicargo, Maralin?"

Oh, no, not again! Be careful.

Another man pointed a finger. "He's not a Yodan, Varran. Those of Yod burn their dead as we do."

"Let's go!" Sennis put some urgency in his voice.

Outside the barn, Maralin asked, "Where are they?"

"There, about a mark distant was where I saw them last."

Unfortunately the finger pointed due south. The attackers had retreated east, so that left west. Nobody was going to go north if they could help it, not this close to the city.

"That way."

He pointed, and they set out in a low run, keeping close to the ground to try and avoid being seen. All now carried real swords, some still smeared with blood. By the time they next found shelter, everyone was gasping and the man with the wounded arm was having trouble keeping up because of the pain. It was an empty animal sty, just enough of a building and walls to conceal them from the enemy - provided they didn't stand up. Everyone collapsed against the flimsy plank walls and several reached for their water bottles.

Maralin peered over the top in all directions, trying to determine which would be the best way to go. From here, he could see nobody moving, but that didn't mean they weren't out there. They hadn't noticed the ambushers, after all. The gap between their present position and the next available cover seemed very exposed and he came to a decision.

"Varran."

"Aye, Maralin?"

"I need your trust. I think I can get us out of here and back to the rest of the Duke's forces. I know you have doubts but we don't have time to argue those out now."

Varran stared at Maralin a while before reluctantly nodding.

"Maybe Tresk was right. You had no idea how we dealt with dead bodies, did you?"

"No, I didn't. I still don't."

"Then I'll go along with what you say. You seem to have more experience with this than any of us, anyway. What do you want us to do?"

Me? Experience? Sitting in front of that stupid box, high as a kite, while early morning war movies played. I know nothing!

However, it seems that common sense is in short supply right now and I have most of what is left. These poor saps don't know what's hit them.

"You're not going to like it," he replied. "I want all of you to take off your surcoats."

"What? We can't do that!"

"Look," Maralin said, exasperated, "what were those men who attacked us wearing? Brown clothes with pieces of green and red rag sewn over them, right? Why? Because they didn't want to be seen out here in the countryside. What are we wearing? Surcoats that say, 'Here I am, shoot me'! If we want to get out of this alive, and I can assure you I do, then we have to make ourselves less obvious."

"But, they're our surcoats! They are what tells everyone we are the Duke's men!"

"True. Well, they're fine for a fancy parade in front of the Duke, I'll grant you that, but out here - look at you, anyway. Most of you are more mud than color."

The men stared at each other, recognizing the truth of Maralin's remarks.

"What shall we do with them?" Tresk asked. "It don't feel right abandoning them. If we meet any of our men they'll think we've deserted."

Maralin shook his head. "No, we can bundle them up in our bedrolls so they won't be visible. We'll still be wearing our sashes, so our side should recognize us. When we get back and cleaned up, we can put them on again."

They had trouble getting the surcoat off Rinko, the injured man. In the end they had to slit up the right side to free the garment. Maralin took the opportunity to do some basic first aid, cleaning the wounds with a dribble from his bottle before wrapping the arm in a donated undershirt, fashioning a sling from a strip of the bottom.

Once more they crept along the margin of the fields, keeping close to the edge of the ditch in case they were seen. Their next objective was a very small row of trees standing between two fields and they sat down the other side of it, exhausted. Ahead was more open farmland.

Sennis said, "I hate to admit it but Maralin's right. If we was wearing the Duke's colors we'd be seen marks away. At least like this we'll have a chance."

The others mumured agreement. Maralin looked around.

"Anyone familiar with this area? I have no idea where we are."

Five shakes of the head and Maralin knew they had a problem. The Tenant probably knew this area and Relban and Brisk had been chosen because of their local knowledge. All of his companions were from around Galdarin and unlikely ever to have traveled this far from their homes. All Maralin knew was, don't head toward the city. Unfortunately, that was where they were being herded, even if it was by accident.

"I'd like to go south," he muttered. "At least that direction we would eventually end up somewhere friendly. Problem is..."

"As you say," Sennis agreed. "There is this, though. If we go west, we ought to hit the highway between Joth and Galdarin."

"True, but suppose the Yodans have set ambushes along the road?" Maralin countered. "We don't know what they have planned. We have to keep to the fields and try and slip through."

Varran said, "You talk a lot of sense for someone with a bad memory who doesn't know our country. How is it you know so much about soldiering? Was you a soldier before?"

"Me? No." Maralin hesitated. The truth would be completely unbelievable to these men and there was no time for the confusion and distrust that would cause. To survive, he had to become the man they already thought he was. "Not that I remember, anyway. As you say, it's just common sense, isn't it? I'm just thinking things out logically, that's all. What is the enemy doing and why is he doing it? We can't hope to escape them unless we can use their rules against them."

Varran gave an abrupt nod. "Very well. What should we do next?"

Maralin pointed. "That way. Let's find the highway and think again when we're there. We can watch any movement before deciding what to do."

* * *

They didn't find the highway. The afternoon became overcast and the direction of the sun was difficult to determine. Whatever they tried, either the walls of Joth loomed ever nearer or they were forced to turn because they saw Yodan patrols in the distance.

"Well, at least we now know what they are doing out here," Maralin said during one rest period.

"What's that?" asked Besil, the sixth member of their little band.

"They want meat. Did you see them herding those... six-legged things away, the last time we saw them?"

"Gavakhan, that's what those are called." Sennis looked strangely at Maralin. "Your memory is really peculiar. Did you not know gavakhan? I find that very odd."

"I know them, but only cut up into joints and ready to roast," Maralin replied. "I've never seen one in a field before now and we don't have them down south. Anyway, what do you think the Yodans captured the city for in the first place? Anyone?"

They all shook their heads. Varran offered, "It's just what Yod does from time to time, especially around this part of the Valley. They invaded Ferenis some months since, I expect we're just next on the list."

"But why just the city?" Maralin persisted. "There's been no attempt to take over the whole country, is there? They wouldn't have tossed everyone out if that was the case. I think they wanted an empty city because it would have been full of supplies for the winter, right?"

There were reluctant nods.

Maralin continued, "What there wouldn't have been much of, I'm guessing, is meat animals. I don't know if you people eat frayen or... dranakh -"

Tresk said, "Dranakh, impossible! You'd never survive the killing of such a beast. Frayen, maybe. It has been known to happen if the winter has been particularly bad. What's your theory, then?"

"They come out looking for abandoned animals in the fields to keep themselves going. They know the local lords will have evacuated their people, and in a hurry. These men are doing that and just incidentally keeping the Duke's forces away from the walls at the same time."

"As you say," Sennis said. "But why take the city in the first place if they don't want the rest?"

Maralin shrugged. "That part I can't figure out. Perhaps it is just a jumping off point for some other invasion. The city is on the river, isn't it?"

"Aye. It is said that is where the invaders came from, in galleys and transports."

Maralin shrugged. "Perhaps they are waiting for more to arrive. I don't know."

Evening, and a light drizzle. The men by now were beginning to get hungry since they had eaten all the food that they had carried with them. Many of their supplies had been abandoned in haste at the site of the ambush. They found a cluster of three farmhouses to hide up in overnight, although it meant keeping constant watch for enemy patrols. They gathered in the single room of the least-decrepit building.

"What food have we found?"

"There's half a sack of flour in the back of the pantry, Maralin, though I'm not sure if it is still any good."

"We can't risk a fire anyway," Tresk objected. "They would see the smoke."

Maralin smiled. "There you are wrong, as it happens. No-one can see any smoke in this rain. For once we can make ourselves a hot meal - if we can find enough food to do it with. What else is there?"

"There is about half a wheel of cheese in the larder of the leftmost house," Sennis said. "It's been well gnawed by labris but I think we can cut off the bad parts."

Maralin didn't know what labris was but could make a reasonable guess. "Very well. What else?"

"In the other house I thought I saw some sausage on the floor. It looks as if it might have been dropped as the owners fled."

"Do you think it is edible?"

Besil shrugged. "No idea. Probably. Sausage is robust stuff. But what can you do with just flour, cheese and sausage? Bread is possible, if I knew how to make it, but that won't make a hot meal. We have no pots, either."

Maralin smiled wide. "I know just the thing. Bring me those ingredients and watch a... master at work."

There was enough dry firewood between the three farms to heat the oven and make that farmhouse toasty warm. Those who were not sentries watched as Maralin made up a basic dough on the crude table and then kneaded it, stretching it and whirling it around on his fingertips. The others, at his direction, cleaned off the dubious parts of the cheese and finely chopped what was left while Maralin thinly sliced the sausage into discs about an inch in diameter. Finally he spread the chopped cheese on the dough and layered the sausage discs over the cheese.

"This is called a pizza," he said. "It's a pity we've no tomatoes and no herbs but this will do if you're hungry enough."

He made more pizzas, one for each person, and slid them into the oven.

"These won't take long to bake," he continued, "but they will be real hot when they come out. Beware your fingers."

"What did you call these? Peet-zers?" Tresk asked.

"Aye. A specialty where I come from."

Varran asked, "You really know about cooking, then? I thought you just meant you'd spent time in a kitchen, perhaps as a boy."

"Yes, well, there was some of that as well. I did a number of jobs, most of which I'd find hard to describe here. I do know how to cook lots of things, only the meats and vegetables here are all different, like I said before."

The three men in the kitchen with Maralin were interested when the pizzas were pulled out.

"That's... different," Rinko said. "How do we eat them?"

"Traditional way is to slice them into segments with a special metal wheel, but we can use a knife instead. Then you just pick them up with your fingers and eat. Be careful! Like I said, they're hot. Once you've finished we'd better change over, let the other two come in and eat."

"I like this," Besil said, munching, "would you show us how to make these when we get back, Maralin? I think my mother might like to try this idea."

"We'll see."

With watches changed every so often, the six spent a tense night in the farmhouse, always alert for patrols. It seemed, though, that Yod didn't send out patrols at night, or perhaps it was because of the rain. When morning came they took what little food was left and slipped out into a dank misty morning.

9th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

Despite the mist the sun was just visible as a washed-out disk through the gloom. With that at their backs the party headed west and soon came upon the great ditches either side of the main highway. They walked south along the edge of the fields, alert for anyone on the road or in the fields to the east. Very soon they came upon a control post set across the highway and the blue-and-white uniforms were a welcome sight. A side road gave them access over the ditch and they approached cautiously.

"Who's there? Who are you?"

"Galdarin Regiment. We've been chased by Yod patrols."

"Come closer and keep your hands away from your weapons."

There was an intake of breath when the two groups could see each other clearly.

"You don't look like the Duke's men! Where are your colors? Why are there only six of you? Where are the rest?"

"Dead," said Varran bluntly. "Brisk and Relban and Tenant Maxenar - all dead. Some new weapon those of Yod have, cut them down like a scythe through standing grain. The only reason we survived was because he -" he indicated Maralin, "- led us to safety."

"Step forward! Oh, you have sashes, at least." The Tenant was still suspicious. "How do I know you're not of Yod yourselves?"

"They ain't," came a voice from behind him. "That's Maralin, I'd know that yellow hair anywhere. I'll vouch for him."

Maralin asked, "Pilbar? Is that you?"

"Aye, Maralin. The Captain got worried when your training group didn't come back on time. What happened?"

Maralin suddenly felt very tired. "It's a long story, and we have wounded as well. Take us back to the castle, we have a lot to explain and we're all tired, hungry and wanting a wash."

"Wounded? Maker!" The Tenant caught sight of Rinko for the first time. "Here, we have to get him to a healer as soon as we can!"

"Is there not one here?" Maralin asked.

"No, of course not. Why?"

Maralin rolled his eyes. "Never served in wartime, have you? What did you think happened when men faced each other with lethal weapons?"

The Tenant flushed. "I - Never mind. Can you walk as far as the castle? We can arrange a cart for him," he pointed at Rinko, "but not for you others. No room."

"How far is it?" asked Sennis.

"Four marks or so."

"If we may put our gear on the cart, sir, we can manage that far," Sennis said. "Maker only knows how far we walked yesterday."

The small cart, pulled by a single frayen, plodded along the deserted highway towards Galdarin, the town visible in the distance and slowly growing closer. Maralin and the others followed, accompanied by an 'escort' to ensure they didn't slip away along the route. The Tenant still had some reservations about the odd group who had appeared suddenly out of the morning mist.

"Marks," Maralin said. "The Tenant talked about marks. What are they? I know they are some kind of distance, but what?"

Sennis was used to Maralin's odd disconnects by now and simply replied, "They are the distance between two of these roadmark stones along each road, Maralin. They are supposed to be a thousand strides, though I'm not sure how many a thousand is."

Varran furrowed his brow. "It's... two hands, that's ten, now think of ten times that number, that's ten men's fingers, right? Then ten times that number again."

Tresk added, "You know when we was taught marching? A Stride is from when one foot goes down to when the same foot goes down again. About this far." He held out his hands.

About a yard or so. That means a 'Mark', whatever that is, is a thousand yards or so. Fair enough.

A crowd gathered as they re-entered the castle, but they were soon dispersed by the Tenant overseeing the activities. The cart containing Rilko was sent off to the building where the healers were while the others were taken into another to stand before Captain Jarbon.

"Is this all? Where are the rest of your tengroup?"

Maralin answered for them. "Dead, sir. All of them, and Brisk's tengroup and Tenant Maxenar. Ambushed by a Yod patrol."

Jarbon paled. "How is it you survived, then? And why are you dressed like that?"

Sennis said, "It was the only way, Captain. We would be dead as well if we hadn't taken off the colors. They made us too easy to see over open ground."

"That's right, sir," agreed Varran. "If it hadn't been for Maralin, we'd have been caught easy. The Yodans had clothes that blended in with the ground, sir, so they couldn't be seen. I think that's how Tenant Maxenar and Brisk's group were ambushed."

"A moment," Jarbon said, holding up a hand. "Let me hear your tale from the beginning. Can any of you read a map?"

"I might be able to, sir," Maralin said when the others shook their heads, "but I can't read the local script."

"I remember you," Jarbon responded. "You're the foreigner we found in a ditch, aren't you?"

"Aye, sir."

"Very well. Tell me what happened."

The five took the Captain through their days of training and their movements in the countryside. Unfortunately the map was vague, not having any of the villages or farms marked on it, and missing many of the minor roads, so the detail of their movements was rudimentary. Jarbon seemed to believe their story, which was a relief to all, but his final question made Maralin think carefully.

"These... guns, you said. You have knowledge of them?"

"Yes and no, sir," he replied after some hesitation. "In Shicargo we have weapons we call guns, but they are nothing like those we saw yesterday. I can make a guess how those worked but I'm no expert."

"Do you think that Yod can prevail, with these new weapons?"

"Maybe, maybe not, sir. It seemed to me that they might take a long while to reload. If the men know what they are facing, they can take avoiding action, just like when archers fire arrows at you."

"Can we make weapons the same, Maralin? If you know how they work."

Maralin shook his head. "Knowing is one thing, sir, making them is something else. We could probably do it, aye, but not for a year or so."

Jarbon nodded. "Very well. You men, go home, get yourselves cleaned up, be at ease the rest of today. Come back here at the second bell tomorrow and we'll talk some more when you are fresher."

They were permitted to leave their gear at the castle, which made sense as their captured swords didn't fit their scabbards and other items had been lost or damaged. They all put their mud-smeared and blood-splashed surcoats back on before leaving, though. Maralin slowly walked the half-mark through the streets back to the mansion, arriving just before lunch. There was a stunned silence when he entered the kitchen.

"Maralin!" Possen saw the look on Maralin's face. "What happened?"

Maralin's shoulders dropped. For a day and a half he had been running on adrenalin and he just wanted to be clean, have some food and to sleep, and not necessarily in that order.

"It was bad," he said. "I'll tell you all, but first, is there time for a wash before lunch?"

"Surely, Maralin," Possen replied. "Renita, if you would go fetch a robe for Maralin."

Clean, and sitting in a fluffy robe with a mug of pel in front of him, Maralin spoke to them.

"Twenty-three of us went out into the country on a training exercise. Two tengroups of trainees, two Sarjants and a Tenant. We were ambushed by a Yod patrol well outside the city walls -" there was a gasp, "- we only had practice swords and spears and we escaped by sheer luck. Six came back, and one of those will probably lose an arm."

"You went so close to the city?"

"No, we were about three or four marks away, I think. I don't really know. In that country, it is difficult to judge distances."

"What about the others? Is Pilbar all right?"

"I saw him this morning at a roadblock between here and Joth. He's fine. Nobody else from the mansion was with our groups."

"Oh, Maralin!" Renita came and hugged him. "I'm so glad you're safe."

"So am I," he replied, feeling slightly awkward with the close body contact. He made himself relax and thought about these innocents, at risk from those who had taken the city. "So am I."

What happens to someone when they become the thing they most fear and loathe? Armsman of Joth by Penny Lane 5: Warrior

Maralin is relieved to be away from the blood and the mud but he knows his respite will only be short-lived. The Captain seems willing to listen to his ideas and Maralin is sent out on a scouting expedition. Then, everything changes again...

Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2014 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

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10th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

Maralin had tried to tell as few details of his ordeal as possible but it had still left many of the mansion's staff frightened. None of them had had any experience with the kind of warfare which Yod had now brought to them and he wondered how they would survive if Yod decided that the city wasn't enough.

The only thing I can do is make sure that doesn't happen.

It's funny, when I think about it, the others didn't have a clue either. They needed me to get them out of trouble and I did.

All my years as a girl and a woman and I've never felt like this before. There anybody could push me round just how they wanted to. Here, it's way different. Here I can do things I never imagined I could ever do in Chicago.

Here I get respect. That doesn't mean women don't deserve respect, just that I never experienced it before.

Here I can make a difference. There, I just felt passive, pushed around by everyone who felt like pushing. Why is that? Can male hormones really make that much difference?

I'm still walking a tightrope, though. If I'm forced to tell them what has really happened to me I don't know what would happen. Suppose somebody asks me to describe Shicargo, somewhere "off to the south"? What do I say? There's only one rule to lying and that is you get found out eventually.

I don't think I want to do that anymore, but first we have to get rid of the Yodans. First I have to be what they think I am.

"You're sure you are going to be safe, Maralin?"

"For today, at least," he told Renita. "Captain Jarbon wants to talk to us again because we have news of what the enemy is doing. I can't think he'll send us out again today. After that -" he shrugged. "Who knows? That's what war is like, Renita."

"Why does this have to happen?" she asked sadly. "Why us?"

"Don't ask me, Renita, ask those of Yod. I'd be quite happy if I had never heard of them. Thinking about it, I might never even have had a knock on my head and lost my memory."

The servants' dining hall was quiet as he left. None of the other conscripts had returned and nobody knew whether they were safe or not. Maralin had seen Pilbar the previous morning but who knew where he might be by now. He had to leave them to their speculations, he had to pick up his pace to be at the castle before the second bell.

That's another thing. I keep hearing about these bells but I have no idea how they work. One day...

"Captain Jarbon! Maralin reporting for duty, sir."

"At ease, Maralin. Ah, you live the furthest away don't you?"

"Aye, sir."

The others were already present, wondering what Jarbon wanted from them. He sat down in his chair and looked them over.

"You five are the only ones who have encountered a Yod patrol and survived," he told them. "That doesn't mean that others haven't, but we have no word from another trainee section who went off to the north-west. For now, you are our experts on the ways of those of Yod. Tell me about their uniforms again, if you would."

They described again the loose smock hiding a breastplate, and how that could defeat crossbow bolts and sword thrusts, and what they could do about it. They discussed the color scheme, with bits of cloth sewn over a heavy mud-brown material, the heavy matching trousers and ankle boots. They then talked about the guns that had been fired, which resulted in Maralin alone explaining how he thought they worked and what defensive action could be taken.

"I have difficulty understanding a weapon that can cut down so many men at once," he said.

"That's easy, sir," Sennis said. "Imagine a trebuchet filled with a bag of large gravel, that bursts just overhead. That would give a similar result, I would think."

"Oh? And what do you know about trebuchets, Sennis?"

"My grandfather served the Duke, sir. He was a winchman on the Thorn town defences."

"Ah, I see. Thank you, Sennis, aye, I understand what you mean now. So, how did you avoid the fate of the others, do you think?"

The others looked at Maralin.

"My guess is, sir, that they had only just cleared away after ambushing the other group. They had no time to set another ambush when we turned up. Remember, in that barn we found six enemy dead, so they didn't have it all their own way. I think they were just as surprised to find us there as we were to find them. When we fought back we were too strong for the remainder and they retreated."

"But they still had those guns."

"Aye, sir, but once they fired them they were no better than we were, so we had a chance to strike back."

"That's not true, Maralin," Varran objected. "We only had practice swords and spears, they had real ones."

Jarbon winced at the thought of men with practice weapons coming up against men with sharpened field weapons.

"You were lucky, then."

"Aye, sir. We were very lucky."

"Two things, sir," added Sennis. "Maralin can shoot a crossbow and reload real fast, and we managed to get some of their swords off them. That evened things out."

He stared at them thoughtfully. "As men with experience - recent experience - I want to send you out again. Would you do it?"

"As trainees, sir?"

Jarbon shook his head. "No. I think you can safely say you have no further need for the kind of training we can provide. Except, perhaps..." He shook his head. "Shall you go out again?"

"Sir," Besil said, "Might we stay together? With Maralin in our group..."

Jarbon raised an eyebrow. "With Maralin as your Sarjant, perhaps?"

"Aye, sir."

There were muttered agreements from the others. Maralin was surprised at the suggestion.

"I had another plan in mind for Maralin," Jarbon said. "But that would depend on Maralin's future plans."

Maralin was puzzled. Future plans?

"Sir?"

"I was reminded overnight that you are a foreigner in Joth, aren't you? Because of your memory problems you do not remember why you are here, who you associated with or even where you lived before you were found."

"That's so, sir."

"If we manage to repel the invader, had you any thought what you might do afterwards? Would you stay in Joth or would you wish to return to your home city... what was it called, again?"

"Shicargo, sir. No, sir, I don't have any plans or desire to go back to Shicargo. When we repel the invader, I think I might like to stay in Joth, if that is possible."

"Yet you have no trade, no business that you remember."

"No, sir."

Maralin bit his lip. The denial had come out automatically and in terms of what these people called a "trade" it might even be true. He wasn't sure how valuable kitchen experience might be in this time and place. Best to say nothing, best to tread carefully.

"You have proven yourself to have some skill in the arts of war, Maralin," Jarbon said. "Suppose I offered you a permanent position with His Grace's forces? A man like you would be most welcome."

Me? Skilled in the arts of war? Boy, do these people need help!

Maralin was completely surprised by the offer. "I don't know what to say, sir. Thank you, sir. May I have time to consider it?"

"Of course. Meanwhile, you have ideas about what the Duke's men ought to be wearing in the field, I deem?"

"Sir, I don't want to cause any trouble. I know you have many customs and traditions -"

"Those customs and traditions got seventeen of my men killed the day before yesterday." Jarbon's voice was dry. "I'll listen to anything that will save my men's lives, Sarjant Maralin."

"Sarjant -" Maralin did a double-take, then braced to attention and thumped his chest. "Sir!"

"So tell me, Sarjant, what a well-equipped man-at-arms would be wearing in Shicargo, if you can remember, of course."

That request stopped Maralin in his tracks. The gulf was too wide, and Marilyn's knowledge too slender for Maralin to even think about telling such information to the Captain.

I'm just going to have to lie through my teeth... or perhaps not. Modern military uniforms are something I've seen on TV but that's almost the only knowledge I have. However, that kind of information would do no good here. These people don't need that, they need something practical.

"Sir," he answered slowly, "me telling you what we wore in Shicargo won't really help your people here today. I can give you a general idea, sir, but we need to think what would be practical for your troops right now. Fancy uniforms that may take you a month or two to make would be no good."

Jarbon's eyebrows raised at the last sentence. He gestured. "Proceed."

"Sir, our soldiers used different uniforms for different purposes. There's a parade uniform, that would be like the blue surcoats, sir. Then there would be, um, undress, which is what men in the castle would wear for doing their normal barracks work."

Jarbon nodded. "Aye. So you're saying that an armsman might have more than one uniform?"

"Sir, they might have as many as eight, depending on where they were and what job they did. For work like in the fields around here there would be a brown or green one, perhaps depending on the season, then maybe a sand-colored one for deserts, a blue-gray one for mountains, a white one for winter... But those aren't just simple colors, sir. Usually there would be patterns printed on the cloth in several other colors, to break up the outline of the soldier."

"Aye... I see... so the principle is to conceal the armsman from the enemy? In the Valley such a scheme would not be considered honorable, except that we are faced by those of Yod, who already wear such attire."

"Sir, every army I remember uses clothes like that. They all choose different color combinations or patterns so that you can tell who is who."

Jarbon nodded. "Such uniforms must be costly to make and maintain."

"Sir, we have a volunteer standing army. Equipping it and running it does cost a lot of money."

"As you say." Jarbon cast an interested eye at Maralin. "I have many questions about an army who must needs fight in fields, deserts, mountains and during the winter season, but I'm not sure that I would like the answers."

Maralin was embarrassed again. How do I keep making these blunders?

"Probably not, sir."

"So, how may we serve the needs of Joth, Sarjant Maralin?"

"Sacking, sir, is my first idea. If we can make surcoats out of sacking that may be enough to make us less visible over the open ground around the castle."

"Hmm. Surplus sacking is not easy to come by this early in the winter, Maralin. You would try this with just the five of you?"

Maralin looked around and the others nodded. "Yes, sir. To begin with."

"Then we may manage." Jarbon gestured again. "Continue."

11th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

The five men slipped out of the farmhouse into the dawn twilight, waving farewell to the farmer and his wife. Inside they had left their 'dress' surcoats and the bags in which they had carried their camouflage gear from the castle. Each man was now wearing a thick sleeveless tunic of rough-woven sacking which had been daubed with black, brown and green paint together with rough leggings similarly treated. There had been no time to fashion sleeves, it had taken the seamstresses the rest of the day to make the tunics and leggings. A rough square of the same material had been secured over their leather caps, disguising the shape and hiding the polished surface.

They each carried a carefully chosen sword, a long knife and a crossbow with a quiver of twelve bolts. A bag, slung diagonally across their backs, carried water and travel rations for five days. The bedroll had been discarded as too bulky, they would find shelter wherever they could. The spears and shields had also been left behind. They wore no sashes, their tunics being belted with rope. The only color each now showed was a narrow ribbon of white over blue, tied around the upper left arm.

For some time they made a careful progress through the fields toward the city. The farm they had left was one of the closest to the city still to be occupied, but that still meant four marks or so between them and the walls to the north. By the time they decided to stop for lunch they had traveled two marks, traveling slowly and carefully, taking advantage of every cover they could find.

"So, Maralin," Tresk asked as he chewed, "What about the Captain's offer? You gonna take it?"

"I've had a day to think about it and I still don't know," Maralin replied. "The situation is... complicated."

"Your memory, you mean?" Sennis suggested.

"That and other things. I'm flattered to be asked, and it might solve some of my problems, but it might cause others." Maralin shook his head. "I don't know. I'm tempted to say yes, but it means I'll lose contact with everybody I've made friends with."

"Ah. I hadn't thought of that. Despite that, I still think you ought to take it. If we're ever to stop this happening again, the Duke needs the best men he can find."

"As you say. But really, I'm not a warrior. I just seem to have some common sense at the moment which the officers don't."

"That's what I mean. As soon as you can become an officer yourself, we'll start getting better, see?"

Maralin sighed. "You may be right, but, like I said, there are... problems."

Problems like, is this world even real or not? Am I suddenly going to wake up in an ER or something? If so, does it matter what decision I make while I'm here?

I'm still undecided whether I want to stay here or not. This place can be nasty and brutish and ready to strike me dead any moment but the people are way better. In some ways it is better here than Chicago ever was.

Do I even have a choice? Am I going to get yanked back at just the critical moment? This is all too much to think about!

Never mind being sucked into a body I didn't want. If I had stayed a woman I would be contentedly peeling vegetables in Possen's kitchen right now.

...and nobody in Joth would have heard of guns or camouflage, not until it was too late. Shit!

Maralin shook his head. "Leave it for now. Let's finish eating and press on. I want us to find a good place to lie up in before it gets too dark."

"Aye, Sarjant."

And that's another thing. Being an officer, even a non-com, just feels so natural. What's happening to me?

They picked their way through the poor winter light, constantly scanning for patrols. If possible they wanted to be avoid being seen by anyone, even their own side. That would only attract attention and require long explanations. Only once did they see a Yod patrol, a long way away, and they were never noticed.

Twilight found them half a mark from the city wall, in clear view of the south-east gate, in a cluster of shrub-like plants growing on the bank of a ditch. By squirming up to the top of the slope they could see men walking the battlements, although little detail could be made out. They settled in for a cold, uncomfortable night, one man at all times watching the wall and another watching other directions.

12th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

"Six men, one gun, two crossbows," Varran reported. "The same ones we saw go out about two bells since."

"That's interesting," Maralin muttered, bent over the parchment. He was using a charcoal stick to note down the movements that had been seen that day. "Looks like they either have only two groups of six they send out for patrols, or they are short of men."

"Stands to reason, don't it?" That was Besil. "That whole big city, think of how long the wall is. They must needs send men out, as you guessed, Maralin, to find food and kindling. They must also guard the walls, gates and harbor. I deem they are short of men."

"Not to mention the ten men we killed three days since," Tresk added.

"We're whittling them down," Maralin said thoughtfully. "A point must come where they won't be able to send out patrols at all."

"Are you suggesting we ambush one of their patrols?" Varran asked, eyebrows raised. "Five of us against six of them, and them having that gun thing?"

Maralin shook his head. "No. The object of this exercise is to gather information, not go looking for trouble. We want to see how well the camouflage works. If they never find out we were ever here, I'll be delighted. If we come across the other patrol and we have to fight our way out, I can live with that."

"As you say. So, when do we leave? This is about as exciting as I wants, if you takes my meaning, but somewhere warmer might be nice."

"And drier," added Tresk.

"Early morning, very first light, before the men on that wall have a chance to see us go," Maralin replied. "Any objections?"

13th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

Nobody had any, so they spent another night on the slope of the ditch before creeping cautiously away as the eastern sky began to lighten. By dawn proper they had made a mark from their watch post and were having breakfast in the shelter of a tiny stand of leafless trees.

"S'funny," Tresk said. "When we were attacked the other day we just replied, didn't we? There was no thought involved at all."

"Keep your voice down," Maralin cautioned. "Sound will travel a long distance over these open fields, especially when there's no crops in them. We did respond that day, didn't we? Part of that was training, part of that was the knowledge that if we didn't kill them they would kill us. Not a hard choice to make."

"Aye, as you say. But those men were sons, husbands, maybe fathers as well. It's hard to do that to another man." He paused, thinking. "Then when we went to that barn -"

"I'm a farmer," Sennis said. "I have to butcher animals to provide meals for my family and I have to kill vermin that want to eat my crops or worry my animals. 'Tis the way of the world, lad. If we don't find a way to stop Yod they'll run right over us, mark my words. The way I see it, outside their own lands they are vermin and vermin get what they deserve. I don't like killing another man, any more than you do, but they don't belong here and if they won't leave we'll have to make them go, one way or another."

"Well said," Maralin agreed softly. "But I'd rather we didn't have to kill them. We don't have much choice this trip, since no-one must know we've been here or how we are dressed. Our job is more important than taking prisoners or getting caught, so let's make sure we don't do either."

Another bell, another mark, part of which was spent near the bottom of an exposed ditch as a Yod patrol walked past one field over. This time their stop was an isolated barn full of fodder.

"This is nice and dry," Varran said. "Pity we didn't find one like this last night!"

"Use your head," Besil responded. "A barn full of fodder that close to the walls would either be occupied by Yod or burned to the ground."

"Aye," agreed Sennis. "Yod may have some odd ideas but they aren't stupid. They would not leave a potential hiding place that close."

"It will do for this afternoon," Maralin decided. "Let's make ourselves comfortable and see what passes by."

The unseen sun was definitely setting behind the murk before they moved on again, this time heading due south. Maralin had been given the simplest kind of compass, a magnetised piece of iron wire with South painted red, which was suspended from a length of thread. The others had no idea what it did or how it was used.

A light had been left in a deserted barn half a mark from the farmhouse and this only became visible once they had passed by to the side. From there it was relatively easy to find their way to the farmhouse in the darkness. Once inside they stripped off their camouflage and had a welcome wash while the farmwife prepared a hot meal for them. Having fed they were soon asleep in the hayloft, warm and dry for a change.

14th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

It was mid-morning before the five reached the castle and they were immediately shown into Jarbon's office. He was speaking to a man wearing a yellow headband and sash.

"Thank you. Go, have some rest, find yourself a meal, I will have letters for you to take back to the Duke presently, but first I must speak with these men."

The man braced to attention and saluted before walking out of the door. Maralin braced and saluted and Jarbon responded.

"You were successful, I take it?"

"Aye, sir. It was cold and wet but I think we did what we set out to do."

"How close did you get?"

"We were around half a mark from the south-east gate, so Sennis tells me." Jarbon raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I can't measure distances yet, not in this open countryside. I just don't have the feel for it."

"As you say."

"We watched all activity for a whole day, sir. There were two separate groups who set out as patrols which lasted about two bells each. Each group had six men -" Maralin pulled out his parchment and referred to it, "- and had a gun and two crossbows, sir. No spears or shields that we could see."

"I see. So, from that gate you're saying that only twelve men make their patrols, and they don't stray far?"

"Aye, sir, more or less."

"What about the gate itself? And the walls?"

"It was difficult to tell, sir, but there are maybe four to six men at the gate. We couldn't make out faces because of the weather, sir. There might be more inside, of course. They didn't obviously change watches or anything we could see. The walls, well, there are men up there but very few, sir. Maybe only four on the bit of wall we could see."

Jarbon thought. "Interesting. And you were sure you were not seen?"

"No, sir. At least, if anyone saw us, they made no movements that let us know they might have seen us."

"Of course. Now, do you think, if we had maybe fifty men, attired as you were, could that gate have been taken?"

Maralin was cautious. "It might be possible, sir. We did spot patrols from other gates as we traveled, sir. Five men crawling along a ditch isn't the same as fifty men crawling."

"Aye. We must be careful. And, what you didn't say, is that the other forty-five have not even the little experience you five have gathered, is that right?"

Maralin flushed. "Aye, sir. One day, perhaps, all this will be part of basic training but we don't have time right now - or the uniforms."

"As you say." Jarbon came to a decision. "Very well. I want you to repeat your task, starting tomorrow, but against the Galdarin gate. Because it is the larger gate, those of Yod pay more attention to the lands surrounding it. We need to know the same things, how many patrols, what strength, what weapons, how many at the gate, how many on the walls." He held out his hand. "Is that a map?"

"Aye, sir." Maralin handed the parchment over.

"What's this? Oh, of course, it's in your own script, isn't it? I'll have a clean copy made and you can translate for me." Jarbon's eyes narrowed. "What are these? These marks look like those the Chivans made." He looked up at Maralin. "Are you by chance a Chivan?"

"Sir, I've never heard that name. I don't know what you mean."

Jarbon shook his head. "Never mind. The Chivans are lost in history. You men," he pointed to the others, "You may be at ease for the rest of today. Tonight I want you back at that farmhouse ready for an early start tomorrow so you'll be leaving here at about the seventh bell. If you want some coin to spend, apply to the quartermaster's office. Maralin, I'll need you a bell or so longer. I have reports to make for His Grace and I want you to describe these Yodan weapons so that I can write them for the Duke."

"Aye, sir."

* * *

The five set out again to walk to the farmhouse where they based their scouting expeditions as the light began to fail. In their kitbags they had different tunics, of the same material but better cut and finished, with sleeves this time to help keep their arms warm. The ribbons they had worn on their arms had been replaced, at Maralin's suggestion, by a small square on each upper sleeve in the quartered colors of the Duke of Joth.

Jarbon had told Maralin that the whole town had been turned upside down in the search for spare sacks or other materials which the small army of seamstresses could turn into camouflage tunics. He told Maralin before the group set out that he hoped to have a force of between forty-five and fifty waiting by the time they returned.

15th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

The sky had cleared during the night so that the morning was crisp, clear and cold. There was a layer of frost on the roadside grass and a film of ice at the bottom of the ditches. Because of the frost, they were forced to walk in the roadway to avoid leaving any tell-tale footprints. The bright weather meant that they could be seen from greater distances, so progress was difficult.

The five worked their way north-west, angling to meet the Galdarin road just south of the city gate. The talk was minimal, since they had now learned to work comfortably with each other, and each did what was required without discussion. Their first break came at mid-morning and found them about three marks from the walls. There were heaps of dung set where four fields met and they approached with caution. After all, they were not the only ones who used camouflage.

"Good," Varran judged. "I was afraid we'd find Yodans already here. Looks safe enough, we have views in all directions."

Besil snorted. "The whole place stinks! I don't think even those of Yod would stop here."

"A good reason for us to use it, then," Tresk commented.

Sennis warned, "Just watch where you sit! That smell will follow you around for weeks if you don't."

They found an untainted area and sat, chewing their rations and sipping water.

"Where do you think we are, Maralin?"

"If we don't see any patrols," Maralin replied, "we should be about the right distance by lunchtime. But we may have trouble finding a good place to set up that close to the bigger gate."

"As you say. Well, if we have to be further away we can still do our job, can't we?"

"Aye. The detail is important, or so the Captain believes. Closer is better if we can find somewhere."

I wish we had binoculars or a telescope. That would make this job so much easier, not to mention safer. I'm not sure whether I ought to tell them about such things, though. Aren't there rules?

By lunchtime the walls were getting closer and it was getting more difficult to move around. They had dodged two patrols, one coming far closer than they had wished. On the plus side the winter sun had melted the frost so they could skulk along at the bottom of the ditches for cover when required. Finding a suitable hideout turned out to be the hardest job of all. They held a conference at the bottom of a ditch, just by the icy water.

"There's a stand of trees over there."

"Too near the road."

"They're not using the road! They know the Jothans are just down that way."

"Perhaps they have their own watch post there. What else? What's the other way?"

"There's a bunch of scrub, remember? Two fields back."

"Too far and not really big enough for five of us."

"Over that way is a burned-out barn."

"Aye, though it is a bit close to the walls. Let's stay in the ditches for now, until the light starts going, and then head for that barn. We can look it over before we decide and we may see something better."

"As you say, Maralin."

16th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

"It wouldn't be so bad if the place didn't stink so much!"

"That's what happens when ashes get rained on. Stop complaining and keep your eyes on the fields. If we're spotted here we'll have to move fast. Look! There's another patrol going in the gate. Same size, same equipment."

"Recognise anybody?"

"No. It must be another group."

"That makes, what, four?"

"Aye. They do have more ground to cover and they have the road to worry about."

"At least the weather is good. We can see a lot better from here than we could at the other gate."

"Hush! There's another patrol, coming from behind us!"

The day wore on and Maralin drew a map on one side of the parchment while the other held lists and timetables of the patrols, gate guards and wall-walkers. From here the bells of Joth could plainly be heard and Sennis translated them for Maralin to note down. All were relieved when the sun began to set and they could relax, slightly, their vigil. The day had been cold, tiring and cramped, with the men barely able to move at all among the burned-out timbers of the barn.

17th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

The five slipped away as they had done previously, as the very first light of dawn began to show in the east. It was frosty again, which meant that the day would likely be as bright, and travel as difficult, as when they had arrived. For a time they moved quickly and quietly from field to field and ditch to ditch.

It seemed that Yod did not put out patrols at night, since they had kept watch and seen none at the south gate, which was where the road to Galdarin entered the city. However, they had to be far enough away to avoid being seen once the daytime patrols appeared. Unfortunately, the Yod patrols, able to use the roads where they were not, eventually spotted them.

"We've been seen!"

"What do we do? Hide?"

"No. Keep moving. They will move towards the place they saw us last. Get to that next corner and then we'll change direction."

The enemy, being unfamiliar with the methods Maralin had dredged up from his memory, stayed on the roads and trackways and could easily be seen by the five from their places of concealment. Once the Yod patrols moved away from them Maralin chose another direction and they pushed on.

Further south, they had to avoid one of their own patrols and it was evident that the Duke's men were clueless as to what was happening in the fields under their noses. Maralin shook his head sadly.

They really have no idea how this works, do they? No wonder Yod was able to get into the city and evict them all.

Well, I'm sorry, I can't really help much more than I already have. I just wasn't that interested in anything warlike. What girl is? Okay, I like a man in a uniform as much as the next woman but what they actually do, I have little idea. All I have to go on is a bunch of ancient war movies seen through a haze of drugs.

It was mid-afternoon when they arrived back at the farmhouse and Maralin had a shock as the Captain was there together with two of the men with yellow headbands and several others, including two Tenants. The poor farmer's house was completely overcrowded and they were forced to meet out in the yard.

"Sarjant! You were successful, I see?"

"Aye, sir. But, if I may ask, why have you come? We would have been back at the castle by tomorrow morning, sir. Has something happened?"

"Indeed it has, Sarjant. Something extremely important, as much as I can tell. My letters to His Grace have resulted in some firm instructions which concern you."

"Me, sir? What have I done?"

"You know of guns, Sarjant, and that is apparently enough for the Duke to ask you to attend him immediately. You are to be removed from any danger concerning the enemy and to travel at once to Thorn, where the Duke awaits you. He says that he is unwilling to say more but that you must journey there at all speed."

Maralin was shocked. What could he possibly have done to attract the attention of the Duke this way?

"Do you ride, man?"

"Sir? Um..."

I can't tell him the truth, since I have never sat on a living animal in my life. It's possible that some farmworkers can't ride but I'm guessing that most people here at least know how to, even if they don't do it regularly. Suppose someone in Chicago asked me if I could drive? Dumb question.

"...I don't really remember, sir, but I don't think I've ever ridden a frayen before."

Jarbon was stumped. One of the messengers had a suggestion.

"Sir, I noticed there is a carriage at the castle. The route we use to come here is passable by carriage, sir, since the weather has been good enough."

Jarbon rolled his eyes and sighed. "Very well. Sarjant!"

"Sir!"

"If we can get you onto a frayen, we will ride you - carefully - back to the castle. You'll sleep at the castle tonight. Tomorrow, we'll take that carriage with an escort and ride to Thorn." Jarbon turned. "Tenant, you'll stay here with the other men and come back to the castle with them tomorrow morning."

The Tenant looked delighted to be spending a night in a barn in the country and then walking back to the castle in the morning. His face showed what he thought of it.

"That's enough, Barak! This is important. Sarjant, you and your men, go inside and change as you would normally have done. We'll be waiting outside for you when you're ready."

Inside the farmhouse, the men peeled off their camouflage outfits with relief.

"What do you think will happen to you, Maralin?"

"No idea. Nothing good, most likely."

"Why do you say that? We have made two patrols right up to the enemy gates and back again and all we got was cold and dirty. I'll take that over a battle any day."

"As you say. Now, which of those bundles is mine?"

When they were once more presentable in blue and white Varran held out his hand.

"Fare you well, Maralin. I know not what the Duke wants with you, but I trust it will be to your advantage. I deem you cannot have done much wrong since you joined the muster."

The two clasped arms. Maralin realized that he was, again, about to lose his new-found friends.

"Thank you," he said. "If I can, I'll come back and look you up. We worked well together, didn't we?"

Sennis was next. "Aye, Maralin. With your knowledge of guns, mayhap we can take our city back. We all know you're hiding something -" the look on Maralin's face told everyone the truth of that, "- and I hope you can find some peace one day. Remember us, won't you?"

"I'll never forget the times we have had together, lads."

Maralin clasped arms with Tresk and Besil, then shouldered his bag and made his way out into the yard, trying hard to hide the threatening tears. Outside he was faced with the task of climbing onto a frayen. Since the animal was about the size of a largish pony this turned out to be straightforward, though the stirrup placement seemed awkward. Once settled, with his bag lashed behind the saddle, the other Tenant took his leading rein and the Captain led the way out of the farmyard.

As near as Maralin could tell they rode due west, following the country lane until it crossed a culvert to reach the highway. A careful check that there was no danger and the party turned left to walk along the road towards Galdarin. The saddle was odd between his legs but seemed safe enough provided he didn't move about too much. It had a handrail running from one side to the other and holding on helped keep his balance. The stirrups kept his feet out of the way of the animal's legs, but Maralin wondered what it must be like to fight from such a position.

Once inside the castle Maralin slid off the beast to discover that his bottom felt very peculiar. Wondering if further rides would make that better or worse, he decided to avoid riding again for a while - if he was ever given the choice. He was taken to a dormitory block and given a bed in a room of four, a room reserved for Sarjants. Dumping his bag, he took a quick wash standing in a tub of warm water and had a make-do supper, it being too late for the usual evening meal, before taking to the bed and falling instantly asleep.

What happens to someone when they become the thing they most fear and loathe? Armsman of Joth by Penny Lane 6: Meeting

Maralin thinks the Duke wants to see him because of his knowledge of firearms. However, when he finally meets the Duke after a day's journey, he discovers the reason is somewhat different. A tense night is spent before the truth is revealed... he has some personal decisions to make.

Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2014 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

The embedded map is copyright (c) Di Wonder 2014 and is included with her gracious permission.

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18th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

Maralin was roused at dawn. He dressed quickly and packed up his belongings before being taken to the cookhouse to eat a substantial breakfast. Captain Jarbon was there already.

"Are you well, Maralin?"

"Aye, sir, if a little tired."

"As I understand it, our ride to Thorn will take most of the day," the Captain said. "If you desire to sleep a part of the way, I will not object. I know that your days past have been difficult, sleeping in the fields, so you must take every chance for rest, as any armsman might."

"Thank you, sir."

"I do not know what my Duke intends for you, so it would be as well to arrive fresh, if you take my meaning. I have already dispatched a Messenger to bring warning of our coming. We will leave as soon as we have finished breakfast."

"Aye, sir. Uh, sir, if I may ask, where is Thorn?"

"Thorn is north-west of Joth, Sarjant, but further along the river. It is where the trade road crosses into Joth from Smordan. It is a small fortified town where the Duke presently has his headquarters."

"Thank you, sir."

The carriage was waiting with four frayen attached to the traces. Also waiting were ten fully armed and armored riders together with a coachman, one of the Tenants from the previous night and the other messenger. Jarbon got into the carriage, Maralin followed and the whole procession set off.

The first part of their route was back along the highway to Joth, but it was not long before they swung off to take a smaller road west, to travel in a part circle around the city. Maralin looked out the glassless window at the landscape, noting that it was much the same as that he had spent the last week crawling over. The major difference was that here, away from immediate danger, the residents and farmhands were visible in abundance, working the fields, feeding livestock or generally tidying up. Around lunchtime their route crossed an east-west highway at an intersection where a small town had grown up. There was a rest stop here, everyone dismounted and stretched their legs before converging on a place that looked like a fast-food joint to take lunch. This was eaten at tables and benches under canvas awnings in front of the counter, despite the coldness of the season. Their mounts were all exchanged and the party set off along another minor road, this time angling east of north. There were sufficient trees in the landscape that the walls of Joth could no longer be seen. Maralin dozed off, partly from the effects of lunch and partly from the long days spent scouting. Jarbon woke him as they approached the walls of a fortified town. It was by now becoming dark. "Sarjant. Time to make ourselves ready to attend the Duke." "As you say, sir."

Maralin yawned and stretched, wondering what would happen next. He didn't expect anything bad but one could never tell. Through the gate, into the city, and Maralin saw that it was arranged differently than Galdarin, the streets being narrower and crooked so that one couldn't see any distance. The procession turned in the archway of a large mansion and pulled up in the courtyard. Once everybody had dismounted uniformed men came and took charge of the frayen and the carriage. A Tenant saluted before Jarbon.

"If you would follow me, sir."

Maralin followed Jarbon into the building. It was the first time he had been inside one of the mansions, having previously only seen rooms in the outbuildings of Falden's mansion that were used by servants. He took note of the rich decoration and furnishings as their guide led them through the building to a reception room. Waiting to greet them was a small group of people, all richly dressed. Their leader was a middle-aged man, well-built but not fat, with a homely woman by his side. Jarbon, as the senior officer of the party, saluted.

"Your Grace! We have arrived."

"Your journey was without difficulty?"

"As you say, Your Grace, thank you. The weather held and that made all the difference. May I present Sarjant Maralin, originally of Shicargo, now in Your Grace's service."

Jarbon stepped aside and Maralin braced and saluted, but the Duke held out his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Maralin shook it.

"Be welcome here, Maralin of Shicargo. This is not my home, I am merely a guest of Count Sherin of Thorn," the Duke gestured at a tall, thin man beside him, "while my own house is unavailable, but for tonight you will also become his guest."

"As you say... I'm sorry, sir. I don't know how to address you."

Wallesan threw a glance at Jarbon, who started.

"Your Grace, I must apologize! Maralin, the Duke is usually addressed as Your Grace, as you have heard me do. His wife the Duchess, should you have need to speak to her, is also addressed as Your Grace."

"Thank you, sir. Your Grace, it is I who must apologize. At home in Shicargo -" No. Not any longer, I don't think. I think I would like to call this place home. "- we don't have people like Dukes or Counts so I didn't know what to say. Your Grace, I'm not sure why you have asked me to come."

"I have recently hosted another visitor to this house," the Duke said, "and he became... interested in your activities, let us say. That visitor has presently gone..." the Duke waved his hand vaguely, "...elsewhere and should return tomorrow. He suggested that I bring you here for your own protection, at the earliest opportunity, though I will not speak of any reason."

Maralin bowed. "As you command, Your Grace."

"I must ask you not to say anything to anybody in this house, not even me or Captain Jarbon, before you meet... my other visitor. Captain, I must ask the same of you. Sarjant Maralin's activities, nor anything else he may have said, must not be mentioned to anyone."

"Of course, Your Grace. Er, Your Grace, what should we expect this evening?"

"I'll have a man show you to your chambers for tonight and you can bathe and change. Later, at the second bell of night, you will both join us for the evening meal. Sarjant?"

"Sir?"

"I'm aware you may not have brought sufficient attire with you, it may be possible to provide you with something suitable from the house. Ask the man who shows you your chamber."

"Aye, Your Grace."

Jarbon and Maralin were conducted upstairs and along a corridor to adjoining rooms. Inside his Maralin found a double bed, comfortably furnished, with a fluffy robe thrown on it.

"Master Maralin," the man said deferentially, "If you would undress and leave your clothes in this dressing room. When you are ready, pull that rope and someone will take you to the bathing chamber."

"Thank you. The Duke said something about finding me something to wear for dinner?"

"Of course, master." The man looked Maralin up and down before nodding. "I will bring a selection, some of which should fit you." He added, "Your other belongings will be brought up and put in the dressing room while you bathe, though I doubt you will need any of them this evening."

The chamber had an item Maralin had not encountered so far, a mirror. This was made from a column of four squares of polished and lacquered metal which had been fixed to the wall in a wooden frame. It was tall enough that he could examine his whole body for the first time in private.

This is what I look like now to these people. It isn't half bad, is it? I'm not surprised Renita was interested.

He peered at the slightly distorted image more closely. Strange, the face could be that of one of my brothers. What does that mean?

...And I'm a man. I've been a man for many days now and I understand that not all of them are like Benny was. Thank the Lord. It seems there can be good men just as there are bad women.

I suppose if I have to be a man, I've managed to look like a good one. I'm no movie star but I don't look gross either. With the amount of diet and exercise I'm getting, it should stay this way, too.

The bathing chamber had a sunken copper tub large enough for six but Maralin had it to himself. The water was hot and sweet-smelling and the soap, although hard, worked wonderfully to clean the grime of several days toil from his body. Dressed in the fluffy robe he returned to the chamber and waited for the servant to return. When he did so, he had an armful of clothes with him.

There was a clean undershirt, clean underpants and clean, well-made tights in a soft russet shade. There were several tunics of differing sizes and shades, and Maralin found one of dove gray which toned nicely against the tights. There were a pair of soft, indoor slippers and he retied his sash over the tunic.

What is it with these people and tunic and tights? Is this supposed to be Sherwood Forest?

"Master," the man said, "If you would sit on the chair, I will brush your hair."

Embarrassed at such attentions, Maralin sat and the man tidied his hair before leading him out of the room and downstairs. In a well-appointed dining chamber waited Count Sherin and a woman who was almost certainly his wife.

"His Grace has been most mysterious over you," Sherin said. "I regret I am unable to ask you the usual pleasantries that a host exchanges with his guests. I doubt not that His Grace has good reason for the restriction but it does make conversation difficult, does it not?"

"As you say... my lord." Maralin bowed to Sherin and his wife.

"I think I am permitted to present to you my wife, Countess Tiedra," Sherin said with a smile. "If you have any questions about your chambers or any other matter, ask any servant and she will make answer."

Like the Count, his wife was tallish and slender. Maralin saluted her and then inspected the long brocade gown she wore.

The women here wear some nice clothes. It is a great pity I'll never have a chance to try them out. It might have been fun to sashay round dressed like the Countess. That's one downside to being a man, I'm just not the right shape any more. I'd look stupid in a dress.

"Sarjant Maralin?" Countess Tiedra's expression was full of concern. "Is something wrong? You looked upset just then."

"Uh... I'm sorry, uh, my lady. I'm not used to such fine surroundings as this. I'm not used to gatherings where everyone's all dressed up."

She gave him a reassuring smile. "We understand, Sarjant. Be at ease in our home, we will not bite you. Ah! Here comes Captain Jarbon."

Dinner was an odd affair to begin with. It seemed like one of those 'elephant in the room' situations to Maralin but the initial wariness mellowed when they discovered that Maralin could talk about his experiences as a levy, which were after all the same as those of any other man who had been called to serve the Duke. Jarbon was interested to have feedback on his treatment of the motley variety of men who had been called to Galdarin's castle.

Soon it was time to retire and Maralin sank into the soft, comfortable mattress. After many days sleeping in haylofts and ditches, he was not about to pass up the chance for a good night's rest.

19th day of Zuberak, Year 1174 since the Great Flood

The same manservant who had shown him his room roused him in the morning. The sun was up and Maralin felt extremely well rested. Maralin was astonished when the manservant again conducted him to the bathing chamber for another bath! He did not complain, though. The same man then expertly shaved him and made sure his hair was trimmed and well-shaped, before helping him to dress in fresh clothes.

Breakfast in the dining room, and there was tension in the air. Perhaps they were waiting for this mysterious visitor or there may have been another reason. Jarbon accosted him as they were rising from table.

"Sarjant, with the Duke's permission, I have realized that we may discuss what you did on your scouting mission, without compromising any restrictions His Grace may desire. You did, after all, no more than any other man-at-arms might, did you not?"

Maralin thought before replying. "Aye, sir, that is so. I may have to be careful how I answer, sir."

Jarbon nodded. "As you say, Sarjant."

"If I may fetch my notes from the last expedition, sir? We never had time to talk about that yesterday."

Jarbon looked at Wallesan, who nodded and then said, "Aye, of course, Sarjant. Hammand, go with him to his chamber and then bring him to the Count's study."

In the study sat Duke, Count, Captain and Sarjant. Feeling very out of place, Maralin began describing where he and his men had gone and what they had seen. Wallesan was very interested in the maps Maralin had drawn. Jarbon had brought his cleaned-up copy from Maralin's first outing but it was the second one which drew the comments.

"So, you speak our tongue but you do not write it," Wallesan said.

"As you say, Your Grace."

"Yet you are literate, you write in your own tongue, I deem. How is it you have not learned our letters, then?"

"Your Grace, perhaps I have done. My memory, it is very patchy as I explained last night."

"Of course. I apologize. On the other side of this sheet I see what appear to be lists of patrols and numbers at gate and on the walls. This is excellent work, Sarjant."

"Thank you, Your Grace, though it was the work of five men, not just myself."

Wallesan acknowledged that with a nod and then asked, "Jarbon, what do you think? The South-East Gate is the smallest, should we assay an assault, think you we may gain entrance?"

"Your Grace, as Sarjant Maralin has noted, the numbers of the enemy seem much reduced. They will not receive reinforcement from the east, for reasons we already know. We do not know if any more may come from Yod itself. We have reduced their numbers further in recent days, I wonder they still send out patrols."

"Aye. It is only to keep us away from the walls and, with their new weapon -" his eyes slid sideways to Maralin for a moment, "- to frighten us. Look to the numbers, Jarbon, and tell me what is possible."

Count Sherin spoke. "Your Grace, we must needs present a feint at some other gate, to make the real attack succeed."

"Of course, Sherin." The Duke nodded. "What I suggest is this -"

* * *

Lunch was another odd affair. Everybody had questions but thought better of mentioning them until the mystery had been resolved. The Duke, not wanting any accidental disclosure to happen, decided to keep Maralin close to him until their un-named visitor returned. This meant that Sherin and Jarbon also stayed with the Duke, which meant in turn that as Wallesan conducted his business he had an extra audience to consider. Much of what was discussed went over Maralin's head but he learned a great deal about the situation he had been thrown into since arriving on Anmar.

About mid-afternoon a servant came to say that the expected visitor had arrived in the courtyard. Wallesan immediately rose and the others followed him back through the mansion to greet his visitor. The arrivals had all dismounted by the time their hosts appeared, a group of men dressed in anonymous garb much like many of the townspeople Maralin had seen. Wallesan headed for a young man who appeared to be their leader.

"Your Highness, welcome back! I trust you suffered no problems on your journey?"

The young man removed his riding gloves and held out his hand. Wallesan took it and the two clasped arms.

"Thank you no, Your Grace. There was a delay at the ferry," the man said, shrugging. "Nothing unexpected. We were not attacked, challenged or even approached. It all worked just as you said it would, Your Grace."

"I am pleased to hear it, and that you are safe. Now," Wallesan turned and gestured at Maralin. "This man is the one of whom we spoke. His name is Maralin of Shicargo, if you recall."

"Aye." He glanced about. "Let us get inside into the warm, Your Grace. This is no place for conversations."

Once inside, the young man asked, "With your permission, Your Grace?" At a nod from the Duke he turned and asked Maralin directly, "I am told you spoke of guns. Are you of Earth?"

He knows! How does he know? Is he from Earth as well?

More importantly, can I trust him? I know nothing about him, not even his name. This whole setup could be very dangerous to me.

"Your Highness, I have been told I must be careful who I confide in. I'm sorry, I don't even know your name."

The young man smiled. "As you say! You are right, if you are the person I deem you may be then you are in great danger. I hope to convince you that here you are among friends. I am Prince Keren, son and heir to King Robanar of Palarand, and it is because an Earth person now lives in Palarand that Yod has taken Joth. I am traveling the lands of the Great Valley hoping to gather an alliance to make reply to Yod, to avenge the many deaths and injuries they have caused, all because of... one person from Earth."

"You are not the person from Earth yourself, then?"

Keren's smile became broader. "No, indeed! I will wed her at the Spring Festival. She will sit beside me when I become King."

A girl? And Palarand, from those maps that Count Sherin showed us, is way down the Great Valley. Was Yod really that desperate to get their hands on a girl?

Oh, well. I already jumped off one cliff. Time for the next one.

A single nod. "I am from Earth, Your Highness."

Keren held up a hand. "Say nothing more! Your Grace, if I may suggest, we three - and I'm sorry, My Lord Sherin, no other - should meet privately in some chamber where we may speak without fear of being overheard. Believe me, there are sufficient reasons for it."

Wallesan regarded Keren then swung to Sherin. "What say you, Sherin? I'm sure His Highness intends no insult but I deem events of recent weeks lead me to agree with him. Have you such a chamber?"

Sherin considered briefly. "Your Highness, Your Grace, you may use my study as you did before. That is in the older part of the building, the walls are of stone. I will give surety that no-one will overhear you. Highness, you may post your own men outside, if you so desire, to ensure privacy." He added, "But first, I would insist on you making yourself more comfortable, Highness. You have just arrived from a journey and are still attired for the road."

"As you say, my lord. Give me a hand of moments and I will join you there, Your Grace."

There was a bustle and the Prince and his men were conducted away by servants to change into more comfortable clothes. Sherin led the way to his study and ordered pel to be brought for them before he withdrew, since he knew that the Prince at least would require a hot drink after his ride.

Prince Keren arrived at the same time as the drinks. Once these had been distributed and the door firmly closed, he leaned forward, his eyes intent on Maralin.

"I wish to ask you first what may seem a strange question. On Earth, were you man or woman?"

Wallesan started and Maralin was shaken by the question.

He knows! How does he know? Oh, the girl? Perhaps..?

Maralin licked his lips, suddenly dry. "I was a woman, Your Highness."

Keren said, "She who I am to marry was a boy on Earth, about my age and build. You have had problems adapting?"

Wallesan could barely believe what he was hearing. He stared at Keren, and then Maralin, his eyes wide.

Maralin replied, "It has been hard, Highness. Some of it seems easy but... I never realized just how different men's and women's lives were, even on different planets." His eyes narrowed. "Is that true? Is this another planet? I wasn't sure if this was all just a nightmare and that I would wake up back on Earth."

"Oh, Anmar is real, all right! As for going back... Garia has been here some eight months now." He considered what else he should reveal. "Let me just say I'm not expecting her to go anywhere else."

"But... how? And why? Who did this to us?"

Keren shook his head. "We're not entirely sure. The how I may explain, if in scant detail, since I do not understand it. Consider, if this is another planet, a very long way from Earth, I am told it would be expensive to move someone such as yourself through the distance between. So what is done is to take the instructions that made your body, bring them here, and make another body for you to reside in."

"Instructions to make my body? Oh, you mean like DNA?" Keren nodded. "But, wouldn't that just make me a body like I had before?"

"That is indeed what is supposed to happen, I believe. It seems," Keren said, "that the device which makes the new bodies sometimes has a fault, and that fault may result in the body being different than what you once were. Garia was once Gary Campbell... Have you heard of the United States of America?"

"Yes! I am an American! Or rather, I was." Maralin paused. The conversation had suddenly plunged into the surreal. No wonder the Prince wanted to keep it private! He asked, slowly, "Or am I? Do I still exist on Earth, completely unaware of all this?"

Keren shook his head. "We don't know. Garia has spent months thinking about all this and not found many real answers yet. The main point is this, that you are here now, you are who you seem to be, a man of about twenty or a little more, from what I can see you are reasonably fit and healthy and likely to live a full life here. Duke Wallesan does not mistreat his people, you will be well looked after."

"Thank you, Highness. I'm not sure whether to be happy, sad, angry or what."

Keren grinned. "I think you may discover advantages to your new body. Garia tells me her memory is much better than before and you may also know any of the languages of Alaesia."

"Alaesia?"

"That's the name for the continent we presently reside on. We do not have knowledge of any other, but Garia assures us there are probably more in the oceans of Anmar." His expression changed. "You will be spared the Call of Kalikan, I deem."

"The... Call of Kalikan?"

"Kalikan is our largest moon," the Prince explained. "It travels round every thirty-one days or so, and thus a month is thirty-one days here. Every woman's cycle - in Earth terms her period, I believe - is tied to Kalikan. Garia's first Call was somewhat... spectacular."

"Oh. Oh!" Maralin was embarrassed. "I see. Poor thing."

"Aye. But she adapts, and I am sure you will also adapt." He grinned wickedly. "If you ever want to make a group of men run away from you, offer to discuss the Call of Kalikan with them!"

Wallesan had turned pale. "Highness, you but speak the truth! Shall you find another subject to discuss? If we may understand, if very hazily, the means of transference, then may we ask why? And by whom?"

Keren's response was slow, as if he considered every word. "This may be difficult for you, Your Grace, perhaps more so than for Maralin. There are... beings, let us say, that exist in the wider universe around Anmar. We may not see them and we have little idea what they do or why. What we do know is that there is a plan of some kind that involves many of the planets in this galaxy."

Wallesan interrupted. "If I may, Highness, what is a galaxy?"

"It is a huge collection of stars, Your Grace, like an immense whirlpool, which contains both Anmar and Earth. As I was saying, these beings have a plan, part of which involves transferring men and animals and possibly plants from one world to another to achieve some end we do not know. That is why Maralin and Garia were brought here, along with another, who was sent to Yod. That boy, who remained a boy during the transfer, is the reason that Yod have guns."

Wallesan started again. "You say that guns came from Earth, Highness?"

Keren made a grimace. "Yes and no, Your Grace. It seems, from our point of view, that everything is more advanced on Earth than it is here, so that they appear as if two or three hundred years in our future. What Garia calls a gun is so complex and deadly a device it could not be easily made here, not yet. But in the past of Earth they had simpler weapons, easier to make, and it is the design of these that Yod has extracted from the Earth boy they held captive."

"Ah, I see." Wallesan reflected. "Ah! I see! If Yod should learn of Maralin's presence here -"

"- they would strip their lands of men in an effort to capture him," Keren finished grimly.

Maralin protested, "But I don't know anything about guns! I couldn't tell them how to make them, I don't know how to myself!"

Keren shook his head. "Yod does not know that. You can be sure they would think you lying. You would be tortured for the information." His eyes, those of a young man but already showing the authority he would one day wield, bored into those of Maralin. "Do not undersell yourself, Maralin of Shicargo. When Gary Campbell left Earth and came to Anmar he had but seventeen Earth years and was still at what he calls 'High School'. He did not have the knowledge which any Master of craft or science would gain in a life's work but even as a girl Garia has already changed Palarand utterly after eight months and will change all Alaesia in time. Behold!"

The Prince reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a table fork, placing it on the desk.

"This," he said, "is the first thing she showed us. Do you not believe that there is an immense demand for such a small thing that every smith in Palarand must needs make them? A simple thing, and yet it makes the eating of any meal so much easier." He reached for a leather folder and opened it. "Another thing she showed us was paper. Here is some of the product of our first paper works, we could not function without the material any more. What else? Oh, printing, typewriters, telescopes, microscopes, lightning rods, float glass, steel made with coke, a new kind of saddle, steam engines... As I say, she has been here but eight months. Can you imagine what the next few years may bring? But back to your own circumstance, Maralin of Shicargo. Simply by coming from the same world as Garia, you know many things that would be of value to us, even if we cannot yet make them. That is what Yod wants from you."

Maralin was appalled. The mere fact of his existence here on Anmar automatically made him a target for anyone who wanted to grab him and apply pressure. He was chilled to think of the narrow escapes he had had out in the fields. What if the Yodans had grabbed him and found out where he had come from?

He licked lips suddenly dry. "Your Highness, what should I do?"

Keren shrugged. "This is a somewhat delicate matter for me, as you appeared in Joth and not Palarand, so you are a subject of His Grace and not my father." He turned to the Duke. "Your Grace, you may of course do as you see fit in your own lands and with your own people, but I would offer advice."

Wallesan appeared as shaken as Maralin felt. "Of course, Highness. I deem you to know more about this matter than anyone else in Alaesia. Speak."

Keren shuffled in his seat. Maralin could tell that he felt uncomfortable giving advice to the ruler of another country.

"Your Grace, when Garia first appeared, my father made her an oath, and it was this: If she chose to remain in Palarand, he would care for her as one of his own. Indeed, my parents have subsequently adopted her to make her position more secure. If she chose to depart, however, he would not stand in her way. Her presence on Anmar, like that of Maralin, is at the direction of other beings and not subject to the commands of Kings and Dukes. In fact she has decided to remain in Palarand, the choice being made without pressure from any." He smiled warmly. "She could do no else, since we both ensnared each other almost at the first meeting. For Maralin, might I suggest you offer the same choice."

Wallesan nodded. "Aye, Highness, it would be an honorable thing for me to do."

"Next," Keren continued, "I would ask you to keep secret... not Maralin's existence, since that is already known by many, but Maralin's origins." He turned to Maralin. "Where did you say you came from? Shicargo, was it? The name sounds as if it is a city in the far south, I deem."

"That's right, Your Highness," Maralin explained. "Chicago is actually a great city in the northern United States. I didn't know that there were places here which had similar name endings until yesterday."

"Ah." He grinned. "Providing you don't meet anyone from the south, I deem your origins to be sufficiently obscure to cause little undue attention in the Valley. If you appear as you seem to be, a foreigner from somewhere else entirely, no-one will question your hair color or your face."

His expression became more serious. "I would also suggest, Your Grace, that you consider very carefully what use those of Joth would make of the knowledge which Maralin bears. Obviously, anything unusual will draw the attentions of Yod, so until that matter is resolved I deem you should make no overt changes. I would also ask that you correspond with my father on this matter. Some of the knowledge Garia bears would be dangerous to our world if not managed carefully. Guns are but one example. He has set up a council to manage all the knowledge which Garia provides freely to us." He held out his hands, shrugging. "I may not command you, Your Grace, but together with my father you might consider a joint council to cover all knowledge obtained from Earth."

Wallesan let out a deep breath.

"Highness, you place a heavy burden on me. How shall I keep Maralin safe? I cannot bury him in a dungeon. Maralin, what say you?"

"Your Grace, I don't know your... court or your country. It seems to me that the first thing to do is to get Yod out of your city so that you can return to your rightful place. I agree that it wouldn't be wise for me to go out scouting like I have been doing -"

Keren's eyes narrowed. "What's this?"

Maralin explained the scouting expeditions he had been on and the introduction of camouflage theory to Captain Jarbon. Keren noticeably flinched when he described some of the near-misses they had had out in the fields. He looked thoughtful when Maralin paused.

"I think we may rest easy, Your Grace, on the matter of camouflage. Those of Yod will deem that you but copy their own ideas, they will have no idea that another of Earth faces them. But I interrupted you, Maralin of Chicago. You rightfully suggested that you should scout no more."

Wallesan stirred. "Highness, I deem we have no further need for such scouting. The information Maralin has brought us is of such a high standard that I am already considering how we may retake our city. From the look on Maralin's face, I deem you wish to take part in that assault?"

"I did, Your Grace," Maralin admitted. "Even an idiot can see that wouldn't be a particularly clever idea, if what His Highness tells me is true." He thought. "I'll be honest, Your Grace. I actually know very little about warfare. On Earth..." Now, how honest should I actually be? "...I worked in and around kitchens, both cooking and serving, before I met the wrong kind of man who mistreated me badly. If you wanted to keep me nearby but in a place nobody would think to look, I could work for you in your kitchen."

Wallesan coughed. "My kitchen is presently being despoiled by those of Yod, but I take your meaning. Were you but a servant in the kitchen or something more?"

"Both, Your Grace. I was trained as what we call a Chef but what you would probably call a Head Cook or something. I helped out in the kitchen of Master Falden's mansion where we were evacuated so I'm not entirely unfamiliar with what goes on here, though I still find the meats, vegetables and fruits to be strange."

Wallesan flicked a hand. "That may be so, but from our conversations yesterday and today I deem you to deserve a better place among my retinue than in my kitchen. I would place you on my personal staff. How say you?"

Maralin was overwhelmed.

It's like I've been strapped to a rocket since I arrived on Anmar. I'm so high up already my position bears no resemblance to what I was on Earth.

Okay, then. If that's how things are, then I'd be stupid to let the opportunity pass. I've been given a second chance at life and it seems a whole lot better than my miserable existence on Earth. Time to jump off another cliff.

Maralin relaxed his shoulders and straightened. "Your Grace, I am honored by your offer. Captain Jarbon suggested to me that he thought I would make a good officer, he thought I should take up a permanent position with your forces. I haven't had a chance to accept or refuse his offer or even think about it much. If you take me as though it was his recommendation, then I don't think anyone will realize there is more behind it."

"See?" Keren said to Wallesan. "Like Garia, Maralin has a different way of thinking that cuts to the essential detail."

Wallesan nodded. "Aye, Highness, so I see." He turned to Maralin. "Then you will join my retinue? I will make an oath that, should you so desire, you may leave Joth at any time without impediment, saving only one destination - I do not desire that you would travel to Yod, except perhaps as part of an invading army."

"I don't think you need worry there, Your Grace," Maralin replied dryly. "If you will have me, I would like to join your... retinue."

"Then that's settled," Wallesan said, slapping a hand on the desk. "Highness, does this satisfy you?"

Keren nodded. "Aye, Your Grace, I think I understand you, it is what I expected you to offer. I have no doubt Maralin will obtain the safety his circumstance requires as a member of your staff."

"Maralin," the Duke turned to him, "You may start immediately? I understand you have few belongings, having been thrown out of the city when it fell. Have you any reason for returning with Captain Jarbon to Galdarin before taking your post?"

Maralin thought. "Your Grace, I can start immediately if you want me to. Later, perhaps, when the city is ours again I ought to return to Galdarin for a visit. Those who looked after me ought to know what happened to me. As far as they know, I just disappeared off the face of... Anmar. I have friends at the castle as well, those who went into the fields with me. I don't feel comfortable just deserting them."

Wallesan looked at him sympathetically. "Maralin, you were once a woman, I understand you must view relationships differently than perhaps a man may do. Once the city is retaken I shall gladly honor your request."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"There is one matter I would ask of Maralin, before we return to the others," Keren said. "Maralin, would you write a letter to Garia? I know you share a bond of Earth and country and you should perhaps correspond with her in the future."

Wallesan turned, concerned. "Is that safe, Highness? Even a letter carried by the Messenger Service may sometimes go astray."

Keren smiled. "It would do them no good if it did, Your Grace. I was about to suggest that Maralin wrote in English. That would prove each to the other that they both came from Earth. So far as we know, no other on Anmar may read such a script. Look!" He opened the folder and took out several sheets of paper. "Here is paper, I'm sure Count Sherin will not begrudge use of reed and ink, which I see on his desk. Write, Maralin. Tell Garia who you are and what your circumstances are and I am sure you will in time receive a like reply."

Maralin wrote, finding the reed an unfamiliar method of writing. There were blotches and more than one sheet of paper had to be discarded before a result was made acceptable to all. Wallesan folded it and enclosed it in an outer sheet which he sealed with his ring before handing the package to Keren.

"And now," he said, rising, "It is time for us to rejoin the others. The evening meal will soon be served, I deem, and we have an assault to plan."

10th day of Marash, Year 1175 since the Great Flood

There was a bustle of surprise as the mounted tengroup rode into the courtyard of Falden's mansion, led by an officer. Servants, alerted by the commotion, called Falden and he hurried to the door to greet his visitors in person.

The officer saluted. "Master Falden, you don't recognize me, do you? I am Maralin of Shicargo, now a Standard in Duke Wallesan's retinue."

Falden's eyes widened as he took in the quality linen surcoat and the Ducal sash, which had thin red edging to indicate his personal troops. His eyes flicked to the other armsmen, realizing that they were all from the Duke's bodyguard. Returning his gaze to the young man before him he took in the diagonal white sash, indicating a Tenant, with the thin blue edging showing he was a trainee at that rank, usually referred to as 'Standard'.

Finally the name sank in.

"Maralin? Maralin, aye! You are the young man that came here who was knocked on the head, yes? We wondered what became of you after you joined the levy. We thought you might perhaps have been injured or killed in the fight for the city."

Maralin's expression was grim. "Aye, that was a bad business, but war always is."

Falden said, "But I'm forgetting my manners! Shall you come in? I am anxious to learn why the Duke has sent one of his staff to visit a poor merchant like me."

A faint smile twisted the corner of Maralin's mouth. "I'm not sure His Grace would consider you poor, Master Falden, despite the recent unpleasantness. Aye, I will come in." He turned to the Sarjant. "Varran, let the men be at ease while I visit. The servants' dining room is there," he pointed, "and I'm sure someone will provide drinks and snacks for you and the men."

"Aye, sir!"

Falden led the way inside.

"I regret my wife Midrena is not here to greet you this morning, Standard -"

"Call me Maralin, please. This isn't an official visit. I've just come to let everybody know what happened to me after I left."

"As you say... Maralin. My wife has some kind of problem that affects women, she presently visits the Healers this morning which is why she does not greet you."

"Oh, yes, I remember. Healer Vannet, is that right?"

"As you say! Your memory, it is returned? You are whole again?"

Maralin made an expression of regret. "Sadly no, not entirely, Master Falden. Some of it has come back but I deem that there is much which has gone for ever. Fortunately it doesn't seem to bother me and His Grace has no problem with it."

"Here is my parlor, let us sit for a moment or two and you can tell me how we obtained our city from the invaders."

"As you wish, Master Falden, though I can't stay too long. I want to visit your kitchen and say hello to everybody there before I go."

"Of course! Here, take a seat, I will send for pel and pastries."

* * *

Work stopped in the kitchen when Maralin appeared, even though they were preparing lunch. Possen started the clapping and everyone soon joined in.

"I heard," Possen said when the noise died down, "only a rumor, mind you, that you played an important part in the retaking of the city. Is this so, Maralin?"

"Aye, Master Possen, that is true, though His Grace decided to keep me out of the main fighting. I won't talk about it today, though, because I'll put you all off your lunch. How are things here?"

"Much better since Master Stammand and his retinue left to return to their property in Joth," the Cook replied. "We are all relieved that the danger is no more." He waved an arm around. "As you can see, we have fewer mouths to feed now, things return to normal as they should. Have you seen Pilbar?"

Maralin nodded. "Aye, he is First Spear of the Galdarin Regiment now and unlikely to return here, I'm afraid. It seems he prefers the life of an armsman now."

"As do you, Maralin, or so it seems to me. You serve the Duke now?"

"Aye, I am one of his advisors." Maralin grinned. "Mostly in making those dishes I remember from Shicargo. They have become very popular in the city, so I'm told. Perhaps you'll have the recipes out here one day."

Renita walked in the back door, nearly dropping the basket of eggs that she carried.

"Maralin!"

"Renita."

He held up his left wrist with the favor still plaited around it, now discolored in places with blood.

"You wanted me to return safely, and here I am."

He walked over to her and took the basket, placing it on the table. Renita immediately wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at his face. His own hands automatically went around her shoulders, holding her body close to his. She was small, soft, warm, round and alive. He reached a decision.

I wasn't sure what would happen when I saw Renita again. Prince Keren's advice was sound, though. There's definitely something there, although I would never have believed it when I left here to go and fight.

It's time I told her the truth and give her a chance to decide for herself whether I'm worth the effort or not.

I won't mess her about, she doesn't deserve that from me, but she has to know who I was and what I am now and what the future might be between us.

It seems I like jumping off cliffs...

He turned to the Cook.

"Master Possen, if I may, I'd like a few moments alone with Renita."

Renita looked at Maralin with surprise - and hope. Possen gestured assent and Maralin turned back to her.

"Renita, would you walk with me? We have to talk."

---

End of 'Armsman of Joth'.

Some of these characters may appear in other stories.