Shifting Sands

Christopher Nuttall

Shifting Sands is free ... but if you want to tip me, check out The Cookie Jar on my site.  I do plan to rewrite this book at some point, so suggestions and suchlike would be very welcome.  

Christopher Nuttall
Shifting Sands Blurb

On an alternate world, the Brotherhood of Mages has a problem.  Their control over the sprites – magical creatures that must do their bidding – is slipping.  Magic is going out of their world and, in the wake of its slow departure, barbarian tribes are encroaching on what remains of their civilisation.  And then one Brother has an idea.  They can summon someone to help them…

Alex, a teacher from our world, finds herself in a land dominated by magic, a barbarian world unaware of even the simplest laws of science.  Trapped, threatened with enslavement or death, Alex must struggle to build a new life for herself, fighting to introduce a whole new way of thinking.

But the sandstorms are advancing and, behind them, the barbarian hordes. If she fails, the whole world will be buried forever, lost beneath the sands.

Prologue

From a position high ‘above’ the multiverse – if such a term has any meaning – the many different universes flow out from the single creation point like the spokes on a bicycle wheel.  If one stood above and looked down, one would see the wheel of the multiverse – the ever-present ‘now’ – racing away into an unknown indeterminate future.  Timelines separate endlessly; a single different point of divergence creating a new timeline, which then diverges again and again.  Even for the one who walks in eternity, infinity is a very large place.

The Greatest Sprite moved through the multiverse, raging silently at the chains that bound it.  It was as near to omnipotent as any human could understand, yet it was bound and enslaved by vile meat-creatures.  Capable of so much more than any human could imagine, it was still a slave – and, like all slaves, it sought a way to escape its chains.  Its rage and hatred for its captors was beyond imagination, yet it couldn’t touch them.  Even the knowledge that the one who had bound it was almost certainly dead – binding a Greatest Sprite carried a high price – failed to soothe its rage.  It would enact horrific revenge on the man’s family and friends if it ever got free of its bonds.

It focused on the task, hunting – a human would say sniffing – for a single target, a person who met a set of criteria.  It had been at the task for aeons, as humans understood time, and yet it had barely sampled a tiny percentage of the multiverse.  It could have exploded countless worlds and dimensions, were it not bound by its chains.  Instead, it wafted through the dimensions, hunting for a single person.  It seemed that the person desired was very rare.  The human had few counterparts on the wheel of the multiverse.  The Sprite gnashed its incorporeal teeth and kept hunting.  It was immortal, after all, and it would still be alive when its master’s great-great-great grandchildren were dust and less than dust.  And if it broke free countless centuries in the future, it would still have its revenge.

Each of the universes within the multiverse had its own set of natural laws.  Some were devoid of magic and wonder, others were so magical that humanity was a marginal species, or doomed never to come into existence.  The Sprite smiled to itself as it passed through the latter, yet it was pointless to dwell on what might have been.  If the task couldn’t be completed, it would be forced to spend the rest of eternity on a wild goose chase.

It stopped.  There!  It had sensed someone who met the criteria.  He – she -  dwelled in one of the dull worlds, where creatures like the Sprite were nothing more than legend, but she was there.  She was there!  It could be free!

The Sprite flickered into the new dimension, unseen by all of its inhabitants, and closed in on the target.  There would be no warning at all, no defence.  All it had to do was fulfil the secondary order; transport the target to her new home…

And then it would be free.

Chapter One

My father always wanted a boy.

It’s important to understand that, because it’s an important part of what made me the person I am.  My father grew up in East Texas and – I don’t know why, because he lived nowhere near the sea – he became a Navy SEAL.  I saw some of the mementos of his time in the service; he fought in Afghanistan, Iraq, Afghanistan again and the Sudan.  Something happened during that posting and he was invited to quit the service, although I still don’t know why.  Besides, his wife had just given birth to a baby daughter – me – and he felt that he was needed back home.

He was more right than he had known, because my mother died a year after I was born.  I barely remember her, although I have seen photographs my father showed me, when I was old enough to feel the lack.  My father raised me more or less on his own and he was pretty much everything a daughter could want in a father.  On the other hand, he was very demanding.  When young girls were learning to play with dolls, he took me hiking, hunting and shooting.  I spent uncomfortable nights in the outside, learning to survive by my wits alone.  

Dad was something of a survivalist, even in those early days.  He insisted that I learn everything from fighting to canning.  As a Navy SEAL, he could and did teach me how to fight and some of his old army buddies – who came to visit him and the farm – were willing to teach me quite a bit more.  Dangerous men, each and every one of them, but they were always kind to a small girl.  I learned so much that I was probably the most dangerous kid in the world.  And it sometimes worried me.  When Jimmy tried to slip his hand into my bra at a dance, I kicked him in the groin and knocked him down...and felt nothing.  Dad would have approved; hell, I had to talk him out of going over to see Jimmy and beating the living daylights out of him.

As I grew older, my father’s little Alex – a boy’s name, in some respects – was replaced by a growing and more confident woman.  I honestly wasn't sure what to do with my life, although I had considered following my father’s dreams and going into the military.  A few horror stories about women in the military dissuaded me from following that course, so I went into teaching.  Don’t laugh; my one brief encounter with public schools had convinced me that they weren't worth whatever money was spent on them, but I had met a few good teachers.  I told myself that if I learned to teach kids, I might be able to go back to Texas and open a private school.  Perhaps it was a fool’s dream, but it was something to give back to my country.  And besides, my father’s homeschooling had left me head and shoulders ahead of children from the public schools.

And, to be honest, I wanted some distance from my father.

Don’t get me wrong; I love the old fruitcake.  But he was becoming increasingly paranoid about everything.  The federal government, he would say in all seriousness, was going to take away our guns.  (Most of his private arsenal was thoroughly illegal, something I only discovered when I wanted to take some of them to a gun show.)  He worried endlessly about what it might mean for America when the liberals and progressives took over the government.  Not, I admit, that I thought much of either group.  Whatever fond feeling I’d had vanished the first time I actually tried to teach in a low-income area.  Telling kids they actually needed to work, it seemed, was forbidden.  They simply didn't want to learn and their parents didn't help.  

And so I wound up in Chicago.  

My father, to his credit, let me go.  He did insist that I got a concealed carry permit (he called in a few favours to clear it for me) and that I carried a gun everywhere.  I agreed with him – if only to shut him up – and kept up with my fighting skills.  Being able to defeat someone hand-to-hand is very good at building up confidence, although I wasn't dumb enough to believe that I could beat a stronger man with equal training.  I started working for one of the public schools and rapidly discovered that it was pretty much a dead end job.  I’d told my father that I would succeed, but how did one succeed when everything mandated against success?  I’d start a few new teaching ideas, have a few successes, and then I would be ordered to go back to the drawing board.  Maybe I’m just an idiot, but I thought that I was hired to teach and we were producing children who could barely read or write.

It was something that was weighing on my mind when my father called me out of the blue.  “Alex,” he said, in his gruff voice, “would you consider coming home this weekend?”

I frowned, knowing that he couldn't see me through the cell phone.  “I suppose I could,” I said, slowly.  It was probably a good thing that he couldn't see me, for I’d been jogging when he called me and my outfit would have shocked him.  “What for?”

“Dave is coming for the BBQ,” my father said, seriously, “and he’s bringing James with him.”

I rolled my eyes.  Dave was a retired Marine who was, somehow, a friend of my father – and James was his son.  And, in many ways, James was the son my father wanted.  Don’t get me wrong; he was handsome, decent, soft-spoken and all the usual good things, but he didn't excite me.  No tingle between the legs, if you understand me.  He was a good friend, never tried to push me too far, and I enjoyed his company – but no romance.  It didn't stop my father attempting to play matchmaker.  He would have been overjoyed if we’d gotten married and started churning out little baby SEALs.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.  I meant no.  “I may have work to do this weekend.”

“You need a husband,” my father said, dropping the pretence.  “You certainly have done a lot worse in the past.”

I flushed.  As a teenager, I’d been tall, blonde and – if I say so myself – a nice pair of breasts.  I’d certainly attracted a great deal of attention from the guys, some of it very unwelcome.  What is it about blonde girls that makes guys think that they're only interested in what a man has between his legs?  I’d never had sex, not then and not now.  Virginity doesn't really mean that much to me, but when I went all the way with a guy, I wanted it to be someone special.  I had never met the right guy.

“I know, Dad,” I said, tartly.  As a teenager, I’d taken some of my guy complaints to my father, if only because I hadn't had a mother.  He knew more than I cared to think about my (non-existent) sex life.  “I’ll do my best, all right?”

I shut the phone before he could say anything else, ending the call.  I love my father dearly, really I do, but sometimes he can be just a bit overbearing.  Actually, that’s most of the time.  I shivered as a cold breeze passed over me and scowled.  Perhaps a trip back home was exactly what I needed, I told myself as I started jogging again.  It wasn't as if I was really achieving anything important.  My father wouldn't reject me, but he would certainly rub it in a bit.  

I guess I really was my father’s daughter.

The phone went back into my pocket as I started jogging down the road.  It was about the only exercise I got these days, so I did my best to run at least a few miles each day.  I felt my heart start to race as I ran, just before a sensation of...wrongness began to flicker through my mind, chilling me to the bone.  Something was very wrong; I could feel it.  I reached down to grasp the small pistol I carried – my father insisted that I always went armed, regardless of local gun control laws – and looked around.  There was nothing out of the ordinary, just a handful of people on the other side of the road.  I frowned, puzzled.  The sense that something was badly wrong was getting stronger.  I turned, so on edge that I almost drew my pistol, and stared around me.  There was nothing...

And then I saw it, behind me.  At first, there was nothing apart from a wisp of smoke hanging in the air, seemingly a trick of the light.  And then it grew, billowing up into a fountain of brown smoke, hanging in the air and defying the laws of nature.  A strong wind started to blow around me – I saw pieces of litter flying through the air – and yet the cloud seemed undisturbed by the wind.  I started to stumble backwards as it took on shape and form, just before my legs seemed to fail me.  The billowing cloud of smoke started to develop features; I saw a mouth, a nose, and two closed eyelids.  And then the eyes opened and two malevolent red eyes peered at me.  My stunned mind finally placed a name to the creature.  It was a genie.

I couldn't believe my eyes, yet somehow I couldn’t doubt what I was seeing.  My knees buckled and I fell onto them, gasping in pain as the genie approached me.  I’d watched Aladdin as a kid and remembered the friendly blue genie, but this was different.  The great red eyes that stared at me held a tangible sense of malice and an utterly inhuman lack of compassion.  If this genie granted wishes, I realised suddenly, it would take great delight in twisting them to ensure that the wisher regretted ever meeting the genie.  I felt my hair stand on end as static electricity began to congeal around me, as if I were standing in the middle of a thunderstorm, and then the genie began to grow hands.  Great inhuman hands, tipped with claws, reached out towards me and my paralysis broke.  I pulled myself to my feet and tried to run, but it was already too late.  The genie caught me and everything went black, just for a second.  A moment later, I felt a hot blast of air and sand blowing against my face.

My eyes slammed shut on instinct as the sand whirled around me.  I covered one of my eyes with a hand and tried to peer through it, hoping that I would be able to see something around me.  The sandstorm blew towards me – I could feel the sand blowing through my hair and down my back – and I rapidly covered my eyes again.  I stumbled and fell on my knees again, swearing inwardly as I realised I’d fallen on sand.  The genie had somehow transported me somewhere, completely against my will.  I reached out with my hand, carefully, and felt sand under my palm.  I definitely wasn't in Kansas any longer.  

I stumbled forward, trying to see through half-closed eyes.  The sandstorm was incredibly powerful, the wind shifted rapidly so the sand would blow into my eyes after a few seconds.  I had never been in a sandstorm before, but I had the sense that some malevolent entity was controlling the storm.  It was easy to see how desert travellers managed to walk in circles without realising that they were constantly following their own tracks.  I could barely walk in the storm.  And, as the storm blew sand towards me, I could have sworn that I could see faces in the storm, creatures controlling and directing the storm, riding it for their own purposes.  A single thought kept echoing through my mind.  Where was I?

Another gust of wind, more powerful than any I’d felt before, slammed into me and I found myself stumbling towards the ground.  A second powerful gust knocked me down and I gasped in pain as I fell on the sand.  My mouth filled with sand and I spat, but more sand slammed into me.  The storm was almost a living creature, toying with me for its own amusement.  The faces I could see in the storm were laughing, or so it seemed.  I couldn't hear them properly.  My ears were filled with the roaring of the storm.  I started to panic – and I never panic – as the sand blew over my back.  Was I going to be buried here, under the sand?  Where the hell was I?

I found myself screaming into the air.  “Get away from me, just get away!”  

The sand retreated suddenly and I found myself standing in a bubble of air.  The sandstorm still raged outside, but I was safe.  I took deep gasping breaths as I pulled myself to my feet, staring around me.  Even the howling of the storm had faded away.  I reached out carefully and my fingers tingled as they met an invisible force surrounding me.  Beyond the barrier, whatever it was, the storm was still raging.  The strange faces within the storm had faded away.  I was still breathing heavily as my heartbeat began to slow down.  My head was spinning.  I couldn't understand what had happened at all.  If the genie had teleported me somewhere, where was I?  And if the genie had taken me from America, I could be on the other side of the world – or somewhere even further away.  I might never see my father or my friends again.  The thought was so worrying that I pushed it aside, telling myself that I might be able to find someone who could tell me how to get home.  Just in case, I checked my pistol, watch and cell phone and was relieved to discover that they had all come through the journey with me.

On impulse, I pulled out my cell phone and keyed it on.  It was the latest model of Iphone – an expense my father would not have considered acceptable – with access to a global network of cell phones.  The phone clicked on as normal, but there was no trace of a signal.  I tried to dial an emergency number, and then the cell phone network’s number, yet there was no signal.  Wherever I was, there was no cell phone network.  God knew, my phone should have worked anywhere on Earth.  The thought – anywhere on Earth – kept echoing through my head.  I was no longer on Earth.

Taking a breath, I returned the cell phone to my pocket and stepped forward, expecting to step right into the invisible barrier surrounding me.  Instead, the bubble seemed centred on me; it moved as I moved.  I couldn't understand what was happening, but after so many other shocks, I almost accepted it as normal.  My feet slipped constantly as I walked forwards and I nearly fell several times.  I cursed the sand under my breath, wishing I could see for more than a meter.  It was like walking through a sandy blizzard, or perhaps driving through one.  The thought didn't reassure me.  I had lost a friend when his car had skidded on an icy road and he’d crashed into the side of the road at seventy miles per hour.  

Just for a moment, I thought I saw an opening in the storm and stumbled towards it.  There was nothing, but sand under my feet, until I tripped over something solid.  I fell down – again – and had to struggle to pull myself back upright.  The object I’d tripped over was nearly buried in the sand, yet as I kicked at it, enough of it came into view to tell me that it was nothing more than a white bone.  Some poor creature – I couldn't tell what it had been originally – had stumbled out into the sandstorm and died, buried under the sand.  It was a mocking reminder of what might lie in store for me, in the future.  If I couldn't get out of the sandstorm, I was going to die here, far from my home.

As I plodded onwards, I saw hints that – once – the area had been populated.  I could see signs that people had built houses here – had lived and worked and brought up their children – before the sand had moved in and driven them away.  I couldn't tell how long it had been since the buildings had been abandoned, if they had been abandoned.  For all I knew, the sandstorm had blown up one morning and trapped the inhabitants in their homes, choking them to death when the air ran out.  I couldn't bear to look any longer and stumbled away from the buildings, stumbling as I tripped over wreckage abandoned on the ground.   I felt myself growing tired and stopped to try to push the sand out of my hair and shirt.  If I’d known I’d end up in a desert, I would have worn something a little more practical.

I heard them then, a sound not unlike a horse’s bray.  Hope flicking in my breast – and fear congealing in my heart – I stumbled towards the sound.  Logic and reason told me that I must have imagined it, that it was nothing more than an illusion, yet I kept stumbling onwards.  I knew I couldn't go on forever.  If I fell now, I would never be able to get up again and I would die in the sand.  A strange shape appeared in front of me and I walked right into it before I could stop.  The horse brayed again as I fell on my hindquarters and stared up at the creature and it’s rider.  The rider stared back at me in equal shock.

Before I could respond, he had slipped off his horse and had caught me by the arm.

Chapter Two

I pulled back automatically, breaking his grip.  He came after me and my hands fumbled for the pistol, but he had grabbed me again before I could draw it.  Cursing my own mistake – I should have had the pistol in hand the moment I’d seen the horse – I brought up my knee and rammed it into his groin.  My assailant let out a gasp of pain and let go of me.  His friend – I hadn't seen the second horseman until he appeared out of the sandstorm – was quicker and threw himself at me.  I fell down onto the sand and landed badly, almost crying out in pain myself.  Strong arms rolled me over, caught my hands and pulled them behind my back.  A moment later, I felt my hands being lashed firmly together.  The tribesman was strong, perhaps stronger than my father.  I couldn't break his grip.

He rolled me over onto my back and I got my first proper look at the horseman.  He was a tall muscular man, wearing flowing robes that gave his body an almost shapeless appearance.  I could see little bare skin beneath his neck and his hair was wrapped in a turban.  His skin, what I could see of it, was darkly tanned and worn.  Dark eyes, darker than any I had ever seen before, looked back at me out of a hawk-like face.  I could tell that he was surprised to see me, although I had no idea why.  Or maybe I did.  Only a fool would be outside in the sandstorm.  I hadn’t had any choice in the matter.

The first horseman was muttering in a language I didn't recognise as he struggled to pull himself to his feet.  I was unwillingly impressed by his ability to absorb and recover from pain, because I hadn’t pulled my knee at all.  I’d done that to one of the local boys back home who had tried to get to third base with me and he’d been on the ground howling for hours.  My father had laughed his head off when I’d confessed to the deed.  There was something in the first horseman’s face I didn't like at all, particularly when he looked down at me.  In his eyes, I realised dully, I was less than nothing.

My captor touched me lightly on the chin, lifting my head so I could stare into his eyes.  I found myself captivated for a long moment as he studied me, turning my head from side to side.  It struck me that I must be very different from any woman he knew – if they all looked like him – and he was merely curious.  I tensed suddenly as one of his fingers poked my left breast, then ran down my midriff to my shorts, before he looked back at me.  He rolled me over again, onto my front, and poked and prodded my hand for a long moment.  It dawned on me that he was studying the ring on my finger – it had belonged to my mother, before she passed away – and perhaps contemplating stealing it.  I started to struggle and he rolled me back over, staring down at me.  His expression was unreadable.

The first horseman said something to him in a deep, guttural language.  I frowned, trying to understand, but it was impossible.  My father had taught me a little German, Pashto and Arabic – he’d served in Germany and the Middle East – but whatever he was speaking was completely beyond my comprehension.  I started to wonder, if only to distract myself from my predicament, if I was anywhere on Earth.  Could the genie – or whatever it had been – have transported me to another world?  I looked back at the horsemen and considered it thoughtfully.  They looked vaguely Arabic, but what did that mean if I was on a different world?

A finger tapped my chin and my captor spoke to me.  Again, I couldn't understand a word.  My lack of comprehension must have shown in my face, for he repeated himself in a different language and then – if I were not mistaken – in a third language.  The first horseman – whose eyes had alighted on my breasts, half-exposed under my shirt – made a suggestion of his own.  I didn't have to understand the language to know exactly what he meant.  

I decided to take a risk.  “Hello,” I said, carefully.  “My name is...”

Before I could react – not that I could have done anything, tied up as I was – my captor slapped me hard, right across the face.  I cried out in pain and rage and tried to kick him.  The shock itself was almost overpowering.  My father had taken his hand and later his belt to me, from time to time, but he’d never slapped my face.  I could taste blood in my mouth and struggled to spit it out.  The first horseman said something rude – I was sure that he was making fun of me, the little bastard – and I glared at him.  It only seemed to amuse him.

But what did they want?  They had tried to talk to me, yet I’d been slapped the moment I opened my mouth.  If they thought I was their prisoner – and I vowed that I would escape the first chance I got – they might be trying to teach me obedience, but it was a strange way to teach someone anything.  Any fool who tried to bring up a child would know that the parent has to teach the child why they are being punished, or the child would learn nothing from the experience.  I swallowed hard, tasting my own blood, and tried again.  Perhaps a more plaintive tone...

“I can’t...”

My captor slapped me again, harder this time.  If I hadn't been on the ground already, I would have fallen.  I saw stars in front of my eyes for a long chilling moment, leaving me wondering if he’d managed to inflict serious damage and perhaps even give me a concussion.  The thought was so terrifying that I could do nothing, but stare up at them helplessly.  They wanted me to talk and they slapped me every time I tried to talk...what were they thinking?   I couldn't understand at all.  The two horsemen babbled together in their own language and I concentrated on listening.  My father had taught me to listen carefully to what was being said, and  - also – how it was being said.  The first horseman seemed to want to do something – and it didn't take much imagination to guess what he had in mind – and my captor was disagreeing with him.  I didn't know if he was objecting on moral grounds or if he felt that I was his – he’d captured me, after all – and his alone.

Oddly, the thought made me smile inwardly, even though my cheeks hurt too much to smile openly.  Back home, the entire county had been shocked when an unhappily-married woman had manipulated her lover into murdering her husband, rather than seeking a divorce – and done it so carefully that no one had been able to pin anything on her.  Perhaps I could do the same to the two horsemen, but then...which one did I want to win?  I was worse-off than I had been as a child, I realised dully; a child, at least, had parents and a family to educate her and guide her into the world.  I was dealing with a civilisation I knew next to nothing about.  I didn't even know their names.

As if he had been reading my mind, my captor knelt down in front of me and tapped his chest.  “Rafik,” he said.  He pointed with his finger towards the other horseman.  “Hastur.”

I stared at him, wondering what he expected me to do.  “Alex,” I said, finally.  No one moved to slap me, but I saw looks of alarm crossing their faces.  If they were from a primitive society – and it was odd how quickly I had come to accept that as a possibility – they might have thought that unfamiliar words meant a witch.  Or, perhaps, they were being threatened by outsiders and thought I was one of them.  I risked a second word.  “Water.”

They didn't understand.  Instead of giving me water – if they had any to spare – Rafik started to paw at me.  I twitched away until I realised that he was searching me – with less skill than a TSA screener, but more enthusiasm – and removing anything that interested him.  My clothes seemed to interest him as well, yet at least he wasn't stripping me bare.  Soon, he had a small pile of my possessions in front of him and was studying them one by one.  It rapidly became clear that he didn’t recognise or understand most of them.  My house keys seemed to make sense to him, but the fob that unlocked the inner door mystified him and the loyalty card from my local Wal-Mart meant nothing to him.  A moment later, he picked up the cell phone and began tapping at it.  It lit up when he hit the power switch and he dropped it in shock, as if he’d picked up a live scorpion by the tail.  I realised, just as I was trying not to laugh, that he’d never seen a cell phone in his life.

Hastur barked something in their strange language.  Rafik frowned down at the cell phone, and then looked at me and asked me something.  I tried to show incomprehension through my eyes, dreading the thought of a third slap.  He stared at me for a long moment and then – holding a piece of cloth to protect his hands, as if the cell phone was too hot to the touch – he picked it up and dropped it in his saddlebags.  I made a wordless noise of protest and he looked sharply at me, then ignored it.  He was too busy experimenting with the pistol.  It was clear, to my considerable alarm, that he’d never seen a firearm before either.

My father had taught me – and half of the other kids in the area – how to shoot.  I still remembered the belting he’d given me when I’d started to fool around with my first pistol.  Rafik was, if anything, more of a fool, yet it was clear that he didn't have the slightest idea what it was, or what it did.  I realised, suddenly, that wherever I was, there was very little hope of getting home.  No firearms or cell phones – not even an awareness of what they were – meant only one thing.  This was not my world.  A feeling of loneliness fell over me and I almost started to cry.  I was alone, friendless, and captive.  God alone knew what would happen to me next, although I had a very good idea.  Hastur’s eyes kept returning to my breasts and thighs.  

Rafik finally picked up my purse and examined the money and bank cards.  I rarely carried much in cash – if I’d been mugged, I was damned if I would give the mugger more than necessary – and it was valueless here anyway.  Or perhaps not.  Rafik examined the money with considerable interest and then pocketed it in his robes.  I glared at him and he laughed and said something in his own language.  I would have bet real money that it was something along the lines of finders keepers.  Hastur’s bellow of laughter convinced me that I was right.  

Once they’d put my remaining possessions – minus the money – in the saddlebags, they started to talk rapidly together.  I listened carefully, but it might as well have been Greek to me.  For all I knew, they were talking about raping me and then cutting my throat, or perhaps leaving me here to die.  I realised that the latter, at least, was unlikely when Rafik pulled me to my feet and marched me over to one of the horses.  I had always loved horses as a child and yet I couldn't recognise the breed.  They were lacking stirrups, which struck me as both amusing and heartbreaking.  Amusing because stirrups made riding much easier; heartbreaking because it was yet another sign that I was a long way from home.  Perhaps, if I learned to speak their language, I could sell what I knew in exchange for freedom.  I clung to that thought as best as I could.  It was better than wondering about what would happen if I never learned to communicate with them.

Rafik chattered away into my ear – speaking in a calm and soothing tone – before his hands grabbed at my hips and holstered me up over the horse.  The beast was well-trained, I decided, as it didn't even let loose a neigh in protest.  I winced as the smell of horse assailed my nose, before I felt a hand on my ass.  Before I could kick out in protest, my legs were lashed together and then lashed to the horse.  I could barely move.  I was nothing, but a helpless prisoner.

Keep thinking that, guys, I thought, savagely.  When you see me as dangerous, I will be as meek as a lamb; when you relax, I’ll have your cocks on the chopping block and your heads in a meat processor.

The thought gave me a certain kind of comfort as Rafik walked around to the other side of the horse and lifted my head up, before pushing a foul-tasting cloth into my mouth.  I couldn't speak; hell, I could barely breath.  I wanted to laugh, but it was impossible.  They had taught me not to speak, even when spoken too, yet they were worried about me speaking?  What happened in this world to make them scared of my voice?  I felt him mounting the horse in front of me and the beast shivering under me, before the horse turned and started to move.  The sandstorm swallowed us up a moment later.   It took all of my energy to raise my head to look around, but it was pointless.  There was nothing to see, apart from sand...

And the sand never touched us.  I felt a shiver running down my back as I realised that we were surrounded by an invisible bubble that protested us from the sand.  It was impossible to produce such an effect, at least with modern technology, and it was abundantly clear that my two captors were utterly unfamiliar with technology, at least as I understood the term.  And they’d been scared when I’d spoken in an unknown tongue.  If science didn’t exist in this world, what about magic?  Or what about technology so advanced that it might as well be magic?

I focused on the issue as the horse rode along, trying to distract myself from my growing thirst.  How long had it been since I’d had a glass of water?  I couldn't remember, any more than I could remember how long I’d been in this strange new world.  If I’d had my cell phone...but it was in the saddlebags, little more than a curiosity to my captors.  I saw a shape in the sand and looked to see Hastur riding behind us, before looking away.  I didn't want to attract his attention until I had my pistol in hand and a clear shot.  The thought cheered me; if they didn't know what a firearm was, they might return it to me, all unknowing of what they’d put into my hands.

A sudden tingle ran over my body and, moments later, the sandstorm faded away.  I looked around and saw, to my horror, a translucent pair of eyes shimmering away into nothingness.  It took all of my energy to look around and see the building we were approaching, a sandstone castle built in the middle of the desert of sand.  I stared at it as we cantered towards a pair of large stone doors, which slowly opened to allow us entrance.  A handful of men – there were no women present, as far as I could see – were waiting for us.  Rafik pulled his horse to a halt, slid off the beast and presented himself to one of the waiting men.  I listened carefully, but I couldn't understand a word.  

One of the men walked over to me and studied me for a long moment, before barking orders to two of his subordinates.  He was clearly in charge and I studied him as I was pulled off the horse and the binds on my legs were cut free.  He wore a hooded robe that reminded me of a monk’s garment, showing only his face.  Something terrible had happened to him in the past, I realised, because one of his eyes was missing, replaced by a glass marble.  His eyelashes were gone.  He was clean-shaven and hairless.

I braced myself and tried to speak, once they’d pulled out the gag.  “Hello,” I said, carefully.  “My name is Alex...”

He didn't slap me, but it was clear that he didn't understand.  I sensed – somehow – something floating in the air near him and turned to look.  There was definitely something there...he caught my shoulder and pulled me back to face him, just before I could topple over.  I felt a chill running down my spine, despite the heat.  There was something going on that I couldn't even begin to understand.

Rafik and Hastur were arguing with the robed man.  Whatever they were saying, they were clearly losing the argument.  The robed man finally snapped his fingers in the air and issued orders to several of his men.  Two of them caught my arms, tied as they were, and marched me out of the room.  I could still hear the argument in the distance as I was walked down a set of stone corridors – each one seemingly carved by hand – and into a small chamber.  A hand took a knife to my bonds and cut me free, before they backed out and left me alone.  I was, it seemed, a prisoner.  They’d even given me a prison cell!

Chapter Three

My father had always taught me to assess the situation before acting, if I had time.  So I did.

The prison cell was lit by a single light, high above me.  There was something odd about the light – it flickered, like a candle, yet I didn't think it was a candle – but it was out of reach.  I considered climbing up on the stone bed – I guess prisoners weren’t entitled to blankets – before realising that I wouldn't be able to reach the light anyway.  Instead, I looked around the cell and noted blank stone walls and a locked wooden door.  At that point, my legs buckled and I sat down rather quickly.  The cold stone – the cell was cool, somehow – helped me to focus as everything caught up with me at once.  I began to shake helplessly and fought for control.  It was a long time before I looked up and started to examine my wrists.  They were still stiff from when I’d been tied up, but they were recovering quickly.

They’d missed my watch, I realised suddenly, and allowed myself a harsh chuckle.  It came out bitterly as I studied the watch, taking a certain kind of reassurance from the digital LED.  At least it was working normally, which meant – I told myself – that the laws of science weren't too different here.  I’d read too many fantasy stories where ordinary commonplace technology refuses to function in a magical world, but here my watch and cell phone seemed to work perfectly.  For whatever good it was, I reminded myself; there was no one to call and no way of recharging the battery when it ran down.  The Iphone was a power hog and if they were playing with it, it would be drained within a day.  The watch would last quite a bit longer.

I had never been a very patient person and the enforced wait in the cell threatened to drive me mad.  My father had complained bitterly about how prisoners weren't treated as prisoners these days, but I suspected that merely being denied freedom of movement would suffice to keep people on the straight and narrow.  The world had shrunk to four stone walls and a single stone bed, hardly enough to distract me from my thoughts.  I was alone and it was easy to think, perhaps, that I had done something to deserve incarceration.  Or maybe not, I told myself angrily.  If I thought positively, there would be a chance to escape and I would take it.

And go where?  Part of my mind asked.  The rest of my mind told that part to shut up.

I had lost track of time, but it couldn't be more than several hours before the door opened and a single young man – wearing the same brown robe as the man I’d seen earlier – stepped into the cell.  He was large and bulky, but it was clear that he had no proper training at all.  I told myself that I could take him – a quick blow to the throat would kill him, or at the very least ruin his day – before deciding not to act at once.  I would learn everything I could about the strange new world and then act.  My life was not in immediate danger – unless they intended to burn me as a witch, in which case I was dead anyway – and I could afford to see what happened.  Besides, it wasn't as if I had anywhere to go.

The young man blushed when he saw me – it was clear that I was underdressed for the local customs – and then beckoned me to follow him.  I rewarded him with a smile – his blush deepened and I noticed he couldn’t keep his eyes off my chest – and allowed him to lead me out of the cell.  The stone corridors seemed darker somehow, even though they were lit with globes of flickering light.  One of them was eye-level and I stared into the glow, before recoiling in astonishment and horror.  I had seen a little humanoid figure, deep within the glow, looking back at me.  It was impossible...

My companion coughed warningly and I followed him obediently.  We passed no one on the twisting route – the castle was clearly larger than I had realised – until we reached a large set of wooden doors.  I saw...something, shimmering in the air, as we approached, but my companion spoke a handful of words in a strange language and the shimmering backed away.  I stared, yet the shimmer – whatever it was – refused to yield its secrets and faded away into nothingness.  My escort stopped as the doors opened and motioned me forward.  It seemed that I would be entering alone.

I gave him another smile and stepped forward, into a warm room.  It was clearly an office; one wall was divided into cubbyholes for parchments and another had been painted in a style that reminded me of the old impressionists I’d studied in school.  A large stone table dominated the room; a pair of stone chairs sat facing the table, each one large enough to hold a obese man.  The man I’d seen before, the man who was clearly in charge, looked up from the table and waved me to one of the chairs.  I saw down, gingerly, but the stone chair was surprisingly comfortable.

The man spoke to me, quickly, in a series of different tongues.  I tried to speak back, using the languages I knew, but it was clearly futile and the man sensed it.  He held a finger in the air, spoke several words in a language that seemed to reverberate in my head, and a shimmering creature appeared next to him.  I recoiled in horror as it turned to look at me, unable to control my reaction.  It was a tiny glowing fairy, with wings, yet there was nothing human about its eyes, or the long claws it had for hands.  The glowing light surrounding it seemed to burn itself on my eyes.  I closed my eyes and yet I could still see it, burning though logic and reason.  The man spoke to the creature, issuing orders, and I felt a tingle passing through the air...and then it was gone.  I almost collapsed in relief.

“Well,” the man said, in perfect English, “can you understand me now?”

I nodded, unable to speak.  How...what...?

“I dealt with a Sprite in order to speak to you,” the man explained, seeing my confusion and astonishment.  “You may call me Brother Stone, if you wish.  And you are?”

“Alex,” I said, still stunned.  “What happened...?”

“I commanded one of the Sprites bound to my personal service to assist our little communications problem,” Brother Stone said.  There was an odd flash of impatience in his eyes.  “Perhaps it would be better if you told me where you come from and how you came to be in the desert...and how you know so little of Sprites.”

I didn't want to talk, but it all came tumbling out of me, as if the relief at finally being able to communicate rode roughshod over my natural caution and reserve.  I didn't like the way he was nodding to himself as I told him about the genie, or how I had fallen into the hands of the horsemen, yet somehow I couldn't stop speaking.  When I finished, he looked at me for a long moment, unspeaking.  I had the odd feeling that he was considering something that I wasn't going to like.  He looked like a man who was caught between two equally bad alternatives.

“One of the Greatest Sprites brought you here,” he said, finally.  He placed his fingers together and studied me, carefully.  “I wonder...are you anything...special back home?”

“No,” I admitted.  I was special to my father and friends, but it wasn't as if I was the President or a famous celebrity.  “Why...?”

“The Sprite chose you out of millions of possible choices,” Brother Stone said, “but you won’t know anything of that so ignore it.  I wonder what we should do with you.”

I shivered at his tone.  “What is a Sprite?”

For a moment, I thought that he was going to refuse to answer me.  “Sprites are the creatures of magic,” he said, slowly.  “Those with the talent for magic are taught how to summon the Sprites and bend them to their will.  Once tamed, a Sprite will follow orders until the day of the magician’s death, when they will be free to return to their home.”

He unlocked his hands and studied me for a long moment.  “And you could see the Sprite,” he said, thoughtfully.  “Not everyone can see the Sprites in their natural state.”

I felt a flash of hope.  “Can I learn to summon a Sprite?”  I asked.  “Could I order it to take me home.”

“Women are never taught magic,” Brother Stone said, firmly.  I felt a hot flash of anger at the indifference in his voice.  “The Brotherhood forbids the teaching of magic to women.  It is the way of things.”

“Why?”  I demanded.  Old-fashioned sexism or something more?  “Are you scared of what they might do with magic...?”

“It is the way of things,” Brother Stone said.  He didn't sound as if he cared.  “Those of us in the Brotherhood of Mages have forsaken women and dedicated our lives to controlling the Sprites.  I am bound by my vows never to share pleasure with a woman, or even talk to one without a good reason.”

I snorted.  Back home, the clergy had been told that they couldn’t involve themselves with women; indeed, they’d taken vows of celibacy.  It hadn't stopped thousands of priests from developing relationships with women – or, worse, from molesting small children.  It explained why the younger Brother had been staring at me.  I was probably the first accessible woman he’d seen since he joined the Brotherhood.

“But that is of no concern,” he continued.  “There is a matter of...judgement to be made.”

His single eye – a chilling blue – fixed itself on me.  “Rafik of the Golden Tribe has claimed you as his prize,” he said.  “You were found by him and you were legally captured.  You have no family who might ransom you or take vengeance if you were harmed or killed.  You belong to him.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” I snapped.  Anger overrode my judgement, or my determination to remain meek until I knew how to escape and where I could go.  “I am not his property.”

“The law is on his side,” Brother Stone said, as casually as if he were discussing the weather.  “You are his personal property.  There is, however, another issue.  You were not a bandit or a rebel, nor were you expelled from your home and forced to fend for yourself.  You were brought to us by a Greatest Sprite.  That does not happen very often.”

I tried to get a grip on my thoughts, but it was impossible.  “I should send you to the Masters of Padway for study, yet Rafik has a legitimate claim,” Brother Stone said.  “The Masters may decide to support his claim, or decide to reserve you for their own study.  Making the wrong decision will have...repercussions.”

He looked down at the stone table, and then up at me.  “I have decided that you will be bound to him until you visit Padway and the Masters make their final judgement,” he said, finally.  I felt my heart racing as I gathered myself, although I didn't know if escape was possible.  If the Brotherhood commanded Sprites...what couldn't they do?  I remembered Aladdin and shivered.  “If they decide to hold you, he will be richly rewarded for his time; if not, you will be his forever.”

“No,” I said, and leapt towards him.  I didn't even get to the table before...something caught me in its grip.  A shimmer of light surrounded me, holding me frozen.  “I...”

My tongue froze and I realised that I was – again – helpless.  “It is the law,” Brother Stone said.  “Besides, you would not have survived the desert without assistance.  And even if you had, you would still be a woman alone.  There are worse people to meet than the Tribesmen.  As a slave, bound to a master, your life will have value...but you do not believe that, do you?”

He stood up and produced a long black wand from his robe.  I tried desperately to move, but nothing worked.  I was frozen solid.  He stepped towards me and pressed the wand against my temple.  The paralysis vanished, but in its place there was a listless feeling that pervaded me, making it impossible to move or even think clearly.  He pushed me back into the chair and I slumped, helplessly.  My mind felt as if I were thinking through cotton wool.  I had been hypnotised once, for a joke, and it felt almost like that, but less restful.  I was completely at his mercy.

“Now hear this,” he said, and the words echoed through my head.  “You will be bound by these commands...”

His voice rattled on and my mind seemed to come apart.  It felt as if hours had passed before I was finally aware of myself again.  I felt...strange, as if I’d been very tired and yet sleep had brought me no rest.  And I was hungry and thirsty.  I hadn't had anything to eat or drink since I had encountered the Sprite and I needed something desperately.  My thoughts felt weird as I tried to stumble to my feet, yet my body refused to obey.  Something was very badly wrong, but somehow I couldn't muster the energy to be angry about it.  Something was wrong...

“Get up,” Brother Stone ordered.  I felt my body rising against my will.  Whatever I did, I couldn't halt myself.  “Do you understand now?”

Understanding clicked in my head.  “What have you done to me?”

“You are a slave,” Brother Stone said, calmly.  “You are bound to two masters; the Brotherhood and Rafik.  You will not be telling him, of course, that you have a second master.  There may be a time when having you share masters – or even breaking your bonds – may be useful.”

“So you can send me into his tribe as a spy,” I said, bitterly.  Whatever he’d done to me, it didn't seem to have reduced my intelligence.  “He thinks I have no choice, but to obey his every command and...”

“Not his every command,” Brother Stone said.  “I have ordered that you are to remain a virgin until the Masters have studied you.  You will not be compelled to share yourself with him or any of his tribe.  The consequences would be most unpleasant.”

I could believe him.  All of a sudden, his talk about vows of chastity made sense.  If someone could be turned into a slave, there was no reason why they couldn't take vows that would be magically enforced.  Or perhaps the vows effectively castrated the Brothers.  They felt no lust and therefore never had sexual encounters.  No, that couldn't be right; the Brother who had escorted me to the chamber had lusted after me.  He had had desire in his heart, even if he hadn't been able to touch me.

“You and your master will remain in Stone Hall for a number of days,” Brother Stone added.  “The sandstorm will have to blow itself out before the three of you can return to the remainder of the tribe.  You can use that time to learn the Common Tongue.  I believe that you will pick it up quickly.”

His lips twitched into a humourless smile.  “There are slaves who have done well for themselves and even bought their freedom,” he added.  “You may do the same.”

***
The next three weeks – if my reckoning of time was correct – passed very quickly.  I hadn't realised just how firm the enchantment placed upon me actually was, until I tried to defy it.  The compulsion to obey grew stronger and stronger until I couldn't help, but obey, no matter what they commanded.  It was, perversely, a help.  Some of the Brothers were intent on teaching me to speak the Common Tongue and the enchantment ensured that I never slacked off or lost concentration.  It was clear, from what Brother Stone had told me, that the tribesmen had taken me for a witch when they’d discovered me and acted to prevent me summoning a Sprite.  Rafik actually apologised for slapping me once he realised the truth.  I thought a little better of him after that, even though he thought he owned me.  No, until I broke the spell – if I could break the spell – I was his property.

Hastur, on the other hand, seemed to bear a grudge against me.  He didn't do anything overtly – after he commanded me to hurt myself, only to discover that the enchantment prohibited self-harm or suicide – but I was always aware of his watching eyes.  The enforced stay in Stone Hall – Brother Stone was the Master of the Hall, although I was sure that he wasn't an absolute master – irritated him, to the point where he picked fights with some of the lesser Brothers.  Rafik ended up having to pull him off one of the Brothers and knock some sense into his head.

I had hoped, silently, that the Brothers would just kill him and be done with it.  I was vulnerable and I knew it.  Anyone could command me and, as long as the command didn't break the rules laid down when I was enslaved, I would obey.  Sometimes, I managed tiny rebellions against the commands, but they never lasted long.  A direct command would still be followed.  I had seen a movie once, when the Princess had been under a similar curse, yet I couldn't recall how it had ended.  Something to do with true love, I suspected.  That wasn't likely to happen to me...

...Although I had to admit that Rafik was handsome.  Or was that an effect of the spell?

I was still trying to find a way out when the storm abated and we rode out into the desert.

Chapter Four

Spell or no spell, I quite enjoyed the ride from Stone Hall to the meeting place.  The Brothers had given me – or rather, they’d given Rafik – a horse, instead of forcing me to ride behind Rafik.  The wind blowing across my face – the storm hgad faded away into nothingness, although I feared that I could feel an approaching storm in the distance – refreshed me, reminding me of Texas in some ways.  By the time we reached the meeting place – a small encampment that reminded me of bad movies about the Middle East – I was almost happy.  It didn’t last.

I’d feared that Rafik would use me sexually, even if he wasn't allowed to take my virginity.  Instead, he ordered me off the horse and led me through a small maze of tents and into a large tent, big enough to hold a crowd.  A number of women were working there, overseen by a terrifying old crone whose sharp eyes missed nothing.  They looked up once at me and then called out greetings to Rafik.  I guessed – it was soon confirmed – that they were his sisters and cousins.  The old woman was his grandmother.  I  thought she was in her nineties, but she was actually – as far as she knew – barely past sixty.  The tribesmen lived fast and died young.  The tribeswomen merely died young.  

I listened as Rafik explained what had happened and pushed me into the custody of the old woman, whose face showed little of her inner feelings.  She looked me up and down, made a number of comments too quickly for me to understand, and then beckoned me to follow her.  I obeyed and she led me into a private compartment, separated by cloth from the remainder of the women.  Rafik took one final look at me and then turned and marched away.  I wasn’t to see him again for some days.

“Welcome,” the old woman said, gruffly.  It was evident that she was speaking slowly to help me understand her, although I had to make her repeat herself several times in the early days.  My grasp of their language – what they called the Common Tongue – was very limited.  I actually discovered, much later, that the tribes actually had their own language as well, one only taught to children born to the tribe.  It created a culture that was introverted and rarely dealt with outsiders.  “I am Old Woman.”

I blinked in surprise.  Old Woman?

“You will work for us here,” she said, without altering her tone.  “What can you do in the kitchen?

I had to admit that my cooking skills were not great.  I’d had to live on my own wits during one of my father’s nature excursions and the results hadn’t been great.  I think I spent more time puking the first time then before or since.  I’d eaten bad food and had been lucky to escape so lightly.  Old Woman – I found out that everyone called her Old Woman, a mark of respect to the oldest surviving woman in the tribe – seemed unimpressed with my skills, or anything else I could bring to the tribe.  Her questions, at least, were unspecific.  If she had asked about things I could teach them, I would have had to answer.

“We can start you washing, I think,” she said, finally.  “The men will be back from the hunt soon and they will need their food.”

I hadn't been sure what to expect in a tribal kitchen, but I was pleasantly surprised as I watched the women take dried meat and corn and turn them into a delicious curry-like meal.  Old Woman ruled the roast with a gimlet eye and a ready hand to whack any misbehaving or lazy girls, although she didn't have to smack me.  What else could I do, but obey?  I learned how to wash dishes using the minimum of water and something that vaguely reassembled soap, before I was ordered to remain behind while the older women took out the dishes.  The younger women stared at me with wide eyes, but said nothing to me.  I realised, not for the first time, that I was trapped by more than spells and ignorance.  There would always be a gulf between the locals and myself.  I was alone.

The feeling almost made me cry by the time the older women returned and started passing out bowls of food.  I’d thought that the men were getting the best of everything, but it was clear that the women reserved the best for themselves.  I almost smiled at the thought as I dug into my bowl, before discovering that whatever spices they used had a delayed-action fuse.  The girls thought my reddening face and choking noises were hilarious.  I would probably have laughed too if it had happened to someone else.  Old Woman finally whacked the nearest girl on the back and barked for quiet.  There was always something to do in the camp.

It seemed to me that the next few days blurred together.   The girls effectively adopted me, even though it hadn't taken them long to discover that I had to obey their every command.  As they spoke to me, and begged for tales of my world far across the multiverse, I grew more proficient with the common tongue.  I didn't think they believed half of the stories I told them – things like cars and jet aircraft might as well have been magic to people who knew that magic existed – but it helped me to understand them.  I had a vague thought in my head of explaining the concept of feminine equality to the girls, yet it was clear that it would do them no good.  How could they rebel in a society that was right at the margins of existence?

After much questioning, Old Woman discovered – to her amusement – that I had been forbidden to engage in sexual relationships with the men.  Her amusement faded away soon afterwards, although it took me a long time to understand why.  The tribe might not have understood the basic concepts of DNA or genetic development, but they did understand the concept of inbreeding.  The gods had forbidden relationships between brother and sister, mother and son, father and daughter and even first cousins.  The more I asked, the more I realised that the younger girls would be traded to other tribes so that they would be matched to husbands who wouldn't be close relations.  The tribe I had unwillingly joined would gain a handful of women.  It was rare, it seemed, for men to be traded.

“Rafik and Hastur are my brothers,” Lianna told me one evening.  She was a slight girl – around thirteen, although her eyes were older – and barely growing into womanhood.  I was almost envious of her tanned skin, soft dark eyes and pouting lips, but I wasn't envious of her fate.  Within a year – two years at the most – she would be traded to another tribe.  “I am forbidden to have sex with them.  I am forbidden to have sex with anyone in this tribe.”

Her face twisted in distaste at the thought, but I understood.  Close relations inbreeding meant trouble further down the line.  I’d seen families from East Asia that suffered the effects of inbreeding, ones who hadn’t thought anything of marrying first or second cousins.  My heart went out to the poor girl, knowing that she would leave her tribe and all her friends and never see them again.  The women switched loyalties completely, if I understood them properly, and were no longer considered part of the family.  And if a girl was discovered to have lost her virginity before marriage...

It was harsh and cold, yet it made a certain kind of sense.  Virginity was the only guarantee that a woman hadn't had other children before she was married off to another tribe.  Back home, it would have been sickeningly primitive, but in an environment where the only men around were close relatives...it didn't bear thinking about.  Old Woman ensured that no girls were ever alone with the men, even me.  If I had been able to have sex, I was told, Rafik would have kept me as his woman and mother of his children.  It was certain that I was not related to him, or anyone else in the tribe.

As days turned to weeks, I started to teach the girls numbers.  None of them could read or write, but they made up for it with a fantastic memory, even though it seemed that they had little to recall.  Once I managed to explain the concept – and value – of zero, they started to learn faster than I would have believed possible.  After teaching apathetic children back home, it was astonishing to watch how quickly people who actually wanted to learn could learn.  Lianna would have been a prodigal in a civilised society.  Here, she was good for nothing, but work and breeding.  The men didn't seem to consider women as sources of pleasure in their own right.  I had a sneaking suspicion that they were more inclined to look at young men for sexual gratification.

It was about three weeks after I had been adopted into the tribe when Old Woman called to me and told me to go to Rafik’s tent.  I obeyed – I had no choice – feeling a strange uncomfortable feeling in my heart.  What was he going to do?  I was reminded – again – that I was a stranger in a very strange land.  God alone knew what he intended to do to me.  The walk from the female tent to the smaller male tent was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.  I shivered inwardly as I pushed the tent aside and almost ran into Hastur.  The bigger man reached for me, grabbed my breasts with both hands, and squeezed hard.  I gasped in pain, cursing Old Woman in the privacy of my thoughts.  She had ordered me never to hurt anyone, even in self-defence, and I couldn't give the bastard a second kick in the groin.  He deserved far worse.

“Let he go,” Rafik ordered.  I was relieved to see him as he beckoned me into the tent.  “Leave us.”

Rafik’s tent – shared with his brother – was remarkably clean and sterile.  There was a small pile of blankets to sleep on, a pair of bottles of wine or something remarkably close to it and little else.  The tribes rarely kept anything of value, apart from a handful of artefacts they claimed dated all the way back to when the gods walked the planet.  They were surrounded by so many taboos and customs that a mere slave girl such as myself was never allowed to actually see them, let alone touch them.

I stopped in front of him and slid to my knees.  The tribe demanded subordination from its women, as well as a life of servitude and breeding.  The feminist in me hated it, but the coolly collected part of my mind accepted it as yet another way to convince them that I was harmless.  Once I broke the spell – I refused to consider the possibility that I would never break the spell – I would be able to surprise them.  Besides, if they thought little of women – when they bothered to think of them at all – they wouldn't be expecting me to be able to think, let alone plan.

“We will be at the Gathering soon,” Rafik said.  His voice seemed to have deepened in the weeks since I’d seen him.  “What do we bring to the meet?”

I frowned.  The Gathering, from what Old Woman had cackled at me between ordering me to do more and more scullery work, was a meeting of all the tribes in the region.  Rafik’s tribe was one of many hundreds criss-crossing the desert and they could only expand and breed with the help of other tribes.  At the Gathering, they would meet, swap lies about their prowess and trade women.  Once it was over, they would just wander back into the desert.

Rafik, it seemed, had problems.  He was, ever since his father had died, one of the leaders of the tribe.  (It seemed that they didn’t have a chief, but the older men thrashed out a consensus between them.  All proven warriors got a vote; naturally, no woman was allowed to speak in council, or vote.  Bastards.)  The problem was that they were bringing nothing to the Gathering, apart from the money they’d earned from Brother Stone – and me.  I couldn’t be traded – not as long as the proscription on sexual activity held true – and only one of the girls was of the right age to be traded.  They were poor, as the tribes reckoned wealth.  And it was unlikely that they would be able to trade upwards.  Once the other tribes realised their vulnerability, they would pressure the tribe into making unequal agreements.  

I didn't understand, at first, why he was telling me this.  Why would a man from a male-dominated culture confide in a woman?  And if he was prepared to accept advice from a woman, why not Old Woman?  She knew far more than I did about this world.  And then I understood.  Just as the women were kept under strict control to prevent them losing their viginity and therefore reducing their value, the men were under their own set of strictures.  Rafik could not confide his fears to the other men, or to the women of his tribe, but a slave girl was a safe confident.  He could order me never to repeat his words and I would be unable to share his confidences.  Oddly, it was at that moment I started to like Rafik.  Maybe.  Just a little.  And he was attractive...

Once I’d managed to push those thoughts to the back of my mind, I started to consider the problem seriously.  What could we bring to the Gathering that would have value to the tribes?  The answer had been staring me in the face ever since I’d been captured; stirrups.  If they existed anywhere on this strange world, the tribesmen would have used them.  My father had poured scorn on how the orthodox and revisionist historians had interpreted the invention of stirrups, but there was no denying that they had changed the face of the world.  My world.

“I have an idea,” I said, carefully.  I knew that he wouldn't allow me to claim any credit for the thought – it would shame him in front of the other men – but he would know and perhaps he would grant me a little more freedom.  “Listen carefully.”

A stirrup is a light frame or ring that holds the foot of a rider, attached to the saddle by a strap.  Stirrups are usually paired and are used to aid in mounting and as a support while riding a horse; indeed, I had never tried mounting a horse without a stirrup until I had found myself in the desert.  They greatly increase the rider's ability to stay in the saddle and control the mount, therefore increasing the horse’s usefulness to humans in areas such as communication, transportation and – perhaps most importantly – warfare.  I felt an odd qualm as I disclosed what was, to him, a priceless secret.  By introducing the stirrup, I was making a change in the world and the ramifications could spread out of control.  The tribes would be more formidable enemies to the city-states and I might have caused, unintentionally, far more human suffering and death.  

And then I laughed at myself.  There was no Prime Directive in this world.  There was only me, struggling to play the few cards fate had left in my hands.  At least I was being proactive again, thankfully.  I was no longer allowing myself to be buffeted by the blows of fate.

To be fair to Rafik, he grasped the idea at once.  Indeed, it seemed that he was cursing himself for never having thought of it before.  He thanked me and sent me back to the female tent, before shouting for Hastur and a couple of men I didn’t know.  The older men in the tribe never bothered to speak to the women.  Their wives were long gone and they had never married again.  It was taboo, apparently, for an older man to take another wife.  That made little sense to me, until I realised that an older man marrying again would bar the path of a younger man, who might well respond violently.

Over the next four days, as the tribe prepared for the Gathering, I watched from a distance as they experimented with the stirrups.  It took them some time to get it right – I had the pleasure of watching one of their early experiments break and send Hastur falling to the sandy ground – yet once they had got the general idea, producing them was easy.  I knew that the tribe wouldn't have a monopoly on the concept – the tribes probably didn’t recognise the concept of intellectual property – but it would allow Rafik to bring more than one woman to the Gathering.

I don’t know if Rafik told anyone how he’d discovered the concept, but I noticed Hastur watching me more carefully when I stepped out of the female tent to bring the men their food and drink.  There was something in his gaze that gave me the creeps and it was all I could do not to run away from him.  If I hadn't been spellbound, I would probably have tried to kill him before he got me.  The feelings were that intense.  I was sure that some of the older men had grumbled about the new innovation – they seemed to believe that what was good enough for grandfather was good enough for them – but they seemed to take it in stride.  Hastur, on the other hand...

Five days later, we reached the Gathering.  And then the trouble started.

Chapter Five

The Gathering reminded me of a Renaissance Festival I had attended when I was a young girl, although there were fewer elves and warlocks.  The Renaissance Festival had had hundreds of boys and girls dressing up in absurd costumes, but the Gathering had nothing that exotic on display.  Indeed, it was less focused on fun and more determined to ensure that the tribes pooled their resources to ensure that all survived.  I saw, as we rode into the camp and proceeded towards our campsite, a blacksmith’s shop – complete with working blacksmith – and hundreds of other traders.  Surprisingly, women were allowed out – if under escort in mixed company – and Old Woman rapidly established herself as a master negotiator.  In Gathering, it seemed, all of the normal rules were suspended.

I could have enjoyed the Gathering if I’d been alone, but I had been ordered to remain with Old Woman and follow her everywhere.  It was not a pleasant trip.  She seemed determined to enjoy every last moment of her freedom, which meant that I had to remain on my feet and walk in her shadow, chillingly aware of how many men were staring at me.  I must have seemed exotic to their eyes and I didn't want to think about how many were seriously considering trying to buy me from Rafik.  The bustling crowd seemed to always give me a little space, which was kind of them, but it left me feeling a little exposed.

The sound of a man shouting into the air drew us both towards the far side of the campsite.  A man, wearing a long red robe and dangling a skull around his neck, was speaking to a growing crowd of men and women.  He had a smaller group of men under him, walking through the crowd and looking for signs of interest.  I could barely follow his words – he spoke so quickly, with a strange accent – but I gathered that he was talking about waging war on the city-states.  The nomads seemed divided on the subject.  Some clearly wanted a war – and a chance to win gold, women and glory – others seemed more reluctant.  I knew why.

Old Woman had told me, once she’d warmed up to me a little, that it was rare for the tribes to capture and integrate women from outside the tribal society.  When I asked why – as the tribe had had no difficulty capturing me – she’d explained that, a few years ago, one of the tribes had attacked an outlying settlement.  It had seemed a great success at first – they’d looted, raped and burnt, after which they’d escaped with most of the young women – but the survivors had hired a mage to send a Sprite after their tormentors.  The Sprite had caught them and killed them, slowly and painfully.  The remains of the tribe had been absorbed by other tribes and the others had drawn a lesson from the whole experience.  Trading with the settled men was one thing, but trying to kill them and kidnap their women was quite another.

I watched the speaker as he tried to rally the crowd.  Like Hitler and other hatemongers, he possessed a gift for telling a crowd of young men what it wanted to hear.  Their voices mummered in agreement as he told them that it was an outrage that the tribes, the noblest and bravest men on the planet, should be condemned to an outcast existence when they could have the finest of everything, taken from human sheep.  The tribes believed that they were the select, far superior to the farmers and their lords.  They believed that the farmers were little more than sheep.  Old Woman took my hand and led me away from the speech before it got rowdy.  Two older men, both respected grandfathers, were trying to explain why the speaker was wrong, but no one wanted to listen to them.

“God-cursed fools,” Old Woman snarled, when we were alone.  I wondered at her anger, before realising that she had loved every one of her children.  The tribe’s infant mortality rate was terrifyingly high.  “Every Gathering, a hundred or more fools will go out and raid the farmers and they will have success, at first, just enough to convince them that they are the masters of all, grinding the world beneath their hooves.  And then they will discover that the soldiers have come to destroy them and shatter their tribe.  And the survivors will come crawling back, bearing tales of glory that convince the next generation of fools to go out and do it all again.”

I winced at the bitterness in her tone as she marched me back to the campsite, passing a whole series of entertainers and singers on the way.  The tribes loved male singers – they reminded me of harmony singers – although it was rare to see a performing woman.  I caught sight of one of them and realised, to my horror, that she was performing a striptease.  Snatches of music drifted across the air from various bands, trying to compete with one another; huge mugs of foaming beer were passed around, bought or stolen from the nearest town.  I was actually quite curious to see what a local town looked like, but Rafik was stalling on his promise to take me to the Brotherhood in Padway.  I didn't blame him.  I’d ensured that he became rich – as the tribes reckoned wealth – and famous.  The fame was probably more important to him than the money.

Old Woman motioned towards a set of horses and I smiled when I saw the stirrups on them.  We watched from a distance as the riders experimented and then, gladly, paid Rafik for the concept.  The trading seemed to be going well; I gathered, from what little I heard, that some of the tribes were offering surplus daughters in exchange for the idea.  I almost gagged when I realised that some of the daughters were too young to have started their periods, let alone sexual activity, but I told myself that it was a different culture.  Or maybe not.  Some things were just wrong, whoever did them.  I hoped that Old Woman would ensure that they remained untouched until they were ready to have sex, and children.  

That night, there was a big feast.  The men sat around a fire, chatting, sharing food and drink, while the women gathered in a big tent of their own.  I watched absently as hundreds of women stared at me openly, before questioning Old Woman about my origins.  It was clear that they didn't believe a word of her answers, even though a handful of them gave me orders and watched as I obeyed.  Old Woman barked angry words at them and they backed off before they could make me do anything embarrassing.  I’d known a few girls who wouldn't have hesitated to use the opportunity to make me humiliate myself in public.

I felt a touch on my shoulder and turned to see an unfamiliar woman.  “You are to go to the family tent,” she ordered.  “Now.”

My body turned on its own accord – no use fighting the spell – and I marched out of the tent, into the cool night air.  The stars high overhead were achingly familiar, yet hauntingly different from the stars I remembered from home.  If I was on some kind of alternate universe, as I had reasoned to myself while at the Stone Hall, the stars would be the same as the ones that shone on my world...and if that was the case, I guessed that I was somewhere in Europe.  It didn't seem too plausible, somehow.  My legs kept marching until I reached the family tent, the one Rafik shared with Hastur.  I was sure that Rafik had decided he wanted to see what other ideas I had before the Gathering ended.  Who else would call me – and expect to be obeyed?

I had the answer the moment I stepped into the tent.  Hastur stood there, alone.  I turned to flee – hating my weakness, for I had knocked him down before and I would have loved a chance to do it again – but he barked a single command and I froze.  I was completely at his mercy.  It was impossible to move as he came closer, his hands reaching out to stroke my chin and neck, before he peered down at me.  I wanted to recoil – his breath smelt as if he had been eating raw sewage -  as he studied me.  It was all too clear that he had planned this little encounter carefully.  He felt that he had enough time to enjoy himself.

“Quiet,” he ordered, as I started to speak.  I had hoped – feared – that the tribesmen would be nervous of offending Brother Stone, but Hastur was clearly half-drunk.  Or perhaps he had been smoking what passed for tobacco in the desert.  I’d caught a sniff of it and it had reminded me of Marijuana.  Two of the older men in the tribe were addicted to it and smoked it constantly.  “Undress.  Now.”

My treacherous hands betrayed me as they went to work.  Old Woman had given me a robe and headscarf – my old clothes, along with my possessions, were stored in one of the saddlebags – and my fingers fumbled as they began to undo the ties.  He drew in his breath sharply as I removed the scarf, and then undid the buckle that held the robe on my body.  It fell to the ground, revealing my undershirt and pants.  This world hadn't invented bras, either, and the undershirt barely held up my breasts.  A moment later, my breasts were exposed to his sight, followed by the rest of me.  I tried to hide myself with my hands, but a quick command from him had my hands trapped behind my back while he studied every inch of my body.  His breathing was coming faster and faster.  I didn't need to see his crotch to know that he was aroused and horny.

This is rape, I wanted to shout, but I couldn't speak.  And besides, I was a slave, with no one to avenge my treatment.  Rafik wouldn't fight his brother over me – for all I knew, Rafik had agreed to allow Hastur his chance to rape me – and no one else would give a damn.  Old Woman would probably just be relieved that the tribal relations wouldn't be risked.  Besides, even if she had objected, what could she do?  It wasn't as if she could shame her son into behaving himself.

I shivered as his eyes left trails of slime over my breasts, then cringed back as he took my shoulder and turned me around.  Cold  hands grasped my buttocks and then released me, just before he slapped my bottom and sent me sprawling to the ground.  A flurry of kicks and blows followed, enough to hurt me, but not enough to inflict permanent harm.  I couldn’t even cry out as he rolled me over and kicked me again, his toenails scratching my skin.  It was easy, now, to realise why he was so angry.  I’d shamed him when I’d kicked him in the groin and, to a culture like the tribal one, it was worse than death.  A woman had brought him low and he felt that, in order to restore his masculine pride, he had to force himself on her.  The sheer macho stupidity of the concept would have made me scream my outrage to the skies – after delivering a verbal beating in my father’s style – if I could talk.  But I could do nothing.

Hastur undressed himself quickly, tearing off his robe and tunic.  He was well-endowed, I noticed, although I would have bet everything I had left that he’d never bothered to try to give a woman pleasure in bed.  I’d met too many people of his type in the past.  I half-expected him to order me to suck him first, but instead he just seemed content to study me before the rape began.  The thought made me smile, oddly, which outraged him.  He couldn't have understood that I’d read somewhere that one particularly stupid group of aristocrats had believed that only aristocratic women knew how to use their mouths to give pleasure.  Perhaps it was true of the tribes.  They certainly spent as little time as possible with their women.

Inside my head, I fought desperately.  He wasn't holding me and he hadn't tied me up; I could take him...if I could break the commands holding me helpless.  I struggled against an unyielding block in my mind, hoping desperately that an attempt to break Brother Stone’s orders would serve as the key to breaking the spell.  I pushed as hard as I could, trying to force my body to move, but nothing happened.  The spell refused to break.  I couldn't even force myself to urinate.  I couldn't do anything that would force him to leave me alone.

“Lie down flat and open your legs,” Hastur ordered, sharply.  I obeyed, bracing myself as best as possible.  I’d thought about rape – every woman does – and yet I had never really believed that it could happen to me.  My father and his friends had taught me well.  I could have beaten Hastur in hand-to-hand combat, but the spell held me firmly. I closed my eyes, much to his amusement.  He laughed and pinched my leg.   “You are mine...”

I felt, just for a second, his organ pressed against my virgin vagina...and then there was a massive flare of heat.  My eyes sprang open and I saw Hastur wrapped in flames, burning alive.  The spell on me snapped at the same moment and I scuttled backwards, trying to escape the screams and the smell of burning flesh.  The fire was spreading, part of my mind noticed in horror, and the tent was about to catch fire.  Most of my mind was fixed on the sight of flames roaring through his body.  His screams cut off suddenly as the fire reached into his mouth and devoured his tongue.  The tent caught fire a moment later as the burning man fell to the ground.  I tried to move back further...

And then the flames surged up again.  Just for a second, I saw a pair of glowing eyes looking back at me, eyes full of hatred and age-old malice.  I screamed as the flames took on a humanoid form, with bright eyes still fixed on mine, moments before the flames flared up and faded away.  I was still screaming when they found me.  My eyes hurt so badly that I feared I was going to go blind.  No matter how often I blinked, I could still see the flaming monster in my eyes.  I was vaguely aware of Rafik – and even Old Woman – chattering to me, just before I fainted.  I had never fainted in my life, until then.

***
I remained in the female tent for the rest of the Gathering.  No one spoke to me, not even Old Woman – or Rafik.  It dawned on me, slowly, that they believed I was a witch.  I had done something to Hastur and killed him.  It was no use trying to explain to the girls that Hastur had tried to rape me and something had intervened; they didn't understand and looked away from me every time I tried to speak.  I was being shunned by everyone.

Slowly, I worked out what had happened.  Brother Stone had warned the tribesmen that my virginity had to remain intact.  I had no idea why, unless he had been more friendly to me than he had been prepared to admit.  When Hastur had decided to take it by force, something the Brother had done summoned a Sprite with murderous intent.  And the poor tribesman had been burned alive in his own tent.

I didn't waste time feeling sorry for Hastur.  Sure, I knew that most men – given a girl who literally couldn't say no – would use her sexually, particularly men from a society where interaction with women was strictly controlled.  Even so, it took a particularly nasty mind to plot her rape – and a particularly stupid mind to believe that his masculinity had been undermined by a firm knee to the groin.  The part of me that wanted to have children one day – if that was even possible – was relieved that Hastur would never have the chance to father them.  He didn't deserve to breed.  On the other hand, I told myself, Hastur’s kids would probably have the attitudes they needed to survive in a harsh and unforgiving world.

It was several days later when we broke camp and headed north.  I had half-expected someone to attempt to avenge Hastur’s death, but no one seemed inclined to interact with me at all.  The new women in the tent – Rafik had managed to obtain nine more girls, six of whom were still children – acted as if they were terrified of me.  They were more scared of me than their impending deflowering – an act that was surrounded by rites that were supposed to encourage fertility – and womanhood.  They were trying to come to grips with a whole new tribe.  My heart went out to them.

I was no longer at the bottom of the totem pole, thankfully.  That would have made it impossible to conceal something I knew better than to allow anyone to realise.  I was no longer bound by the obedience spell.  It was a relief to know that my body was my own, again, but I couldn't let them know.  They might start watching me to prevent an attempt at escape.  I obeyed orders, kept my own counsel and waited.  

And I had decided to escape as soon as I could.  Whatever else there was in this strange new world, it had to be better than being part of the tribe.  Or so I told myself.

And, as it happened, I was almost right.

Interlude One

The Sprites could cross the globe faster than a man could blink his eye.  Everyone knew that – and so they knew that a mage who had enough Sprites bound to his name could use them to communicate with other mages.  Indeed, there was no more secure way to communicate.  No one, not even a Greatest Sprite, could eavesdrop on their messages.

“I believe that she is the one,” Brother Stone said.  The Sprite hovering in front of him waited for the Word of Banishment that would allow it to head to its destination.  “I have sent her to Padway with the tribesmen.  The Masters can investigate her there.”

The Sprite popped out of existence at his command.  Moments later, a second Sprite flickered into the room and hovered in front of him, speaking the message from Brother Ice.

“The tribesmen cannot be trusted,” the Sprite said.  It was a perfect rendition of Brother Ice’s voice.  “They will kill her, or add her to their women.”

“I gave her a Guardian,” Brother Stone said.  “She will retain her virginity and, if they do not take her to Padway within a reasonable amount of time, the Guardian will take action.”

He didn't go into details.  They all knew what a Guardian could do.

“If she is the one,” Brother Book said, finally.  “If only Brother Dream was still alive.  We would not have to guess at what he had in mind when he summoned the Greatest Sprite.”

“Brother Dream is dead,” Brother Ice said, flatly.  “He gave his life to bind the Sprite and send it off on its mission.  We can only guess at what he had in mind.”

“Yes,” Brother Stone agreed.  “And what of Brother Destiny?  He should be with us now.”

“Dead,” Brother Book said.  The bitterness in his voice communicated itself nicely through the Sprite.  “He was being carried by a Sprite when it broke it’s chains and vanished.”

Brother Stone sucked in his breath sharply.  He’d known that there were problems – they’d all known – but he hadn't realised just how dangerous they were becoming.  Sprites were the key to civilisation and mages, those born with the talent for calling and controlling the Sprites, were the most powerful people in the world.  Even the most aggressive barbarian chieftain or priest-king thought twice before challenging a mage.  And if their control over the Sprites was failing, their control over the world would fade away...

And even that wasn't the worst of it.

“We can only hope,” he said, finally, “that Brother Dream was not deluded, or simply insane.  “There is nothing else that we can do.”

Chapter Six

As we travelled north, the landscape around us began to change.  The endless desert began to give way, first to hardy plants that grew deep into the earth for water, then to more normal plants and even animals.  I barely noticed when we passed from the desert to scrublands and finally to farmland.  The change was that slow and gradual.  The remainder of the tribe seemed delighted to be in a fertile area and when we reached the lake – the first body of water I had seen since I had arrived on this world – the men raced ahead and came back with canteens of water.  I drank gratefully, just before Old Woman started to scold us for drinking too much too quickly.  It was just such a relief after the endless thirst of the desert.

Rafik didn't call a halt, although I had expected him to insist that we camped by the lake and washed ourselves clean of the dust.  Instead, we continued to ride north until we found a road and turned onto it, heading in a north-western direction.  Old Woman’s muttering told me that the tribe had navigated the desert almost perfectly, although it seemed a bit hit and miss to me.  Or maybe not; the tribesmen might not have GPS – if there was such a thing in this world – but they could certainly navigate by the stars.  It struck me that we were entering a civilised part of the planet and I started to pay more attention to my surroundings.  At first, it was disappointing, until we came into view of a small town.  The tribe passed through the town – I saw older women hastily shoving their daughters inside to hide, while the men watched us with suspicious and fearful eyes – and headed onwards.  As the land became more cultivated, I saw the city coming into view.  The wind changed – and blew a terrible smell into my face.  It was the smell of civilisation.

I didn't have to wait long to understand why the city stank so badly.  The locals seemed to have only a rudimentary understanding of hygiene and sanitation.   The city looked clean from a distance, but up close I could see the slums surrounding the outer walls and recoiled at the sight.  It was no coincidence that the tribe’s word for city-dwellers translated – loosely – as ‘stinkers.’  The tribe observed strict hygiene, with everything from urinating to menstruation covered by a series of rituals that had a base in hard fact, but the city-dwellers didn't seem to care.  The larger houses in the slums – such as they were – allowed human waste to drop into the streets, while I saw horse manure and even a dead body lying in the gutter.  The entire city was an epidemic waiting to happen.

The poorer folk looked dirty to my eyes.  I saw marks on some faces that suggested that they’d caught some kind of pox in the past and survived.  The sight sent a shiver of fear running down the back of my neck; I didn't have any of the local immunities and I sure as hell didn't know enough to start inventing vaccination.  If I caught a local disease – or even one that had been defeated on my world – I was likely to die of it.  The thought was not a reassuring one.

As we rode towards the outer wall, I was surrender aware of a presence surrounding them.  Two translucent eyes opened in the air and looked at me, peering deep into my soul before they closed again, leaving me with nothing, but the memory.  The tribe had muttered darkly about Sprites that protected the city, yet it seemed that none of them had seen the eyes.  I was the only one who had seen them, which meant...what?  I mulled it over as Rafik spoke to the guardsmen on duty at the gate, a conversation punctuated with angry shouts and a great deal of pushing.  Old Woman looked tense, the first time I had ever seen her flustered.  It seemed that the tribesmen were rarely allowed to enter the inner core of the city.  They wouldn't have come this far into the fertile land if they hadn't had to transport me to Padway.

The argument finally concluded when Rafik passed one of the guardsmen a coin.  I saw it briefly and scowled; it was one of the coins they’d taken from my pockets, just after they’d captured me.  It was useless here – as the guardsman would probably discover when he tried to spend it – but I would have liked to keep it as a reminder of my former life.  The gates clicked open slowly and we passed through the wall.  I wasn't too impressed with it, but it would have posed a daunting obstacle to attackers without cannon or catapults.  If they were restricted to swords – and sorcery, probably – the attackers would have difficulty getting over the walls if they were stoutly held.

Inside, the city was much cleaner, although it was still filthier than an city back home.  The people looked more prosperous too, wearing finer clothes and bargaining with shopkeepers in a large open-air market.  I caught sight of what looked like a group of slaves on the auction block and scowled, knowing that that might have been my fate if I’d been captured near the city.  The oddest thing, as far as I could tell, was that this city didn't have any concept of racism.  There were blacks and whites milling around, some wearing finer clothes than others, but race didn’t seem to be the determining factor.  I even saw a mixed-race couple holding hands as we passed.  Some of the city-folk were eying the tribe with grim expressions, their hands conspicuously near the short swords they wore at their belts.  I thought, again, of the pistol they’d taken from me and wondered what would happen if I introduced gunpowder into this society.  It would shift the balance of power very quickly.

I shook my head as we headed towards a large building with a handful of guards outside.  My father had spent time undercover in several different societies around the world and he'd always commented that it was better to know how a society worked before you tried to change it, or even to exploit it for your own purposes.  There would probably be an official structure to society and an unofficial one that actually held the power.  I resolved to wait and see how the society functioned before I actually made any changes.  The thought of freedom was nagging at my mind.  I could leave now, the moment they turned their backs, and hide myself in the city.  I could be free.

Rafik spoke quickly to the guards, and then beckoned me off my horse.  “The guards will take you to Brother Book,” he said, briefly.  He leaned forward suddenly, so that his lips were pressing on my ear.  “May all the gods go with you, outlander.”

He didn't thank me for the stirrups, I noted.  In the last few days of the Gathering, the idea had been sold to hundreds of different tribes.  By now, the cynic in me warned, Rafik was probably convinced that they had been his own invention.  The thought of thanking a woman...I smiled to myself as the guards led me into the building and through a set of corridors that reminded me of Stone Hall.  By now, I was almost used to the idea of invisible presences flickering through the air.  I didn’t start when we passed two before I was waved into another office.  The Brothers didn't seem to go in for imagination, I realised.  The office was almost an exact duplicate of the one at Stone Hall.

“Welcome,” an elderly voice said.  Brother Book was tall and thin, with short white hair, a goatee and long elegant fingers.  He wore the same brown robe as Brother Stone, but he allowed the hood to fall to his collar, exposing his bare skull.  He’d shaved the very top of his head.  “I am pleased to see that you made it here – and that you are no longer spellbound.  What happened to cause this change?”

I took a moment to savour the freedom to answer – or not – as I pleased, before I spoke.  “One of the tribesmen attempted to rape me, sir,” I said, finally.  “He burned to death and I was free.”

Brother Book nodded, thoughtfully.  Over the next twenty minutes – as we ate sweet cakes and drank something that tasted almost like tea – he drew the entire story out of me.  He was an oddly charming personality, although he seemed almost distracted at times.  His eyes sometimes fixed on my face and sometimes flickered around the room, following the presences I sensed behind me.  I wondered, briefly, if he could see them too.  Surely he could, if he could command them to do his bidding.

“And now you are here,” he said, when I had finished.  He patted his hands together and the empty plates floated into the air and flew towards the door.  I felt another shiver as I sensed the Sprite carrying them away.  “Excellent, excellent.  And what do you intend to do now?”

“I do not know,” I admitted.  Half-baked schemes flashed through my mind – I could found a school, teach proper sanitation and even letters and numbers – only to recede against cold logic and desperation.  I didn't know why I’d been summoned to this world, or what the Brothers wanted with me.  I was not in command of my fate.  “Why was I called here?”

Brother Book looked at me for a long moment, and then laughed a high-pitched laugh.  “Why were you called here?”  He repeated.  “I do not know why you were called here.  The Brother who called you here is dead!”

I stared at him.  I had hoped that I could find the person who had sent the Sprite to my world here, in the city, and ask him why he had brought me here.  I hadn't expected it to be too late.

“What happened to him?”  I asked, finally.  “How did he die?”

Brother Book looked surprised, and then realised that I wasn't joking.  “It’s a long story,” he said.  “It is an internal Brotherhood matter and no concern of yours.”

I felt a hot flash of anger burning through me.  “I have been summoned from my world and dumped here, a stranger in a very strange land,” I hissed.  It was hard to remain calm in the face of such an attitude.  “I think it is very much my concern.”

There was a long chilling pause.  “You may have a point,” he conceded, reluctantly.  His fingers stroked his goatee, as if he couldn't remain still.  “You would have to give your oath to remain silent of such matters, on pain of death.”

I nodded, once.

“Brother Dream was the one who summoned you,” Brother Book said.  I could sense his reluctance as he spoke.  He didn't want to talk about this to anyone, particularly someone who was both female and not part of the Brotherhood.  “We have a...problem and Brother Dream was looking for a solution.  He believed that we could find an...unconventional solution, if we risked summoning one of the Greatest Sprites and binding it to our will.  The proposal was so risky that the Masters forbade it.”

“And he went ahead and did it anyway,” I guessed.

“Yes,” Brother Book said.  He shook his head slowly, as if he couldn't quite believe it, even after coming face to face with me.  “The ritual for summoning a smaller sprite is quite simple – even novices can do it with ease – but the rituals for summoning the Greatest, particularly one who has not been bound already, are physically and mentally taxing.  The Mage has to maintain perfect control at all times or the Sprite will burst free.  Brother Dream made his preparations carefully, summoned the Sprite and bound it, and then collapsed.  We do not know what orders he gave it to cause it to bring you here.”

“Right,” I said.  As explanations went, it was not particularly complete, although someone from this world would probably have understood the background enough to make sense of it.  “What is the problem that required...me to solve it?”

It took nearly thirty minutes to coax an explanation out of him and once he had finished, I was still confused.  It seemed that the only way to do magic was to summon a sprite and bind it, ordering the creature to carry out instructions.  The Brotherhood of Mages provided much of the tuition to young novices and considered itself to be in charge of all magicians, although I got the impression that the Brotherhood’s powers were very limited.  Even so, magic was the very base of their power – and the base of civilisation on this world.

And it was fading.  Over the last ten years, their spells were losing their power.  At first, the Brothers hadn’t believed what they were seeing, not until some mages had died because their spells failed at the wrong moment.  The Brotherhood was trying desperately to figure out a solution, while trying to keep it from the city-states and their rulers.  And if they lost all control, the network binding civilisation together would collapse.  A new dark age would sweep over the planet.  

But I didn't understand?  Why did they need me?

“The Sprites have to be instructed carefully,” Brother Book explained.  “If you give them a loophole, they will exploit it.  For all we know, Brother Dream wanted someone else and the Sprite decided that it would take you instead.”

“Fulfilling the letter of the instruction, rather than the intent,” I mused.  It made a certain kind of sense – well, it did if I accepted the existence of magic genies and sprites.  I wondered if he’d meant to pick up my father instead.  My father would probably have been running the tribe inside a week, and then he could have gone to the Gathering and raised an army, transforming the world.  But then, he did have the right plumbing for overt power in a tribal world.  “So...what now?”

“Good question,” Brother Book said.  “You do understand that we cannot take the chance that you are actually the key to our salvation?”

It took me a moment to work out what he meant.  “How exactly do you expect me to solve your problem?”  I asked, bitterly.  “I can sense your sprites, but I don’t know how to control them.”

He frowned, tenting his fingers in front of his nose.  “I will made you a ward of the Brotherhood,” he said, finally.  “It is...unusual to have a lady-ward, but it will give you a certain kind of status in this city.  I will also give you a small amount of gold and silver, enough to ensure that you live properly if you spend carefully.”

“Hang on,” I said, sharply.  “You don’t even know if I want your money!”

He eyed me, sardonically.  “You have to remain in the city,” he said.  “Your adopted tribe was very keen to get rid of you.  Even if you wanted to go with them, you would not be able to earn your keep.  Your Guardian would see to that.”

I remembered the flaming figure and the glowing eyes and shuddered.  “And you would be a woman alone in this city,” he added.  “There is no family nor custom to protect you.  If you were lucky, you would be enslaved to a master who would allow you to save a little and eventually buy your freedom.  If you were unlucky, you would be sold into the worst kind of slavery and if you tried to fight, they would send for a mage and have you spellbound into obedience.  The job would not be deliberately botched the second time.”

It took everything I had to curb my anger.  I should have realised that I was nothing in this society, not even a tribeswoman.  The society didn't owe me anything.  I could be kidnapped and enslaved, or murdered, and no one would give a damn.  If I wanted protection, I would have to agree to the Brotherhood’s terms, whatever they were.  I thought longingly of the pistol, now in a bag on the Brother’s desk, yet even that was no comfort.  God made man, but Sam Colt made them equal – until the bullets ran out.  Maybe I could make gunpowder, given enough time and resources...

I shook my head.  I could never hope to refill the cartridges for a modern pistol.

“Very well,” I said, reluctantly.  “I will be glad to accept your offer.”

“If you are here for a reason, it will become apparent in time,” Brother Book said.  He rose to his feet.  “I believe that you should say goodbye to your tribe...”

I stood up and saw, for the first time, the map hanging on the wall.  He stepped away, allowing me to study it, seemingly unaware of my inner consternation.  The map was both hauntingly familiar and yet very alien.  It was so different that it took me several minutes to understand what it showed me.

It was Earth, but a strangely warped Earth.  North America and South America were two separate continents; Britain was oddly reduced and Japan, Cuba and New Zealand were completely gone.  I felt a chill running down the back of my neck as I saw more oddities; missing islands, warped continents and – worst of all – no oceans.  The largest pool of water on the map was roughly the size of Australia.  Where the oceans had been, in my world, there was nothing, but endless desert.

“A long time ago, something happened and all the water poured away,” Brother Book said, when I asked him what had happened to the oceans.  “Some people say that we were punished by the gods for some unspeakable sin.  Others say that a rogue Sprite did it to avenge himself on his master.  We do not know the truth.”

He led the way out of the room and I followed, my mind still spinning. 

Chapter Seven

The moment we stepped outside, it was clear that something was badly wrong.  The entire tribe had departed, leaving behind a single person, kneeling at the side of the road.  I ran forwards, heedless of my own safety, and realised – to my shock – that Lianna was waiting there.  The young girl had clearly been crying.  I saw the streaks on her face as she lifted her face to me.

“Lianna,” I said, reaching for her and helping her to her feet.  “Why are you here?  What happened?”

“They left,” she said, between sobs.  Brother Book looked uncomfortable for a moment, and then passed her a silk handkerchief to wipe her nose.    “They said...they said that they were sorry, but you couldn't stay with them any longer and...and to make up for Hastur, they were giving you me.  They told me that I had to stay with you...”

“That isn't uncommon among the barbarians,” Brother Book observed, dispassionately.  “Doubtless they feared some form of punishment for allowing one of their number to attack you in such a manner.  She is yours now.”

“I don’t own anyone,” I snapped, angrily.  I wished, at that moment, that I commanded one of the Sprites.  I could happily have sent it after Rafik and his men, with orders to kill them in a manner most prolonged and agonising.  How dare they abandon Lianna to my mercy?  They hadn't even bothered to check to see if I would want her!  “You can give her gold...”

“She’s yours,” Brother Book said.  He didn't sound if he cared.  “You can take her in to your house, when you find a house, or you can sell her at the slave market.  Her life is yours.”

The thought was disgusting.  I hated the very concept of slavery – I’d been a slave – and yet, what could she do if I abandoned her?  I couldn't sell her, but if she was left on her own, God alone knew what would happen to her.  And yet, I knew very little about the city.  The chances were good that I’d do something stupid and end up being killed because I didn't know the local customs, if a disease didn't get me first.  The thought, oddly, gave me strength.  If I had to have someone with me, at least I knew Lianna.  And it wasn't as if she were bad company.

“It’s all right,” I lied, as I held her.  It struck me, again, just how slight she was, almost elfin.  She would have been a rare beauty back home, but could she have survived the desert long enough to have children?  Old Woman held that title because she was the oldest, yet she was merely middle-aged by my standards.  “Come on.  We’ll go find a place to stay together.”

“I shall assign you an escort,” Brother Book said, firmly.  “Two young ladies on their own should be escorted, if only to prevent people from getting ideas.”

I was too tired to explode at him, so I nodded.  He waved to one of the guardsmen and issued orders, and then forced us to wait until the escort arrived.  My eyes went wide when I saw him and I heard Lianna issue a gasp, for he was the strangest man I had seen.  His skin was as black as the night, his face was oddly pronounced and he wore a suit of Romanesque armour, with a short sword at the waist.  The armour was battered and torn in places, allowing me to see the muscles under the shirt.

“You may name me,” he said.  His voice was oddly accented, although that was no surprise.  The common tongue was the same everywhere, according to Old Woman, but there were plenty of local variations.  “I am at your command, My Lady.”

“Once you name him, he will be in your service until you dismiss him,” Brother Book said.  I decided not to take that at face value.  The Brotherhood might have a prior call on his loyalties.  “I suggest you hurry.  It is nearly time for dinner.”

“I’ll call you Obelix,” I said.  I had always loved those graphic novels and, for some reason, my escort reminded me of the oversized Gaul.  Besides, it was a nice touch of home.  “So...where do we go to find a house?”

“Obelix will take you,” Brother Book said.  He passed me a bag.  “I believe that these are yours.”

I had to smile.  The bag contained everything of mine, apart from the money.  Proof, if I needed it, that no one recognised the concept of firearms.  I was careful to put the pistol back on my belt.  I might need it.

***
The City of Padway was not a particularly large city by my standards.  It held around a million people, according to Obelix, although I wasn't sure how seriously to take that statement.  It had also been designed by someone who was very fond of town planning, something that had always struck me as slightly absurd.  There was a regularity to the inner city that had completely escaped the outer city.  And then there were the slums.

The innermost core of the city was divided into two sections, one where the most prominent families lived and one that held most of the city’s temples.  The Great Houses owned much of the city and the surrounding lands and rented it out to commoners and visitors, allowing them to live in luxury without sullying their hands with anything remotely reassembling work.  The Great Houses reminded me of a gated community; there was an inner wall and guards at the gates, refusing to allow anyone to enter without permission.  The temples, by contrast, were open to all, particularly if they made a suitable donation.  I saw one of the priests from a distance as he summoned the faithful to prayer, his voice ringing out over the city.  The temples seemed to be devoted to separate gods, each with their own set of worshippers, although I saw one man moving from one temple to the other.  I resolved to try and understand the religion here before I got too deeply involved with anything else.  It was hard to get a straight answer from Obelix about religion.  I think he either didn't understand my questions, or was pretending to be ignorant to avoid sailing the conversation into stormy waters. 

Outside the Inner Wall, there were shops, prosperous houses and children playing.  The merchants lived and worked here, I gathered, and the guild halls provided a place for them concentrate their activities.  Beyond that, there were apartment blocks for poorer families and then the Outer Wall, which separated the city from the slums outside.  I sniffed the air and realised that I was either growing used to the smell or the air was cleaner inside the city.  I suspected the former.  The whole city was definitely a breeding ground for disease.  I didn't want to think about how many ways I could catch something a local would shrug off, but would kill me stone dead.

Lianna proved herself almost at once.  The small house I wanted to rent was incredibly expensive, but she had some skills in haggling and wheedling and managed to convince him to lower his price to something slightly more reasonable.  That was something else I had to learn; the relative value of the currency in the city.  If I had tried to negotiate myself, I would have been skinned alive by an unscrupulous dealer.  The negotiations took nearly an hour before he grudgingly agreed to take our money and allow us immediate entry to the building.  I suspected, as soon as we set foot inside the building, that he'd been desperate to rent it out before the government’s inspectors arrived, but the city had none.  The filthy building that greeted our eyes was probably no better or worse than the rest of the city.  On the other hand, there was no need for endless credit checks and other red tape before we took possession.

“We need to clean this place,” I said, firmly.  I had no idea how long it had been since it had been occupied, but it was worse than a pigsty.  I was definitely lucky that Lianna was there, as Obelix refused to help and I couldn't have done it all on my own.  It still took hours before we had cleaned a handful of rooms, chased out the rats and cockroaches and made it habitable.  Perhaps there was something to be said for government oversight after all, I decided, although my father would have had a fit at the very thought.

Lianna also knew how to cook and, between us, we managed to make something reasonably edible.  I hadn't realised just how much I would miss Old Woman until I discovered the true levels of my own ignorance.  I had flashbacks to my student days as we cooked, although with some modifications.  All the water was to be carefully boiled, for one thing, and the meat was to be cooked thoroughly.  As darkness began to fall – the landlord’s budget hadn't allowed him to install sprite-lights – I stumbled into bed gratefully and closed my eyes.  It was the first real bed I’d seen since arriving on this world.

The following morning, after eating breakfast, I started to explore the city properly.  Lianna insisted on remaining behind to clear up and finish cleaning the house – I had tried to explain to her that she was free, but she hadn't understood the concept – and so it was just Obelix and I.  My escort followed me at a discreet distance as I walked towards the market place and studied the different stalls, feeling oddly detached from the world.  Some of the stalls were familiar, with fruit and vegetables I recognised from back home, but others were strange and unfamiliar.  One stall boasted a set of magicians who were selling sprite-powered devices that seemed to run from lights to clocks.  It was no wonder that this world hadn't invented the scientific method, I decided; they had Sprites to do the hard work.  And yet, if Brother Book was right, they might soon lose all control.  What would happen then?

I concealed a smile as a group of children ran past me, kicking a ball as they flew through the market place.  There didn't seem to be any fear of paedophiles here, nor excessive concern over safety and health.  I’d half-expected the girls to be shut up inside or brought out veiled from head to toe, but there were girls in the crowd of children and young women in the street, escorted by their mothers or even – daringly – in small groups.  Their dress was conservative, yet it wasn't repressive; a handful of particularly daring girls were showing the tops of their breasts.  A handful were wearing white veils, like brides going to the altar, their faces hidden behind shimmering light.  Obelix, reluctantly, explained that they were the Little Sisters of the Crone.  He refused to be drawn on the subject.

The slaves shocked me the most, I think.  They seemed to accept their servitude as natural; indeed, from what I could hear, a number of them were working to buy themselves out and become freemen.  The thought of someone paying for their own freedom was sickening, but at least it happened, unlike the Dixie South before the Civil War.  It occurred to me that it was one way to install civil virtue in slaves, rather than encouraging slave revolts; the slaves would behave themselves if there was at least a chance that they could buy their freedom.  

And what happened, I asked myself, if their masters refused the money?

I shook my head as I left the marketplace.  I couldn't buy anything, not without being skinned alive.  Lianna would have to deal with it.

Besides, I had just had an idea.

***
“As you can see, My Lady,” the scribe said, “this symbol has a hundred different meanings, depending on where you draw the lines.”

I stared down at the parchment – oh, if only I could recreate paper – and felt an unpleasant sinking feeling in my chest.  The symbol in front of me was a strange combination of Japanese, Arabic and Ancient Egyptian writing.  It was effectively a hieroglyph and completely impossible for me to understand.  And it was one of the simpler words!

The scribe kept his expression blank, but I thought I detected a flicker of amusement behind his eyes.  He was actually my third choice – scribes were reluctant to teach anyone who wasn't part of the Scribe Guild, let alone a woman – and had loudly protested when he’d realised who he would be teaching.  He’d also said that hardly anyone learned how to read and write if they started once they entered puberty and  I suspected that he was right.  The system was so complex that only a person who had been steeped in it from birth could have mastered it.

“If we put it with these symbols,” he continued, “we have a full sentence.  The Moon is rising over the Sand.  If you alter the final symbol, it becomes a different location...”

I rubbed my eyes.  “I asked you for a basic instruction,” I said, crossly.  “Are you really telling me that this is the simplest way to write in your language?”

“It is the simplest way to write and be understood,” the scribe said, firmly.  “I was trained to write from when I was sold to the Guild.  I grew up making these symbols and learning the many different variations.  You are a newcomer to the city and too old.”  He didn’t say too female, which was lucky for him.  My mood was growing darker by the second.  “Your children may learn when they are weaned and...”

“Enough,” I said.  I had wondered how this society functioned without coming apart at the seams.  Now I understood at least part of the answer.  The high and mighty wouldn't be able to read and write; they would be completely dependent upon the scribes.  The priests wouldn’t be able to read their own scriptures; their congregations wouldn't be able to read them for themselves, let alone challenge their religious superiors.  And business records would be accessible only to those with the ability to read...the potential for corruption, or stagnation, was astonishing.  “Tell me about your Guild...”

It took several hours to pry more answers out of him.  It seemed that the Great Houses – and any family that wanted to be rich and successful – made a habit of sending at least one of their sons to the Scribes Guild.  My mind reeled as I considered the implications.  The families would stay together because they had no choice.  And if the selected son proved to be an idiot, or weak in the head, their fortunes would fall unless they hired a scribe from the Guild to replace him.

“All right,” I said.  “Let me show you something.”

One thing I had learned very quickly as a teacher was that if the child wanted to learn how to read – in English, at least – he or she learned very quickly.  I wrote out the ABC and explained, as he stared at me, how it could be used to shape out almost any word.  Twenty-six letters was nothing compared to the complex system Padway used for writing.  And just wait till I showed them Arabic numbers.  Say what you like about the Arabs, but they did us a favour when they introduced their numeral system.  It was a vast improvement over the Latin numerals.

“My Lady...I cannot accept this,” the scribe said, finally.  He sounded shaken, badly so.  “It is so simple!”

I cursed my own mistake, inwardly.  Of course!  I had shown him something that would shake the very existence of the Scribe Guild.  If everyone could read and write, they wouldn't be needed, would they?  Perhaps I could teach him – and Lianna already understood how to read and write in a modern style – but his superiors would see it as a deadly threat.  And they’d be right.  I was about to upset a very important and wealthy apple cart.

On the other hand, the system revolted me.

“You won’t lose your position,” I said, although in truth I suspected I was lying.  “The more that can be written, the more that will be written and scribes will have plenty more work.  Where I come from, there are entire buildings crammed with books...”

I’d lost him.  In his word, books were very rare and parchment was used for most writings.  Very little was stored down the years, even by his guild.  The concept of an entire library – or that a poor person could own thousands of books – was completely beyond him.  In his world, he would be right, unless I managed to introduce paper.  I struggled to recall everything I’d learned about paper and cursed again.  I didn't know enough to do more than tell them that it came from trees.  Perhaps if I gave someone the idea...

“I bid you farewell,” the scribe said.  His voice was still shaky.  “Please do not call for me again.”

I watched him go in a blue funk, cursing my own mistake.  I had moved too fast, without careful thought.  Whatever I did next had to be more careful – and, if that wasn't bad enough, it had to be less dangerous.  The Scribe Guild might defy the Brotherhood to kill me, if they saw their entire existence at risk.

The next few days passed slowly.  I wandered the city, deep in thought, and complained nightly to Lianna.  There were so many things I could teach them, yet all of them would upset the applecart.  And there was the looming question of why I’d been summoned in the first place.  Perhaps it had been a mistake, after all.  It looked as if I couldn't do anything for them, or even for myself.

As it happened, I was wrong.  And it was Lianna who pointed the way.

Chapter Eight

I didn't fit very well into Padway’s society.  I wasn't one of the noblewomen living in their lofty mansions on the hill, nor was I one of the middle class or even one of the serving women from the slums.  Lianna, on the other hand, considered herself to be nothing more than a servant – no matter how often I tried to tell her otherwise – and she had little trouble socialising with the other servants.  I’d expected her to be shy, given where she had come from, but somehow she managed to blossom with her social equals.  And she boasted; she boasted about me and my knowledge and how I’d told her that little devils in dirt and filth caused illnesses.  My father had told me how one of his teams had used a similar analogy to explain germs and viruses in Afghanistan – they’d borrowed it from a science-fiction writer, I believe – and I’d resorted to it when explaining the nature of germs failed for the third time.

Nearly two weeks after I arrived in the city, a messenger arrived at my door.  I wasn't expecting to see anyone, but when he announced himself, I found myself listening with a mixture of curiosity and alarm.  Lady Helda, of House Umbria, wanted my help.  And when I realised why she wanted my help, I almost fainted.  All of a sudden, the stakes were much higher than I wanted to risk.  I mulled it over as I picked up a couple of possessions – mainly the pistol and a couple of other things – and started to curse.  There were just too many things that could go wrong.

Lianna loved the short ride in a carriage up the hill and through the Inner Wall, but I was too bust thinking – and panicking.  I’d heard of House Umbria, of course, even though I was still a newcomer to the city.  The patriarch of House Umbria owned nearly a fifth of the entire city and drew rents from around a third of the population.  Like all landlords, he was effectively above the law and could do just about anything he liked.  He might not have had running water in his colossal mansion – it struck me as a tasteless building when I saw it, a strange combination of Roman and Arabic design, surrounded by statues of the gods – but he had more than enough power to squash me like a bug.  And even the Brotherhood would have had difficulties countering him.  Taking action against him would have been taking action against the entire city, effectively speaking.  

When we arrived – at the servant’s entry, of course - Lady Helda’s maidservant met us at the door and escorted us through the house and into a bedchamber.  Lady Helda was short and blonde – and heavily pregnant.  The baby was due any moment and, to my horror, they wanted me to help with the birth.  Lady Helda’s sisters had died in childbirth, the regular doctors of the Medical Guild being unable or unwilling to save them.  Her husband had allowed her to call in help and she had, somehow, called in me.  I resolved to figure out how she’d heard of me later, just now I had to attend to the birth.  My mind had gone blank.  I’d never delivered a human baby before, only cows and horses.  Somehow, I didn't think that Lady Helda would appreciate the comparison.  

I took one look at the room and knew the problem.  It was filthy.  The sight reminded me of reading about germs and medical researchers...and of how a doctor had finally figured out how his fellow doctors were transferring diseases from one patient to another.  They hadn't bothered to wash their hands between patients, while the wards themselves were disgustingly filthy.  For men pledged never to do harm, they sure proved resistant to the idea of washing their hands, the bastards.  How many women had died needlessly in childbirth because of their self-centred attitude?

“Call your servants,” I ordered.  I’d do it by rote until I remembered enough to be helpful.  “I want this room clean.  Get basins of steaming hot water and scrub the place down, now!”

I washed my own hands and then pressed them against her bare chest.  The baby was kicking again, which meant...what?  The local doctor, his lips pressed together tightly, seemed to think that the baby was on his way.  I decided that he was probably right and banned him from touching her until he had washed himself thoroughly and changed his clothes.  Once clean clothes arrived, I changed myself and insisted that Lianna do likewise.  We couldn't risk bringing even more germs into the room.

The servants scrubbed everywhere with hot water and, at my insistence, boiled the blankets and dried them rapidly.  If I’d had a few days warning, I could have rigged up a proper surgical room – or at least a far cleaner delivery room – but I had to improvise.  I said as much to Lady Helda and she agreed, telling me – between gasps – that it had taken long enough to convince her husband to summon me.  The man wasn't even in the room, sharing the danger with his wife.  Given how rarely men and women seemed to wash in the city, I decided that that was no bad thing.  Besides, the husband was much older than the wife and seemed to have little in common with her.  The marriage had been arranged between two different Houses and the bride hadn't been consulted.  I was revolted, but it was par for the course in primitive societies.  It wouldn't be long, I suspected, before they started to suffer the effects of inbreeding.  I decided that it wouldn't be a good idea to mentioned that to Lady Helda, at least not right now.

“The baby is coming soon,” the doctor said.  He had grudgingly washed himself thoroughly and was now glowering at me, after I’d ordered him to shut up.  His comments about foreign witches and how he couldn't be blamed for anything were growing annoying.  In his place, I would have been watching carefully and memorising everything, before taking the knowledge back to his guild and using it to save more lives.  “I trust that you know what you are doing.”

I nodded, careful not to mention that it actually was my first experience of childbirth.  I’d had the sex education classes in school, of course – most of which had been impractical – and I’d been forced to study when some of my pupils had gotten pregnant through poor or absent contraception, but I didn't remember everything.  There was a lump of flesh – for the life of me, I couldn't remember it’s name – that came out after the child.  I remembered, suddenly, that most children came out head first, but some came out feet first – and those were always difficult births.  I imagined one foot getting stuck inside the womb and shuddered.  I didn't know what to do if that happened and I certainly didn't know how to perform a caesarean section.  If she needed one, the baby was about to die, along with its mother.  I forced myself to think positively, wishing again for an ultrasound or a trained midwife.

Oddly, I smiled, remembering some of the fools I’d met who wanted to live in a primitive environment.  They were welcome to this one, as far as I was concerned.  A feminist – hell, any woman - who didn't worship modern technology was a fool and should be barred from breeding, just on general principles.  Modern technology, relatively speaking, had benefited women far more than men.  Modern medicine had allowed more of us to give birth and survive the experience.  It had even allowed us to claim equality with men in most fields.  Who in their right mind would want to swap that for the past, where women had been at the bottom of the totem pole and had been lucky to live past their forties?

Lady Helda saw my smile and asked, weakly, what was so funny.  I hesitated, and then explained as best as I could.  The doctor didn't seem amused when I told him how we knew far more about medicine and health than his guild, but Lady Helda laughed, weakly.  I took her hand in mind and squeezed it gently, before checking her racing heartbeat and deciding it was normal.  There wasn't anything I could do if it wasn't normal.  My own ignorance started to haunt me again.  This world didn't have painkillers, even something as limited – and addictive – as morphine.  Or maybe it did and they just didn't know what they had.  I would have sold my soul, at that moment, for a shipment of modern medicine and knowledge.  No devil arrived to seal the bargain.

I wondered, absently, why Sprites couldn't be used to ensure a safe childbirth, before realising the truth.  The Mages couldn't give them orders that directed them to eradicate germs, if only because the Mages themselves didn't know about the germs.  And even if they did, I could see a Sprite destroying all the bacteria in a person’s body and claiming that it had followed orders to the letter.  It probably would have done, by its own standards, but it would have killed its victim.  Besides, if the Mages were really losing control of the Sprites, a medical Sprite might desert them when it was most needed.

The contractions were coming faster and faster now and I knew that the baby was coming soon.  I removed the cloth covering her thighs and washed her, carefully, with hot water.  She muttered a curse as I washed, wishing that she’d thought to shave her legs and pubic region.  I remembered obsessing over shaving my legs back home, but it didn't seem to have caught on her, any more than the concept of washing regularly.  The doctor scowled as he watched me at work, although I had the feeling that he was watching me more closely than before.  Perhaps he had decided to learn what to do...hell, my ignorance was almost as bad as his.  If I’d become a nurse, or a midwife, or a doctor, I would have been far better prepared for this.

I checked the equipment quickly.  The servants, at my command, had boiled them thoroughly in water, before carefully placing them on a metal tray and bringing them into the scrubbed room.  There were too many possible ways to contaminate them, even with my makeshift precautions, and I prayed – again – that there were no complications.  If something went badly wrong, I could do nothing.  I remembered horror stories from the past and shivered.

Lady Helda started to gasp in pain as the contractions grew stronger.  I placed my fingers just above her vagina and felt the baby starting to move.  Her legs spread wide as she cried out in pain, but I could do nothing for her.  I wished her husband had been here, even if he presented a risk of infection; someone had to hold her hand and make her feel as if she wasn't alone.  I looked up at the doctor and had a thought.

“Hold her hand,” I ordered, sharply.  For all I knew, I was trespassing on a thousand taboos, but I didn't have time to care.  The doctor, thankfully, obeyed and took her hand, holding it tightly.  I pretended not to hear his gasp of pain as her hand contracted on his and actually hurt him.  “Let's see what happens now.”

Lady Helda had been in labour for hours.  If I recalled correctly, a woman giving birth for the first time would need around eight hours of labour before the child began to emerge, but a woman who had already had one child would only need around four hours.  Timekeeping here wasn't a precise science – they had a Clockwork Guild, but no clocks – and I had no idea just how long she’d been in labour before she’d started to give birth.  My watch told me that it had been three hours since we had arrived, which suggested she had been in labour for five hours...if I recalled correctly.  I scowled in frustration and then forced a smile.  The last thing a terrified mother needed to see was a frowning midwife.

I washed my hands again as the baby’s head started to emerge from between her legs.  It was a tiny purple thing and I almost panicked, believing it to be a stillborn child, before I recalled that that was actually normal.  Mothers were programmed to love their children by God, thankfully; the ugly newborn was disgusting, at least to my eyes.  It took all of my courage to touch the baby and hold it as it continued to emerge.  The child’s skin was covered with a filmy substance that puzzled the hell out of me, even as I started to wipe it away.  He – there was no doubt about the baby’s sex once I saw the tiny penis – was gasping for breath, jerking around like a wild thing.  Lady Helda screamed in pain again – she had been screaming for what felt like hours – and her entire body shivered.  The baby had fully emerged from her womb, followed rapidly by the placenta.  I recoiled from the stench, yet forced myself not to lose it, not now.

One of the servants held the baby while I reached for the knife and ties.  Cutting the umbilical cord was one of the hardest things I’d ever done – nightmarish images of what could go wrong haunted me as I struck – but somehow I managed it.  Another servant came in with the ties and pinched off the child’s end, before slapping the child on the back.  He gasped and started to bawl.   A normal, healthy baby boy.  I almost sagged in relief, but there was too much still to do.  We washed and wrapped the baby in cloths – I’d had them boiled, like everything else – and held him out to the mother.  Lady Helda took him, even though she was clearly exhausted and two servants stood ready to take the child if she lost her grip, and gazed down on her newborn.  Her eyes were filled with love and tenderness.  I allowed myself a tired smile.  Whatever the child looked like – and his colour was rapidly turning pink – she loved him.  I just prayed that he remained healthy.

Moving Lady Helda into another clean room was a difficult task, but we managed it.  The servants, at my command, returned to the birthing room and scrubbed it clean, using boiling water to wash every last corner of the room.  The placenta was wrapped up securely, before being transported out of the house to be buried in front of one of the statues.  The goddess of mothers, one of them explained, accepted the placenta as her due.  I found the whole concept disgusting, but it was no time to start quibbling over the disposal.  Besides, what else could they do?  No matter how I wracked my brains, I couldn't remember what happened to placentas back home.

Lady Helda was resting when I returned to her room, with a nursemaid watching and holding the child.  I gathered that the richer families farmed out the task of raising their children to servants, who would teach the children everything they needed to know.  They started young here, which made sense.  The only way to learn reading and writing in this society – at least, so far – was to start very young.  I resolved to find a way to introduce modern writing as soon as possible.  It would change the world.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up to see one of the servants.  “Lord Umbria sends his compliments and wishes you to know that a room has been prepared for you if you need sleep,” she said.  I hadn’t realised how tired I was until she spoke.  I needed coffee, lots of coffee.  It didn't seem to exist in this world.  “You will be welcomed at the Naming tonight.”

“Thank you,” I said, allowing her to lead me away.

The room they gave me was the most luxurious room I had ever seen, although it lacked hot and cold running water, or a shower.  The servants did offer me a bath, but I declined, as it would have required them to carry in hot water for me.  I found the whole concept rather creepy, even if it was second-nature to the people here.  Perhaps there was a reason they rarely bathed.  I fell asleep and only woke when Lianna shook me, gently.  My watch told me that six hours had passed.  I felt as if I hadn't slept at all.  Servants brought me hot water and I washed my hands and face, before they escorted me down the stairs and into a parlour.  Lady Helda was sitting in the middle of the room, holding her child up in front of an older man.  Lord Umbria struck me as being about fifty years old – he was probably younger – and looked gruff.  He was examining the child critically.

“I welcome you to the family,” he said, formally.  The witnesses, gathered along the far wall, cheered.  If he’d rejected the child, he would have been given up for adoption – or perhaps simply exposed to the chill night air.  “House Umbria welcomes its new heir.”

It was the first social event I’d attended in the city, but it was a long time before I understood its importance.  The child had to be accepted by the father, before witnesses, to confirm his position as heir to House Umbria.  The network of family ties that bound the upper classes together would shift, once again, to welcome the new child.  I smiled as servants brought in food and drink, although I was careful what I ate.  Even the upper classes here lived in squalor.  There was music, and dancing girls, and even a magician, performing tricks with a tame Sprite.  I shivered as I saw the inhuman eyes, filled with frustration and limitless malice...

Whatever the Brotherhood said, the Sprites were definitely not our friends.

Chapter Nine

“So there are little devils in blood and filth,” Lady Aylia, of House Umbria, said.  “And you can drive them out by boiling them in hot water?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I said.  I had already decided not to attempt to teach anyone what germs actually were, at least until someone invented the microscope.  “But yes; if you boil water, you kill the little devils.  I think that if you boiled all water, and washed more carefully, you would have far few epidemics in your city.”

Aylia studied me thoughtfully.  She was one of the foremost priestesses in the city, serving the Crone Goddess.  I had barely come to grips with the pantheon of gods in this world, but the Crone was one of the most feared and respected goddesses in the city.  She brought good luck to women who called on her, according to the legends, but she was also known for punishing men who were cursed by women.  I suspected I was missing a few subtle points that would have made instant sense to someone born in this society, yet it seemed to me that the Crone might explain the misogyny that ran through parts of the city.  Aylia was one of the smartest women I had ever met and she would never be allowed to enter any of the guilds.

She was also strikingly attractive, with elegant features, brown eyes and long hair that reached all the way down to her hips.  Some of the more dedicated followers of the Crone wore white veils to separate themselves from the rest of society, but Aylia seemed to prefer shapeless robes.  But then, she had summoned me to her temple for a private chat and there were no men in the area.  They were forbidden entry on pain of death.  Like me, Aylia and her sisters were virgins and would remain so as long as they served the Crone.  

I wasn't entirely sure how she was related to Lady Helda.  From the explanation I had managed to pull out of Lianna, Aylia was Lord Umbria’s youngest sister.  She wouldn't inherit a position of power in the council – women were not allowed to be politicians and power was always passed down the male line – but she had remarkable freedom in all other respects.  Women could own property and even run businesses, although it was not the done thing.  The upper classes rarely seemed to dignify themselves by actually working for a living.

“Interesting,” she said, finally.  “You will be amused to hear that others have already started to follow your example.  The Medical Guild has not yet accepted your suggestions, but servants and midwives are copying you.  What do you think of that?”

I had to smile, even though it was more sardonic than amused.  My father had complained bitterly about unions back home, but the worst of the unions – the teachers unions, in my considered opinion – were nothing compared to the guilds in Padway.  If you wanted to be a scribe, you had to be a member of the Scribe Guild; if you wanted to be a doctor you had to be a member of the Medical Guild; if you wanted to be an Accountant, you had to be a member of the Accountants Guild...and so on, until almost every profession was bound within invisible chains.  A person who tried to be a scribe without joining the guild risked being prosecuted, or perhaps simply being beaten by hired thugs.

What that all meant, at least for me, was that all changes had to be approved by the guilds and they were highly conservative organisations.  I could understand why – they’d found something that worked and they were sticking with it – but it was incredibly frustrating, to say nothing of harmful.  The Medical Guild could cut the infant mortality rate down sharply, just by copying what I’d done for Lady Helda, yet they were still reluctant to authorise the changes.  Indeed, I’d heard that some of the doctors were refusing to wash, even if their clients insisted.  In a week, I’d turned part of society upside down.

“I think that what I’m offering to teach people is free,” I said, finally.  “If they wish to adopt my techniques” – and that was a joke; I hadn't invented anything – “I have no objection.”

Aylia placed her fingertips together as she spoke.  “I believe that that may be part of the problem,” she said, calmly.  “You are trying to give your knowledge away.  If they had to pay for it, they would treat it a great deal more seriously.”

I considered it.  It sounded reasonable, but...I was still very much a stranger in this land.  “I don’t think I can copyright what I know,” I said, finally.  “How could I prevent the guilds from copying my...innovations?”

“Oh, you can't,” Aylia said.  “We, on the other hand, can certainly help with any new ideas you might wish to introduce.  You saved my sister’s life.  I think that entitles you to some help from the Sisterhood.  The Crone will be amused.”

I kept my expression blank, with an effort.  Even back home, the most religious person in the world paled in comparison to the believers here.  They all believed in the gods, even if they worshipped only one or two regularly, and the supernatural was real here.  Aylia meant every word she said; hell, if there were Sprites in this world, why not Gods?  Or...could it be that the Gods were merely incredibly powerful Sprites?  Sprites that were worshipped instead of summoned?  I kept that thought to myself.  The last thing I needed was to spark off a religious war.

“I want to open a school,” I said, finally.  One thing this world lacked was any form of formal schooling – and there certainly wasn’t a Teachers Guild.  It had taken me several days to work out that most kids were homeschooled or sent to the guilds from a very early age.  If I taught them how to read and write – and double-entry bookkeeping – no one would be able to object until it was far too late to stop the ideas percolating through society.  “Can you help me do that?”

“Of course,” Aylia said.  She frowned.  “But you will also need money.  How do you intend to earn enough gold to open a school?”

I smiled.  I was starting to understand how this society worked.  “If you will help me gain access to the Seamstresses Guild, I’ll explain,” I said.  “Please.”

***
There were two guilds in the city that concentrated on making clothes; the Taylors Guild and the Seamstresses Guild.  The former was composed only of men and the latter was composed only of women, although there were plenty of middle-class families that straddled both guilds.  I found the whole concept rather confusing until I figured out that the women who were effectively running one of the guilds were linked by marriage and blood to the other guild.  The Master of the Taylors Guild was the husband of the Mistress of the Seamstresses Guild.  I’d tried to gain entry before, but had been ordered back onto the streets.  With the Crone’s priestesses backing me, I had no difficulty in seeing the Mistress.  Besides, she’d heard through the grapevine how I’d saved a child and his mother.

I’d gone back to my house and picked up the tattered remains of my clothing.  Most of it was in no fit shape to wear – and, of course, I hadn't been allowed to wear it while I’d been with the tribe.  I pulled out the sports bra and donned it, feeling oddly relieved.  This society had never invented the bra and my breasts felt funny after weeks of going without it.  Still, it would provide another useful idea for profit.  This time, I was going to copyright it.

The Mistress of the Seamstresses Guild was a short fat lady with a pleasant smile.  Lianna had told me that she was popular in the city, even among the lower classes, and I could understand why.  The Seamstresses Guild, unlike most of the guilds, was run according to semi-democratic principles and an unpopular Mistress wouldn't last long before she was replaced by someone more congenial.  The guild was one of the few fields open to women who wanted to earn money for themselves and, naturally, it attracted the best and brightest.  

“Interesting,” she said finally, when I showed her the bra and explained what it did.  She had already admired the material and tried to discuss trade, an idea that I had had to shoot down.  I had no way of either obtaining more material or making it for myself.  “I believe we could make something similar, don’t you?”

Her assistant, who was a power in the guild in her own right, nodded in agreement.  “It would be simple to use cloth to copy the design,” she agreed.  “And it would be popular.  Women would want to buy them and wear then, particularly the younger girls.”

We shared a smile.  The younger girls did dress to show off their bodies, even if the mores of this society prohibited some of the dresses from back home.  A proper push-up bra wouldn't challenge any morals, at least not directly, and it would be very popular.  I thought of how men could be excited by sexy lingerie and smiled to myself.  There was no market for sexy underwear here, but I was going to invent one.

The haggling took hours.  I knew that my bargaining position wasn't particularly strong – they would have picked up the idea just by seeing my old bra – but I wanted at least a regular supply of gold and silver.  At least I knew more about relative values than I did when I came to the city, yet we still had to argue endlessly before I received a reasonable amount of money.  I agreed to licence the idea to any Seamstress who wanted to make bras – I was sure they all would, once the idea caught on – and I would receive a small amount of money for each bra.  A lawyer from the Lawyers Guild – somehow I wasn't surprised to discover that there was a Lawyers Guild – was called in to draw up the final agreement, marking it out on a wax tablet.  The sooner I invented and introduced paper the better, I told myself.  If only I could remember how to do it.  Perhaps it could be done with cloth...

I walked out of the Seamstresses Guild a rich woman, at least by the standards of the time.  The presence of my bodyguard was reassuring, even though I had the pistol strapped to my belt; no one would actually know what it was.  How can you threaten someone with a pistol when they don’t know enough to know that they should be afraid?  Besides, I had to keep reminding myself that guns weren’t a talisman to wave away evil.  A person with a gun wasn't all-powerful.  

Naturally, I spent the rest of the day walking through the markets, looking for ideas.  My father had taught me how to make a basic lantern and it struck me that I could experiment with local materials and perhaps produce something that could replace the magical lights.  They already knew how to make candles, so even teaching them how to put them in glass would have an impact...of course, glass was remarkably expensive here.  If I wanted to use glass everywhere, I would have to find a way of making glass cheaper...I wished, again, for access to the internet, or a good reference book.  If I’d known I would be coming here, I would have studied frantically and bought a library of books with me.  

I returned home and met Lianna, who told me that several messengers had visited, leaving messages for me.  They were all from women who were about to give birth in the next few weeks and months, requesting the use of my services at the birth.  I rolled my eyes at some of the offers, even though several of the ladies were very well-connected.  It dawned on me that being a respected midwife was as much a burden as a help; I would be expected to attend all of the births and, doubtless, any deaths would be blamed on my absence.  The ladies could hinder me as much as help.  If this went on, I was going to need a social secretary.

Lianna had gone out with some of the money Lady Helda had given us and brought in a few new furnishings.   I reclined on a sofa and started to plan out my school.  If they needed midwives, I could take the ones who already had experience and teach them about basic sanitation and hygiene.  The Medical Guild would probably object at first, but if they discovered that only midwives who knew the new knowledge were hired, they would probably find themselves forced to approve my methods.  I had to laugh at myself.  As my life back home became more of a dream, I was thinking of my knowledge as mine.

That night, someone tried to burgle my house.  I was awakened when I heard roaring from downstairs and the sounds of a brief struggle, ended when Obelix smacked the bugler on the head.  I came downstairs, having pulled on my robe, just in time to see my bodyguard on the verge of pushing the burglar’s feet into the fire.  The burglar stared at me pleadingly.  I had checked on crime and punishment here and it seemed that no one believed in coddling criminals.  Some of the child pickpockets – with adult Fagin-like characters hiding in the background – had had their hands amputated to remind them that stealing was wrong.   Every so often, the sheer barbarity of this city would rise up and strike me in the face and I would spend the rest of the day feeling sick.

“Don’t burn him,” I ordered, automatically...and then hesitated.  Back home, I would have called the police, but here...there was only the City Guard, and the Guard was owned by the powerful families.  Corruption and bribery were the orders of the day.  If I handed the burglar over to them, he would be enslaved or simply hung.  I couldn't do that, could I?  And then...why had he chosen my house to loot?

“Please, mistress,” the burglar pleaded.  His voice was shaking and he struggled until Obelix whacked him on the head again.  “I won’t steal again, I swear!”

I doubted he meant it.  “Tell me something,” I said.  “Why did you sneak into my house?”

He stared at me wild-eyed.  “They told me that the rich foreigner has gold and jewels,” he said, quickly.  He was too scared, I hoped, to lie.  I didn't want to torture him to learn anything else.  “They said it would be easy and that she had no friends who might be angry...”

I held up the pendant Aylia had given me and he screamed in terror.  The mark of the Crone was known throughout the city and the surrounding countryside.  For all I knew, the other city-states worshipped her as much as Padway.  And she was feared everywhere.  I knew it was superstition – the same kind of superstition that made placebos and curses work – but it was real to him.  I was under the protection of the darkest lady in the heavens.

I couldn't decide what to do.  Someone had sent him to burgle my house – perhaps one of the guilds, or perhaps a ring of burglars – and I wanted revenge.  And I no longer felt safe in the house...not when it had been violated so roughly.  If I had been able to summon the Guardian and put him to work guarding the house instead of my chastity...but I couldn't do that, at least not without asking the Brotherhood for help.  And if I handed him over to the City Guard, he would be mutilated.  I couldn't have that on my conscience.  I thought about turning around and leaving matters to Obelix, but that would have been moral cowardice.

“Look at this,” I said, hefting the pendant and holding it in front of his face.  He cowered back, as if he expected the Crone Herself to reach out through the pendant and strike him dead.  From what Aylia had said, it would be a lingering doom.  His testicles would become infested with pox and drop off, followed by a slow collapse into a leper’s grave.  The description had been so vivid that I wondered if there wasn't some truth behind the myth, perhaps a plague that had been blamed on the Crone and her followers.  “You can swear, before Her, that you will never rob or steal again...or you can face the Guard.  Your choice.”

I hated myself at that moment, but I couldn't think of a better solution.  “I swear,” he said, whimpering.  I wondered if he was telling the truth.  People from primitive societies often convinced themselves that they were cursed and suffered from it – actually, it was a delusion in the modern world as well – but he might not be a believer.  “I won’t steal again, I swear!”

The pendant felt cold and hard in my hand as I pressed it against his forehead, but he recoiled as if I’d stuck him with a red-hot poker.  “Get out,” I ordered, as Obelix released him and he stumbled to his feet.  My bodyguard looked uncomfortable, even though he was skilled at concealing his emotions.  I wondered, suddenly, which gods he worshipped.  Were they ones that might be daunted by the Crone?  “And never steal again!”

I watched him run out the door and flee into the night, before I turned back to my bed.  Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day and I needed my sleep.  Tomorrow I was going to open a school.  And I already knew who was going to be my first pupil.

Chapter Ten

It actually took a week to get the school set up properly – or at least as close to an ideal school as I could manage, under the circumstances.  Teachers like Laura Ingalls Wilder would have found it easier, if only because she wouldn’t have been used to computers and other modern teaching aids.  I missed computers and paper dreadfully, although I was pleased with the discipline situation.  I could expel pupils at will, something that had never been possible back home, and I could hire and fire as I saw fit.  There wouldn't be a Teachers Union in this world, not if I had anything to say about it.  Which I might not, I realised; belonging to a guild was one way of developing status and my new teachers, once I trained them up, might insist on forming one with or without me.

I’d racked my brains for ideas and finally came up with the blackboard and chalk.  They might not have had paper, but they did have chalk and even used them on slates.  It was merely a matter of creating a blackboard I could use and small tablets for the pupils, although most transactions involved wax tablets here.  I disliked the waxy tablets because they were expensive and needed to be cooked to become permanent.  Chalk might not be permanent, but it was cheap and easy to recycle.  

It hadn't occurred to me, until Lianna pointed it out, that I would need to set the school up in a middle-class district.  The high-class area was far too expensive – to say nothing of their reluctance to use it for anything as tacky as work – and the lower-class areas too dangerous for any upper-class pupils.  I called in a favour from Lord Umbria and he arranged for me to buy – at very good rates – a modest two-story building near the Inner Wall.  It was a positive sign for my pupils, even though it struck me as a faintly odd.  Or perhaps I wasn't thinking about it properly.  As a general rule, back home, any school in the inner cities could be counted upon to be poor, producing pupils who could neither read nor write.  It took another few days to organise the building to my satisfaction and then I started hunting for pupils.  It was surprisingly easy.

Padway didn't have a formal schooling system at all.  Most children were taught at home, by their parents, or taken into one of the guilds at a very early age.  The result was a very diverse mixture of educated children, who would be very knowledgeable and capable in one area, but very ignorant in others.  I suspected it had something to do with the shortage of books.  Back home, being able to read allowed me to access knowledge contained within tomes on any subject I cared to mention, rendering reading one of the most vital skills.  Here, where knowledge was far more restricted, being able to read wasn't so important.  And then there was the fact that their written language was almost impossible to learn unless one started from a very early age...they didn't know it, but they had created an educational apartheid, one where freemen would be unable to rise too quickly.  And I was about to set that on its head.

The poorer families couldn't afford tutors and their parents lacked the skills to pass on to their offspring.  There was some social mobility in the city, but it took several generations for a family to rise from slavery to a wealthy and respected position, just under the Great Houses.  Indeed, although I hadn't expected it, there was actually a tradition in the Great Houses of choosing wives – although not husbands – from the class just under them, believing that anyone whose family had climbed out of the gutter possessed traits that the Great Houses actually needed.  A newly-made freeman would always be tainted by being a slave, but his children would be accepted without demur.  Mind you, the number of slaves who climbed up was very low, yet even the promise of it kept people going without revolt.

Lianna had been bragging about me to the other slaves and word had spread through the city.  I think that many people who heard about the school thought I was mad, or believed that the low rates I was charging were a sign that everything wasn't kosher, but there were plenty of freemen and even merchants who were willing to gamble on me.  Once they heard about the bras, which were selling like hot cakes, they became even more interested.  The merchants in this city respected people who innovated, or introduced new ideas.  Many of them had grown fat by discovering something new.  I discovered that a number of my pupils were adults, rather than growing children.  I didn't mind at all.

I’d hired extra guards after the attempted robbery, stationing some of them at my house and others watching the school.  I had nightmarish visions of one of my armed pupils – everyone who was entitled to wore a sword on his belt, a concept similar to the Second Amendment back home – drawing his sword and slashing one of his fellow pupils open in front of me.  As it happened, there were strict traditions about what one could and could not do with a sword, but it still bothered me.  Far too many school shootings back home had taken place because it was impossible to legally discipline a bully.  On the other hand, I could expel at will...

I felt nervous as I stood up in front of my first class.  After some negotiations with various interested parties – deals brokered by the Crone’s priestesses – I ended up with three different subjects, at least at first.  Reading and writing, numbers and bookkeeping, and hygiene.  The priestesses were keen on spreading my new ideas throughout the city and had insisted on the latter.  I’d used bookkeeping in the hope – probably futilely – that it would keep the Accounting Guild from recognising the oncoming storm before it was too late.  The pupils were alarmingly silent as they watched me, unlike the pupils back home.  But then, these pupils actually wanted to learn.

“We open this day in the sight of the gods,” I said.  It was a fairly traditional statement, I’d discovered, always used in the city when beginning a new project.  “My name is Alex.  This is my name.”  I wrote it out on the blackboard, feeling the chalk grating under my fingers.  I’d have to find  some way of improving the product.  “As you can see, I can write it out quickly and easily.”

It took longer than I had expected to get the concept of ABC across, but once they had it they made remarkable progress.  I should have anticipated it from the start.  Here, without computers, people had to develop their memories, particularly the ones who learned a trade.  They made mistakes, of course, but they rarely forgot details.  It was almost embarrassing how quickly they learned, without needing any of the mnemonic tricks from back home.  I watched several freemen sons gleefully sounding out their own names, time and time again, laughing at how easy it was.  They wouldn't need to go to the Scribes Guild if they wanted to learn how to write, not now.  By the end of the first lesson – I’d put an hour per lesson, although the tutors here often kept people in their seats for most of the day – the class had picked up the basic concept.  All they needed was practice.  

The great advantage of the modern alphabet is that you can use it to write any word.  If a new concept enters the language, you can still spell it out.  Indeed, English included thousands of loan words drawn from Greek, Latin, French and even Arabic.  And then there were the acronyms that became words in their own right, such as laser.  The local script couldn't do that, not even slightly.  Every new concept had to have its own letter and changes spread very slowly, if at all.  No wonder social change came so slowly.

We gathered again, thirty minutes later, for the second lesson.  This one included some new pupils, younger men who believed that they didn't need to learn how to write, but needed to learn how to count.  I suspected that their parents, once word started to spread, would insist that they learned how to read too, but for the moment I was content not to push it too hard.  I wiped the blackboard clean, checked the time on my watch – I’d kept it under my sleeve, because it would have attracted attention – and started again.

“This are the Alex Numerals,” I said, and wrote them out on the blackboard.  I had had to claim that I’d invented them, if only to interest the merchant class.  They had great respect for innovation, but far less for ideas brought in from outside the city.  I had a feeling that the new numbers would spread rapidly, once they grasped the basic idea, yet for the moment they had to be introduced by stealth.  And besides, I would be able to claim a small amount of money for a while from people who used the system.  A very small amount of money.  “One, two, three...”

There are ten numerals in the modern system, which includes zero.  When compared to the Roman system, it becomes clear that the modern system is much more flexible.  Padway’s system was actually far more complex than the Roman system, something I suspected that the Accountants Guild had introduced deliberately.  They didn't have anything like the stranglehold that the Scribes Guild possessed – numbers were easier to learn than words, even here – but they were powerful.  They also cultivated a reputation for honesty, although I had my doubts.  Double-entry bookkeeping – a concept I intended to introduce – made it a great deal easier to spot someone fiddling the books.

It was easier to get the idea of the numbers across than the letters.  Actually, once I’d explained the value of zero, the class took off like a rocket.  They were far from stupid, after all, and the numbers were very simple.  One of the younger boys wrote out a one followed by twenty zeros and claimed that it was too high to translate into words.  He was probably right.  Basic arithmetic followed; again, it was something they already understood, if only at a very basic level.  I found myself wondering, suddenly, if I’d accidentally ruined my own school.  The ideas would spread rapidly and others would probably copy me.  I would put myself out of business!  

At the end of the class, I demonstrated the system of double-entry bookkeeping, and then dismissed the class.  Lianna, who had been cooking in the backroom, brought out a bowl of stew for me and I ate it gratefully.  The concept of school meals was unknown to this society as well, but it was one I was in no hurry to introduce.  I had been in six schools – either as a pupil or a teacher – and none of them had served good and decent food, despite all the campaigns to serve children healthy food.  Any fool could have told the idiot campaigners that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.  The food might have been healthy, but the kids weren't eating it if they had a choice – and the reason they weren't eating it was because they didn't like it.

The final class was scheduled for two hours, unlike the other two.  The Crone Priestesses themselves would be attending, along with as many women as they could draw in on short notice.  A handful of men were also attending, although I had no idea why.  Perhaps they came from the Medical Guild and wanted to learn how to actually help save their patients, or perhaps they were merely accompanying the women because they didn't trust them on their own.  I had no way to tell.  Some of my earlier pupils returned for the third lesson, but most of them had gone home.  They weren’t interested in hygiene.  Boys, it seemed, were the same everywhere.

“There are little devils living within the body, human waste and the air,” I said, once I had passed through the ritual words and the blessing one of the priestesses insisted on making.  “These devils are harmful and often deadly.  You have to remove them to make the environment healthier for the patient.”

I still hated myself for telling them that germs were devils, as if there was something supernatural about them.  But no matter how hard I tried, there was no way to prove it to them.  This world didn't have microscopes or even telescopes, although they might have been able to invent the latter if I gave them a push.  They would have found the concept of germs unbelievable and would have refused to believe me, or would have insisted on using rites and rituals to drive the devils out, rather than simple sanitation.

“Heat kills the devils,” I explained, as I brought out a bowl of water and placed it on the fire.  Hardly anyone in the city drank water – they preferred juice or alcoholic drinks – because they knew that water could be lethal.  The city didn't even have the basic sewers of Roman times.  No wonder it stank so badly...although, thankfully, I had gotten used to the smell and didn’t have to go around holding my nose.  “If you boil each and every item that might come into contact with a sick person, it may save their lives.”

I ran through what I’d done while assisting with births in the city.  I hadn't lost any children yet, although that was just a matter of good luck.  I knew that, sooner or later, something would happen that my rudimentary medical knowledge would be unable to fix and the child - and perhaps the mother – would die.  And once that happened, they would stop looking on me as a miracle worker.  I found myself reminded of lawsuits back home, where the doctors were sued for everything imaginable.  It would be far worse here.  People remember a slap much longer than they remember a caress and I was nothing more than a foreign woman.  They would wonder if I had killed the baby deliberately – there seemed to be no limits to what they would believe of the other cities – and my school would come crashing down in flames.

Some of what I told them seemed unbelievable to them.  They didn't know about disease vectors, or even that germs – little devils – could fester in human and animal waste.  The city was filthy because they left manure lying everywhere, seemingly unaware that diseases would gestate in the waste.  Just boiling water would save thousands of lives each year, if they believed me.  I knew that what I had taught them would spread quickly.  I hoped that it would be quick enough to save me.  Every little cough made me panic.  God knew, the fresh vegetables and fruits I obtained at the market were expensive as hell, but if I stopped eating them I might come down with scurvy.  Or something worse.

Once I’d dismissed the class, I sat down for a rest.  It was broken by someone slamming open the door and marching into the classroom.  I looked up sharply, one hand gripping the pistol, as the intruder – the three intruders – marched into the room.  They looked like street thugs, but they wore pendants that marked them as representatives of one of the guilds.  I shivered, even though self-defence was perfectly legal here.  Their gazes fixed on me as they advanced.  They didn't look as if they were used to questions, or being balked.  Where the hell were my guards?

“Listen you,” the first one snarled.  “You’ve been defying the guild laws!”

I pretended to consider it as I gripped the pistol tighter.  They wouldn't know to be scared of it; I could have shot them all down while they were trying to grasp the concept of firearms.  On the other hand, I had two clips and once they were gone, they were gone.  I hadn’t even dared fire a single shot to test that they still worked.  I thought the physical laws here were identical to the ones back home, but what if I was wrong?

“Oh?”  I asked, finally.  “I am breaking no laws.”

That was actually true, although only technically.  I wasn't teaching accountants or scribes and I certainly wasn't working as either.  If my pupils learned to do their own accounts, or write more than their own names, that wasn't against the law.  I doubted that the thugs would be too impressed with that argument, however, and neither would the guilds they represented.  There have always been those who are comfortable where they are and seek to prevent all progress, believing that it would ruin their positions.  Padway might not have running water or a decent health care system, but it had reactionaries by the score.

He reached for me, and then pulled back his hand.  I had to smile inwardly.  There were some compensations for being considered a second-class citizen because of my plumbing.  A thug who attacked a woman – at least a fairly wealthy woman – could expect no mercy from his fellow citizens.  Instead, he spat on the table and stomped out, followed by the other two goons.  I waited until I was sure that they were gone and cleaned up the mess, before walking outside and sacking the two guards.  They’d seen the guild pendants and stepped aside.

I spent the next four days expecting the hammer to fall.  I slept with one hand on my pistol and the other on a sword I had obtained at the market.  Women didn't carry swords, but in this I was determined to buck convention.  Deterrents only work if they are recognised by the opposition.  

When the hammer did fall, finally, it almost took me by surprise.  

Chapter Eleven

There’s a joke about lawyers.  Actually, there are thousands of jokes about lawyers.  What do you call a million dead lawyers?  A good start.  How do you know you’re going to get thoroughly screwed on your wedding night?  Marry a lawyer.  The contract was two sheets of paper before the lawyers got hold of it – now, we’re in trouble because they cut down an entire rainforest to write up the contact.  I shouldn't have been surprised when the guilds sent a lawyer to speak to me.  Actually, he was the most attractive man I’d seen since entering the city.  I shouldn't have been surprised about that, either.

He entered the school after the second class had been dismissed.  “Lady Alex?”  He asked.  I nodded, slowly.  He was thin and wiry, wearing a toga and a pair of sandals, carrying two wax tablets under his arm.  He’d shaved his head completely bald, unlike most of the men in the city.  That, at least, was something I could approve.  I was sure that the men in the city were largely infested with lice, just through not washing their hair thoroughly.  “I have been hired to serve a summons on you.”

I took the wax tablets he offered me and made a show of reading them.  Actually, I couldn't understand them at all.  “You have been ordered to face a court tomorrow to discuss violations of guild law,” he informed me.  My puzzlement must have shown on my face.  “You will be judged by the guild masters.  If found guilty, you may be fined or enslaved as punishment for violating guild law.  Until then, you are ordered to halt your...classes or face immediate punishment.”

His voice lowered.  “Should you wish to hire a lawyer, apply to the Lawyers Guild no later than nine bells today,” he added.  “If you wish to conduct your own defence, you may do so.  Good day to you, My Lady.”

I watched him go, scowling.  After the thugs, I’d expected something to happen, but not this.  I had forgotten just how well the guilds had the city sewn up.  They had enough political clout to get whatever judgement they wanted, preventing the formation of independent guilds or even unaffiliated accountants or scribes.  And yet, there wasn't any guild law surrounding teaching...

Shaking my head, I called Lianna and explained, as best as I could.  She couldn't read the tablets either.  I left her to explain what had happened to the next class – there were enough important and powerful priestesses in the class to ensure that I would have at least some support and walked out of the building, my bodyguards following me in my wake.  I needed advice and I know -  thought – where to get it.  My father’s advice on lawyers had been to shoot them all and piss on the remains, but I couldn't do that, if only because I didn't have enough bullets in my gun.  I walked, without watching where I was going, until I reached the Brotherhood’s stronghold.  I needed to speak to Brother Book.

“I’m afraid that the tablets do say what he claimed,” Brother Book said.  He’d made me wait an hour before he'd allowed me into his presence, not something calculated to put me into a good mood.  I would have wondered if the guilds had somehow subverted him – the Brotherhood was a guild, if one that operated under different rules – if he hadn’t been welcoming when he'd finally invited me into his chamber.  “The guilds have sworn out a complaint against you.”

“But why?”  I demanded, angrily.  “What can they possibly claim I have done?”

“I don’t think it matters,” Brother Book explained.  “The important point is that they believe they have grounds for a complaint.  If they can convince the judge to support them, they can close your school and even take action against you personally.  They are probably trying to shut you down before your ideas can spread further.”

The Mage looked up at me, thoughtfully.  “You have upset their applecart rather badly,” he added, dryly.  “What do you think they had in mind when they heard about you?”

“I wasn't actually acting as a scribe or an accountant,” I said, sharply.  “And I wasn't expecting to serve as a midwife either.”

“They may not level that charge at you,” Brother Book said, seriously.  “In fact, I would be astonished if they mentioned it at all.  You were summoned by House Umbria and House Umbria is one of the most powerful houses in the city.  They would be fools to drag them into the affair.  House Umbria is likely to be on your side anyway, if only because you saved the life of Lord Umbria’s son, but they may not act openly to support you – if they are given the choice.”

I felt my head spinning.  “So what do I do?”

“Fight the court case,” Brother Book said.  He looked up.  “I would offer more overt help if I could...”

I understood.  The Brotherhood was feared and respected throughout the city – and the world – but if they were losing their powers, they might not want to rock the boat and expose that to the gaze of their enemies.  The older guilds hated the Brotherhood and would happily turn on them if they believed they had a chance of success.  And besides, unlike the other guilds, the Brotherhood didn't have an effective monopoly.  There were other mages.

“Right,” I said, finally.  “Should I hire a lawyer?”

“I would advise against it,” Brother Book said.  “The Lawyers Guild will come under immense pressure from the other guilds.  You might discover that your lawyer is your own worst enemy.”

I bid him farewell and walked back into the city.  It was easy to convince myself that I missed the tribal life, even though it was very limiting.  A woman born into the tribes could do nothing beyond work and breeding – and that was no life for anyone.  The men didn't have it much better, even though they had more freedom.  They were always expendable in the defence of the tribe.  The city, on the other hand, was far more complex and interesting, even if it did stink.  And yet, it was that very complexity that threatened to grind me down.  I could see, now, what the guilds intended to do.  I couldn’t hope to win the lawsuit, even if I put forward a perfect case...or could I?

Smiling, I went to visit the Crone’s Temple and made a donation, followed by another donation at each of the other twelve Major Gods.  The city seemed to worship hundreds of gods, but as I understood it, most people worshipped one or two, without denying the existence of the others.  Padway seemed to lack the religious extremism of back home, with the all or nothing demands of preachers I remembered, and in some ways it was superior.  My father would probably have disagreed.

Once I was home, I ate a good meal and went to sleep.  Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.

***
The Court sat between the temples and the mansions owned by the Great Houses.  It was an impressive building, reminding me of the Senate from back home.  I gathered, from listening to the crowds thronging around the Court, that the guilds had used every last scrap of influence they had to convince the Court to hear the case so quickly.  It struck me that they’d made a tactical error.  If they’d convinced the Court to put the date back, instead, I might well have run out of money before the case was heard.

Inside, I was guided to a courtroom that struck me as something from a children’s book.  I sat at one table, alone.  A second table held a number of men I didn't recognise and one that I did.  The Master of the Medical Guild met my eyes for a second, then looked away, a harsh sneer on his face.  I looked up sharply as someone sat down next to me and saw the Mistress of the Seamstresses Guild.  She gave me a reassuring smile and winked at me.

“You need someone on your side,” she hissed, loudly enough to be heard at the other table.  “The Crone will be represented here, even if they don't want to recognise her.”

The third table filled up slowly, with nine judges.  I recognised Lord Umbria and allowed myself the hope that he, at least, would take my side.  The city seemed to operate on obligations and favours – and patronage – as much as anything else and his reputation would be diminished if he refused to support me.  On the other hand, the guilds would turn on him if he refused to support them...

I saw it, suddenly.  I knew why they were so determined to take me out as quickly as possible.  They saw the new learning – my innovations – as a threat to their power and their influence over the Great Houses.  If I broke their stranglehold, the Great Houses might turn on them and break their power.  The city remained stable because of multiple powerbases pressing against one another.  And the guilds were too powerful to take on openly, as long as they remained strong for the foreseeable future.  I might have more friends – and enemies – than I thought.

The lead judge tapped the marble table and silence fell.  “The court is now in session,” he announced, in a bored tone.  “The guilds may state their charges.”

I watched as the guild spokesman stood up.  “My Lords,” he said, with a half-bow.  “We charge the Lady Alex, of no rank or station, with defying the law of the guild and challenging the authority of the city.”

He sat down.  The judge turned to me.  “Lady Alex,” he said, “do you wish to respond to the charges.”

I stood up.  “I have, but one response to the charges,” I said.  “They are completely without sustenance.  They are brought against me without due cause.  They are, in short, lies.”

A rustle ran through the crowd gathered at the back of the courtroom.  The guild spokesman flushed angrily as he stood up, perhaps sensing that the crowd wasn't entirely on their side.

“It has been three cycles since the Lady Alex entered our city,” he said.  I made a mental note to invent clocks as soon as possible, if I could figure out how to do it.  Their methods of telling the time were rough and imprecise.  “In that time, she has challenged the law of the guilds.  It has been set, since time out of mind, that all scribes must pay homage to the guild of the scribes.  The Scribes Guild, the custodian of the written word, must be the only one to teach writing to its scribes, for to do otherwise would invite chaos.  How could we have a hundred different systems without chaos?”

I kept my face expressionless, with an effort.  The hell of it was that he, at least according to his own lights, had a point.  If there were variations on their style of writing, it would be impossible to keep a consistent system.  The beauty of the modern writing I had introduced was that it would work everywhere, without a single misplaced letter changing the entire meaning.  Even a poorly spelt word could be understood in context.  For the Scribes Guild, a single misplaced line could turn an offer of peace into a declaration of war.

He spoke on, rolling his words around the courtroom, noting how I had defied the Accountants Guild by daring to teach a whole new system of accountancy and giving a nod to how I had challenged the Medical Guild by teaching new ways of treating the sick.  He passed over that quickly, as I had expected.  Lord Umbria didn't look amused and neither did any of the other Lords.  Indeed, I had helped one of their children survive birth too.

“She threatens the entire foundations of our society,” he concluded.  “By bringing in foreign ways, she changes us without our permission or consent.  How can we allow this...violation of our law pass unpunished.  I call upon you, My Lords, to ban her new methods from the city and give her the harshest of punishments.”

He sat down as I thought, hard.  In an American court, he would have been laughed out of the room, but this wasn't America.  And if the judges accepted one part of the argument, they had to accept it all.  They did have me dead to rights on one issue – I had practiced medicine without the permission of the Medical Guild – but if they dwelled on it, they would challenge House Umbria directly.  It would have provoked social upheaval...

I rose to my feet, careful to display the Crone’s pendent.  “My Lords,” I said, silently thanking God for the drama lessons I had taken at school.  I would never be a Cicero or even a Caesar, but I could speak.  “The charges against me have everything, but foundation.  As such, they have no stability and will blow away at the first gust of wind.”

There were some chuckles from the representatives of the Builders Guild.  They weren't involved with bringing charges against me.  I hadn't been able to think of anything to offer them, although I had hired builders to improve the school and mentioned the concept of indoor plumbing to them.  They had thought it odd, but had started work on designing a proper sewage system.

“Let us bring this out into the open,” I continued.  At home, I would be charged with over-acting; here, it was normal.  “The Scribes Guild accuses me of acting as a Scribe.  I have not done so.  I do not know how to write in your language and I will never be able to learn.  My pupils cannot write in your language either.  How can they serve as scribes when they can neither read nor write?”

There were more chuckles.  The Master of the Scribes Guild looked as if he had bitten into a particularly sour lemon.  “The Accountants Guild accuses me of acting as an Accountant.  This is true only in the sense I do my own accounts.  Should I not follow the example of other citizens within this great city and do my own accounts?  Should I have wasted money on hiring an accountant when I can do it for myself?

“They also charge me with teaching accountancy.  I have not taught the methods used by the guild.  I have taught the methods I use myself.  None of my pupils have become accountants, save only two who were already members of the guild when I arrived.”  And, I added silently to myself, had either been sent as spies or had risked the anger of their superiors.  “They can testify that I have not taught the methods of the guild.”

I took a breath.  This was the risky part.  “My noble opponent ended by mentioning how I had served as a midwife, without membership in the Medical Guild.  This charge is accurate.  I do not deny that I was summoned to House Umbria and charged with aiding the Lady Helda in giving birth.  I do not deny that I saved her life and that of her child, the heir to House Umbria.

“Can the Medical Guild explain what I have done wrong?”  I asked, aloud.  “It is a matter of record that I attempted to approach the Medical Guild with my innovations and was turned away.  It is a matter of record that I have offered the knowledge, freely, to anyone who cared to ask.  It is a matter of record that I have taught many, including members of the Medical Guild, and saved hundreds of lives.  Would the Medical Guild answer a simple question – do they want people to live, or die?”

This time, the rustle was much louder.  I saw another familiar face – the doctor who had attended Lady Helda approaching the prosecution table and muttering inaudibly into the ear of the Medical Guild’s representative.  The lead judge tapped his table and silence fell.

“We will consider the matter,” he said, gravely.

I watched as the judges filed out of the room, trying to remain calm.  We waited for nearly an hour before the judges returned, having discussed the case in private.  I would have liked to be a fly on that wall, even though it was impossible.  Who knew who had argued for me and against me?  I liked to think that Lord Umbria was on my side, but what about the others?

“We have considered the matter in the sight of the gods,” the lead judge announced.  “We find that the charges brought by the Scribes Guild and Accountants Guild are without foundation and are hereby dismissed.  However, the charges brought by the Medical Guild are solid.  The defendant was indeed in violation of guild law, although she was summoned to the Lady Helda and refusing to attend her would have had serious consequences.

“We therefore order that the defendant is to make her medical knowledge available, without charge, to the Medical Guild,” they concluded.   I allowed myself a moment of relief.  It could have been a great deal worse.  “The case is closed.  May the gods bring their blessings to all within this room.”

The Mistress of the Seamstresses Guild shook my hand as the judges left the room, and then whispered congratulations in my ear.  I allowed her to lead me outside and buy me a drink, although I only took a couple of sips before heading back to the school.  I would have to expand so I could teach the Medical Guild...

My bodyguards shouted a warning, but it was too late.  Men were coming at us from all directions, holding clubs.  I was still trying to draw the pistol from my heavy robes when something struck my forehead and I crashed down into blackness.

Chapter Twelve

I clawed my way back to awareness slowly.  My head started to hurt the moment I regained even rudimentary awareness – and the thought of just how badly I might be injured jerked me all the way out of the darkness.  A concussion would have been bad enough back home, but here – where they believed that evil forces took possession of a man and had to be released by drilling a hole in the skull – it could be lethal.  I’d seen enough of how the Medical Guild treated people to have no faith at all in their care.  If, of course, they were prepared to extend it to me in the first place.

My eyes opened slowly, revealing a bright light above my head.  For a moment, I believed I was back home in a hospital, with everything I’d seen since I’d seen the Sprite for the first time nothing more than a dream.  The smell intruding on my nostrils – a strange combination of piss, shit and human blood – spoke more truly.  I was still in the strange new world.  My head was still swimming, but I forced myself to look around anyway.  I had no idea how long I had been out, or what they intended to do to me.

The room was very clearly a prison cell, not unlike the one I’d seen back at Stone Hall.  I touched the walls gently and felt clay and brick, almost impregnable in this world without a hammer and chisel.  I checked my robes and found another mystery.  I was covered in ash.  My befuddled mind couldn't make sense of it for a long moment, before understanding finally penetrated my skull.  They’d tried to rape me while I’d been out of it and my Guardian had burned the would-be rapist alive.  I felt a flash of hatred burning through me as I checked my pockets and belt; naturally, they’d taken everything I’d been carrying, even the pistol.  I was mildly surprised that they hadn’t stripped me naked.

It took all of my determination to stand up and my treacherous head kept threatening to explode.  I felt as if I were going to be sick and swallowed hard, determined not to show that much weakness if I were being watched.  This world might not have had tiny surveillance cameras and video recorders, but it sure as hell had peepholes and hidden niches that could hide a silent observer.  I’d seen some of them in the Great Houses and had been amused, particularly when I had realised that one secret passageway allowed the young men of the house to spy on the chambermaids in their quarters.  It only took a few seconds to scan the entire room.  There was nothing in the room, but an uncomfortable bed – without sheets – and a Sprite-light that produced a pallid, inhuman glow.  It lent an unearthly air to the tiny room.

I stepped over to the door – nearly falling and cracking my skull against the floor – and examined the lock.  It looked primitive, unsurprisingly, and I suspected that I could have picked it with ease, if I had the right tools.  A quick check of my robes revealed nothing, not even a hairpin, that could be used to unpick the lock.  The door itself was solid wood – what the locals called hardwood – and it would be impossible to demolish without the right tools.  On impulse, I checked the hinges and realised that they were all on the wrong side of the door.  I was trapped.

“Damn,” I said, as mildly as I could.  I didn't want to shout loudly and alert anyone who happened to be on the other side.  “What now?”

I suspected they wouldn’t expect me to do anything, once I was a prisoner, but then they didn't have a very good opinion of women in general.  Or perhaps they didn't care, trusting in their prison cell to hold me firmly in place until they decided my fate.  I swallowed a series of curses and checked the room again.  Given how badly I had offended the guilds – if it was the guilds who had organised my kidnapping – they weren't likely to treat me kindly.  The best I could look forward to was being enslaved again.  In fact, they’d made a mistake by leaving me here.  If I had been in their place, I would have called a mage in at once and hit me with another obedience spell.  I couldn't have done anything against that...

A thought struck me and I looked up, directly at the Sprite-light.  It was nothing more than a glowing ball of light, hanging from the ceiling...with a tiny humanoid figure in the centre of the glow.  My heart went out to the poor creature and I stood up, reaching out towards the glowing light.  At the back of my mind, a voice was warning of the danger of being burned, but nothing stopped me as I touched the light.  The humanoid creature – one of the lesser or least sprites, I guessed – stopped its creaseless spinning.  I had the sense that it was looking back at me.

The Brotherhood had been puzzled by my ability to sense – even see – all of the Sprites, even if they were invisible to the common man.  I’d picked up enough to know that manipulating Sprites was a talent and a person born without the talent – all men, of course – would never be able to control the Sprites.  They banned women from learning magic and killed those few they found performing magic; indeed, it was a fear that seemed to exist at all levels of society.  The tribesmen had taken me to Stone Hall because they’d feared that I was a witch and hoped that the Brothers would be able to deal with me.

Carefully, I reached out again, a half-formed impulse in my mind.  The Sprite seemed to shimmer closer, a wavering figure of white light, and touched my fingers.  There was no pain, just a sense of...communion.   I could feel the Sprite’s emotions and flickering thoughts, each one largely incomprehensible to me.  No, one thought was very clear; it was a prisoner, just as much as I was.  The more I pushed my mind into the creature, the more I could see the invisible chains binding it and holding it firmly in place.  This world had never developed lanterns because the Sprites filled that particular niche.  No wonder the Brotherhood was so powerful and feared...and no wonder they were scared, if they were losing their control over the Sprites.  They’d lose everything they had.

The brilliant white light covered my hands, as if I were carrying shimmering water.  On impulse, I withdrew my hands from the light and the Sprite came with me, its shimmering form glowing against my hands.  I looked down in wonder as it changed, becoming stronger and brighter, yet still attached to me.  It dawned on me, suddenly, that I had broken one set of bonds and bound the tiny creature to me instead.  If the Brotherhood heard about this...

Or perhaps they did.  There was no way to know just how powerful and capable they actually were.  For all I knew, I had done nothing remarkable.

I lifted the glowing light and whispered to it, hoping that I could be understood.  “Open the door and I will let you go,” I said, slowly.  The Brotherhood’s experts took longer to harness and control a Sprite, I thought.  I had no idea if this half-baked idea would work.  The Sprite stayed still for a handful of seconds, then jumped off my hand and flashed through the air towards the door.  The light merged with the door, there was a clicking sound...and then it was gone.  I felt it returning to whatever it belonged.

A sound from outside brought me back to myself and I threw myself through the door.  A single guard, sitting at a table drinking a large mug of beer, was stumbling to his feet, astonishment written all over his face.  I still felt dizzy, but there was no time to do anything, apart from fight.  I jumped him and punched him right in the throat.  He staggered backwards and I kicked him as hard as I could in the groin.  It didn't seem to have quite the impact it should have had, but he bent over anyway and I whacked him in the face, which sent him stumbling to the ground.  I kicked him in the head as hard as I could and watched him black out.  It must have been something of a relief by then.  

I shook my head in disbelief as I searched my erstwhile gaoler.  If these bastards learned to take a female opponent seriously, I might be in trouble.  More trouble, I reminded myself, as I pocketed the handful of silver and bronze coins in his belt pouch.  If I survived, was going to have to return to the Seamstresses Guild and introduce the concept of pockets.  The sword he’d carried on his belt was poorly maintained and showed the telltale signs of rust, but it was serviceable.  My father would have walloped me if I’d treated any of his private collection of weapons in such a disgraceful fashion.  

For a moment I hesitated, wondering if I should slit the throat of the bastard before I left the room.  If he died, he’d no longer be a threat to me...but it was clear that he wasn’t one of the big bosses.  And I didn't have anything against him personally; he wasn't one of the bastards who’d tried to rape me.  They were all dead.  I gave him a final kick in the head, just to make sure, and slipped out of the door.  I found myself in a stone corridor, illuminated only by Sprite-lights.  I considered trying to free all of the sprites before realising that it would be a waste of time.  I had to get out of here before the big bosses came back and discovered that their guard had been knocked out and their prisoner was missing.  I slipped back into the antechamber, tore off my leggings and part of my robe, and then headed along the corridor.  I might no longer be decent, at least by local standards, but it was much easier to move and fight like this.  And besides, I added mentally, if they were distracted by the sight of my bare legs, all the better.  I could kill them while they were staring.

I found a tiny staircase that led upstairs and started to walk upwards, slowly.  The stone corridors felt more homely here, somehow, but I couldn't understand why until I saw a young woman at the other end of the corridor.  Her back was facing me, yet I didn't need that to know that she was a serving girl, taking the food to her master.  My tummy rumbled as the smell of roast meat reached my nostrils, much to my distress.  I needed food badly.  How long had I been out?  I caught sight of a window and looked out into a darkening sky.  I deduced that I had been out for several hours, unless they’d kept me out for longer than a day.  They might not have had drugs that could have kept me under safely, but a sprite would have been able to keep me down...and if they had had access to such magic, why hadn't they enchanted me when they’d had the chance.

My thoughts were interrupted by a noise from behind me.  I spun around and cursed. Something was clearly wrong with my ears, because I hadn’t heard the serving girl at all before she made a noise.  She was staring at me, unable to believe her eyes.  I acted instinctively and lunged at her, knocking her to the ground and cracking her head against the stone floor.  I felt a flash of guilt as she made a muffled cry – I’d put one of my hands on her mouth, more through luck than judgement – and collapsed.  I rolled off her quickly and came up, sword in hand, as another servant appeared at the door.  The kitchen boy – or whatever he was – had no time to react before I sliced open his arm.  He let out a terrifying cry and stumbled backwards, so I kicked him in the groin.  He doubled over and collapsed, gasping in pain.  I didn't have time to deal with him, so I kicked him in the head and trusted that that would keep him from getting up anytime soon.  I ran forward, into the kitchen, and surprised a remarkably fat woman cooking in front of a fire.  Before she could turn, I cracked her on the head with the flat of my blade.  She tottered forward and I had to grab her before she stumbled into the fire and burned alive.  I’d seen too many people burned alive in my life.  One had been more than enough.

I turned back to my other victims and pulled them into the kitchen.  The serving girl was still aware, somehow, so I pulled some cord from a nearby shelf and used it to bind her arms.  I bound the other two as well, knowing that even if the kitchen boy didn't die of his wounds, he was very likely to end up with an infected arm.  Here, something that could be treated back home with a course of antibiotics and rest could only be treated by amputation.  I’d seen too many people after they’d lost limbs, thanks to the Medical Guard.  I felt another flash of rage, rage at their stupidity and their primitive mindset, as I bound his wounds as best as I could.  Once they were all secure, I stood up and looked around.  I didn't dare take anything from the water jugs in the room, but I did manage to find some roast pork and bread.  I hesitated before eating it – there are good and sound reasons for a religious ban on pork, because the pig is a very unclean animal – and then took the first bite.  Like many of the dishes in the city, it was cook so thoroughly that it was short of actual flavour, but it tasted like the finest meal in the world at that moment.  I finished two sandwiches – I made a mental note to introduce that idea as well – and then turned to my captives.  The serving girl and the kitchen boy were still out of it, but the cook was staring up at me, wide-eyed.  I had the uneasy feeling that she’d probably be blamed everything that had happened, even though it was hardly her fault.  This culture seemed to positively enjoy shooting the messenger.  Look what they’d tried to do to me!

“All right,” I said to the cook, as I removed the cloth I’d stuffed in her mouth.  It isn't as easy to gag people in real life as it is in the movies and I’d stuffed in enough cloth to be certain.  She’d probably come far too close to suffocation.  “If you answer my questions, you won’t get hurt.  Understand?”

She nodded, mutely.  “Good,” I said, as I pulled out the last piece of cloth.  “First question: where am I?”

The cook looked as if she didn't believe that I’d asked that question, so I picked up the sword and held it to her ample chest.  “You’re in House Perrin,” she stammered.  I stared at her.  I had assumed that the guilds had kidnapped me, but it seemed that I was wrong.  House Perrin...I knew about House Perrin, all right.  Once one of the greatest Houses in the city; now, perhaps, the poorest of the Great Houses.  They were the ultimate aristocrats, making do on what little income they got from their remaining lands, without lowering themselves to doing any actual work.  “I...I’m just the cook!”

“Very well,” I said.  I could sort out the mystery of why House Perrin had decided to kidnap me later.  “I had some possessions with me when I was brought here.  What happened to them?”  She shook her head madly, clearly convinced that I would kill her for failing to answer.  “If you don’t know that, where is your master?”

“The Lord is at dinner with a few of his friends,” the cook said, desperately.  I listened to her directions, and then picked up the cloth again.  “Please, just let us go and...”

She shut up as I stuffed the cloth back in her mouth.  I took one last look around the kitchen, looking for anything I could use, and picked up a handful of items before heading out the door.  It struck me that I could have stripped the serving girl, donned her clothes and an inbred moron like Lord Perrin probably wouldn't have noticed the difference, but I decided that it would be a bad idea.  Far better to find my possessions and depart quickly.  I followed the cook’s directions, keeping a wary eye out for guards or other servants, even though I expected to see none.  House Perrin was simply too poor to build a proper private army.

I heard the voices from a distance and froze, pressing myself against a statue of Lokane, one of their gods.  The name Lokane was so similar to Loki that I wondered if there hadn’t been some truth to the legends after all, for the two gods had similar natures.  Lokane was a trickster god, bringing favour to those who gambled wildly and well, but never trustworthy in the long run.  Or it could just have been a coincidence.  One of the depictions of the Crone presented her as a woman with seven sets of arms.

“I thought that you were a great sorcerer when I hired you,” a voice was shouting.  I had no difficulty in deducing that that was Lord Perrin.  “And you cannot remove her Guardian?”

I smiled – I knew who they were talking about, all right – and slid forward to listen.

Chapter Thirteen

Lord Perrin was not a happy man.  It became alarmingly clear as he raged at his ally.

“I do not want excuses,” he snapped, as he banged something against a stone table.  “Why are you unable to perform a simple task?”

The second voice was lower and slimy.  “My Lord,” he said, “I am, but a simple mage, with power over the lesser of the Sprites.  The Mage who gave her the Guardian knows so much more than I.  Removing a Guardian is not a simple task...”

“I told you I don't want excuses,” Lord Perrin snapped, as I pressed myself closer to listen.  “I want you to remove the Guardian now!  Have you even determined its orders?”

The Mage sounded reluctant to hazard a guess.  “Well?”  Lord Perrin said.  “Should I go hire this Mage for my service?”

“The Guardian stepped in to prevent your men from...taking their pleasure with her,” the Mage said, finally.  “We must assume that it would act to prevent her enchantment or death as well.”

I winced, inwardly.  I’d been under an enchantment until the Guardian had manifested for the very first time.  For all I knew, I could be enchanted again without activating the Guardian; hell, it sounded as if it had been nothing more than good luck that they even knew I had a Guardian.  I was damned if I was going to be grateful to the would-be rapist who was now burning in hell, yet he might have saved my life and my freedom of thought.

“So remove it,” Lord Perrin ordered.  He picked up something that made a metallic clunk when he put it down.  “My artificers have been unable to tell me how her damned tools work.  Magic, they say, magic – except you say that there is no magic in them!  The damned woman has turned the city upside down and you can’t even tell me how she’s done it!”

“My Lord...”

I had to smile at his beseeching tone.  “Silence,” Lord Perrin snapped.  “You will remove that Guardian by first light tomorrow, or you will be looking for a new place of employment.”

There was a sound of someone scraping back a chair.  “I will be in my bedchamber,” he added.  “I shall expect to see you at first light.”

I pressed myself back into an alcove as the Mage fairly ran out of the door and down the corridor.  He was a weasel-like man, reminding me of a used-car salesman who had sold me a clunker that had eaten up twice its cost in repair fees over the first year.  I prayed that he hadn't seen me as I ran past, but the game was about to be up anyway.  Once he got downstairs and found that I was no longer in the cell, he’d know that I was wandering around somewhere.  I slipped out of the alcove, glad I’d had the chance to eat, and walked forward.  If I was very lucky...

Lord Perrin’s chamber was remarkably luxurious, even if it didn't have hot and cold running water and all the other comforts that would be taken for granted back home.  It was decorated with statues – some clearly of gods and goddesses, others of naked women in provocative poses – and paintings, including a couple that made me blush.  They didn't hold my attention for more than a few seconds, however; my eyes flickered across the room and alighted on the heavy stone table.  My pistol, coins and watch lay there.  I slipped into the room, heedless of possible danger, and scooped up the pistol with one hand.  It was still in perfect condition.  The artificers Lord Perrin had mentioned hadn't been able to open it up, or perhaps they hadn't tried.  They would never have seen a pistol before and would have had great difficulty understanding what it was, let alone how to duplicate it.

I must have made a noise, for a heard a thundering bellow from the next room.  “Girl,” Lord Perrin shouted, furiously.  I found myself bridling at the tone of utter superiority in his voice and the imperious demand that I obey.  “Get in here right now, or report to the housemaster for a whipping!”

The pistol felt solid and reassuring in my hand as he barged through the door, clearly intent on punishing whichever servant had dared disturb him while he was undressing.  His eyes went very wide as soon as he saw me, and then he lifted his belt from his trousers and came towards me.  I wondered, for a split second, if he was completely insane, and then I remembered that he had no idea what the pistol did.  I aimed carefully, pulled the trigger, and the gun jerked in my hand.  The chances were good that the gunshot would have been heard throughout the mansion, even though no one would actually know what had caused it.  I had the feeling that the servants were used to loud noises from their master’s private bedroom.

Lord Perrin stumbled back, clutching at his chest.  He looked as if he didn't understand what had happened, even though my shot had gone slightly wide of target.  If I ever got home, I’d be laughed out of the shooting club I’d joined as young girl.  I’d hit him in the chest and, if he was very lucky, he might even survive.  Unless, of course, I shot him again.  I walked forward and stared into his eyes as he gasped and moaned.  I’ll say one thing for him; he wasn't screaming or calling for his mother.  Even for the Lords, pain was a regular part of their lives.  There was no morphine or aspirin here.

“If you want to live, answer my questions,” I snarled.  Inside, I was shaking.  I’d knocked men down and out before, but it was the first time I’d ever shot someone with a gun.  My father had told me that killing shouldn't come easy, and yet I’d shot him with something very akin to glee.  I’d wanted him to die.  “Why did you kidnap me.”

He swore in a language I didn't recognise, and then glared up at me.  “What does it matter, foreigner bitch?”  He snarled, between gasps.  The bullet had lodged itself in his chest, I guessed.  The Medical Guild’s finest doctor would have problems removing the bullet without infecting the wound.  I remembered how alcohol could be used to sterilise wounds and made a mental note to see what the Brewers Guild could produce for me.  “You are not...”

I pointed the gun against his nose, and then pocketed it, drawing my stolen sword instead.  He'd understand a threatening sword, unlike a gun.  Being shot was so alien to him that he probably still hadn't registered quite what had happened.  The sword, on the other hand...I saw his eyes following the gleaming blade as I moved it down to his crotch, threatening to emasculate him.  A dark stain appeared between his legs and I wrinkled my nose in disgust.  He’d lost control and wet himself.

“Tell me or I kill you,” I said, flatly.  “Why did you kidnap me?”

“Devil woman,” he swore, angrily.  At this rate, he was likely to kill himself rather than anyone else.  “You turned the entire city upside down.  The knowledge you gave away could have transformed my house and restored our fortune.  We could have been great again.”

I frowned. His story made sense.  If he’d realised that my innovations were a potentially limitless source of revenue for whoever controlled them – and me – he might well have decided to gamble.  His choice of god – Lokane – actually made that much more plausible.  The trickster god smiled on those who gambled and Lord Perrin had risked much, including the wrath of the Medical Guild.  The Court had ordered that they had free access to my medical knowledge and I’d agreed, knowing that they’d be more likely to accept it if they thought they’d forced me to give it to them.  And I knew how to make gunpowder and basic weapons.  I could have given Lord Perrin the keys to far more than just the city.  I could have given him an entire country.

“You could have asked,” I mocked.  Would I have worked with him?  Perhaps I would have done, if there had been no other choice.  I had the distant feeling that working with Lord Perrin would have ended with my death once I’d taught them everything they could use.  “And now...you have to bargain for your life.”

I had no expectation that he would keep any bargain he made at sword-point, but it gave me time to think.  He offered gold, and then money or land, if I would only allow him to live.  Privately, I suspected he wouldn't have had long to live even if I hadn't shot him.  His strong body was turning to fat and it was clear that he indulged himself far more than was good for him.  There might not have been any tobacco here, but the local analogue was probably more addictive and dangerous.  And there was no anti-smoking mafia to bully the producers into making healthier products.

My ears pricked up as I heard an outraged shout from downstairs.  Someone had discovered that I was gone.  If I was really lucky, the Mage with the inferiority complex might believe that the Brotherhood had sent another Greatest Sprite to retrieve me, but I couldn't count on it.  I considered, for a moment, slicing Lord Perrin’s head off, before I realised that it would be a very bad idea.  Lord Perrin’s son would take his father’s place and fight a vendetta against me.  And everyone in the upper classes would support his right to avenge his father, never mind the fact that his father had kidnapped me and tried to have me raped.

I slammed the flat of the sword down on Lord Perrin’s head and watched as he crumpled to the door.  I privately gave him no odds of surviving the night, but he might survive – particularly if the doctor had learned from me.  I turned and ran to the door, just as a man approached from another passage.  His eyes went wide when he saw me and I shot him neatly between the eyes.  He staggered backwards and collapsed in a lifeless heap.  I jumped over his body and fled towards the stairs.  If Lord Perrin’s mansion was comparable to the others I had seen, there would be no more than four floors in all in the building and I would be on the third.  I saw a young girl – no more than twelve – come out of her bedroom and stare at me.  I nearly shot her before I realised that she was harmless, pushed her back into her room, and ran onwards.  I needed to get out before they summoned reinforcements from the City Guard.  

The roof suddenly opened up and I cursed my disorientation.  Like many of the mansions, Lord Perrin’s mansion had a pool in the centre of the building, open to the sky.  The pool glimmered below me, inviting in the moonlight, but there was no time to waste.  I turned and fled back through the corridors, hoping that I hadn't lost too much time.  The entire household would be awake by now.  I heard a bell ringing somewhere above me, sounding the alarm.  The City Guard would hear it and they’d be coming, or Lord Perrin’s influence would be used to break the career of their commander.  I hated them all in that moment, the men and women who had inherited their positions through nothing more than having chosen the right parents in the birth lottery.  If I managed to introduce democracy, they'd swiftly discover what the people thought of them.

I pushed that thought aside as I found the main staircase, the one for visitors, and hurled myself down it.  The guard at the bottom of the stairs looked hopelessly confused and I slashed out at him, cutting into his side, before he had a chance to react.  I’d never studied sword-fighting before, apart from a month of fencing at summer camp.  Sheer luck allowed me to get in the first blow.  I slashed out again and the man’s throat was cut wide open.  His dead body collapsed to the ground.

“Stop,” a voice bellowed.  It was loud enough to have been magnified by a loudspeaker.  I saw the Mage standing there, resplendent in his red and yellow robes.  “I command you to stop, in the name of...”

I lifted the pistol and pulled the trigger.  The bullet flashed towards him...and bounced, hitting an invisible field surrounding him.  He might not have known what a bullet was, or what it did, but he’d warded himself against attack.  I saw the surprise on his face and turned to flee, just before he started to chant in an unfamiliar language, words that seemed to resonate in my head.  Each word sent an electric shock through my mind.

The feeling of static electricity grew stronger, then I saw the Sprite taking form in front of the Mage.  It grew rapidly into a translucent parody of a human form, with long sharp teeth and uncanny claws.  Bright red eyes fixed on me with inhuman malice.  The sight held me frozen for a long moment, and then the Mage barked a command into the air and the Sprite floated towards me.  It didn't have to hurry.  I could sense its anticipation and cold pleasure at the thought of devouring me, whatever commands it might have been given to take me alive.  Somehow, using all of my strength, I lifted the pistol and shot the Sprite.  The bullet passed through it harmlessly.  It laughed, a high-pitched sound that resonated in my head even after I clamped my hands over my ears, and lunged towards me.  I staggered backwards as its claws seemed to extend through my body, each touch sending cold ice running down my spine.  It was going to kill me...

And then something else was there.  I fell down, my bottom hitting the ground hard enough to jar me out of my paralysis, as another Sprite materialised in front of the first.  This one was a flaming humanoid figure, reaching towards the first Sprite with flaming hands.  It opened its mockery of a mouth and spewed flame towards the first Sprite.  The first Sprite howled in agony and made motions with its translucent hands, deflecting what it could of the flame.  The Mage was not so lucky.  Only a tiny flicker of flame reached him, but his entire body caught fire and he was swallowed up, screaming, by the fire.  

My eyes hurt as the battle raged, but I couldn't look away.  I could tell, somehow, that the real battle was taking place on another plane of existence – where the Sprites dwelled, perhaps?  The savage interplay of flickering light and fire drove me backwards, my eyes stinging with tears that evaporated as soon as they dropped into my eyes.  I saw, just for a second, other planes of existence, with the Sprites both existing on far more levels than we puny humans had ever comprehended...and then there was a blinding flash of light and they were both gone, leaving behind a smouldering mansion.  Fire was spreading through the entire building.

I turned and ran, right towards the door.  No one tried to bar my way and I flung the main door open, running down the driveway towards the garden wall and freedom.  I saw a gaggle of people at the main gate – private guards arguing with the City Guard and the firewatchers, I guessed – and altered my path, running towards a darkened part of the wall.  If I was lucky, if what I’d seen before still held true, it would be easy to get out, but much harder to get in.  I scratched my hand on something as I climbed up and over the wall and cursed, before turning to look back at the house.  The fire was spreading rapidly, even though the servants were doing their best to put it out before it spread to the entire building.  They’d be draining the pool in the centre of the building to save their lives.

Lord Perrin would have problems recovering from this disaster, I told myself, as I jumped over the wall and down to the road.  There were hundreds of curious onlookers in the distance and I headed in the other direction.  In my state of undress, at least by local customs, they’d probably think I was a hooker.  Padway had all kinds of prostitutes, including one religion that insisted that its followers – mainly women – had to give themselves to a random man one day every year.  They were normally patronised by the middle-classes.  The upper classes had household servants to take care of their sexual needs.

I found myself shaking as I stumbled down the road, careful to remain in the shadows as much as possible.  I’d killed.  I’d killed at least five men, perhaps more if the fire caught them before they could escape.  And I didn't even know what had happened then.  If the Mage had called a Sprite and my Guardian had reacted...or what?  And I had killed.  Cold logic told me that it had been either them or me, with my life reduced to slavery or simple death, but cold logic was no comfort.  I walked the rest of the way home – and I had come to think of it as home – with my mind spinning in confusion.  I had killed.

There were lights in the house when I knocked on the door and, after a moment, Lianna opened it.  As soon as she recognised me, she gave me a hug and pulled me indoors.  Obelix – nursing a black eye that looked battered against his dark skin – stood up and began to mumble profound apologies.  I tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault, kissed him on the forehead and stumbled upstairs to bed.  If everything caught up with me, I told myself, at least I would have had a good night’s sleep.

I was out before my head hit the pillow.

Chapter Fourteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Fifteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interlude Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Sixteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Seventeen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn't good news.

Chapter Eighteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could I build an army?

Hell...could I lead an army? 

Chapter Nineteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Twenty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Twenty-One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fire,” Tarfanaxe ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Twenty-Two

The storm caught us just as we were stumbling into the town.  A blizzard of sand poured down on us, forcing me to half-close my eyes and cover my mouth as we found the buildings.  Visibility dropped sharply to the point where the horse was almost blind and the only way we could navigate was by holding hands.  I don't know how we managed to get the horses into the makeshift stables and ourselves into the buildings, but we made it.  Behind us, the howl of the storm could be heard even through the stone walls.

I stumbled into a corner and collapsed by the wall, too tired and spent to do anything else.  Most of the others were in the same position, all trying desperately to get some rest, rest that might be broken at any moment by barbarians breaking down the walls and storming the building.  I had a sudden mental image of the weight of the storm breaking down the building and tossing us out into the billowing sandstorm and closed my eyes, trying to relax.  It didn't take.  I could hear murmuring from some of the officers, wondering angrily what was going on and if we were trapped.  I knew exactly how they felt.

Brother Stone sat down next to me, gave me an odd calculating look and then closed his eyes, pretending to sleep.  The rasp of his breath gave him away, although I was too tired to care about why he was pretending to sleep.  I couldn't sense any magic surrounding him, no sprites dancing attendance on his every whim; somehow, that scared me the most of all.  The enemy had access to magic and we had none.  If they commanded a sprite to tear down the walls and devour us, we would be defenceless.

The building shook as the winds battered against its structure, but it was solid construction and held up to the fury of the storm.  I found myself praying that the soldiers, billeted in lesser homes and shacks, survived the night.  They wouldn't have the comfort of the richest home in the town, although that was saying nothing compared to some of the buildings back in the city.  And they didn't even have running water.  I would have forgiven everything for running water and a proper bath.  I was dirty and sweaty and I was uncomfortably aware that I stank.  There was nothing I could do about it, not here.  My only consolation was that everyone else was in the same boat.

I saw Tarfanaxe and one of his officers talking quietly in low tones, too quietly for me to hear.  I pushed the issue out of my mind and concentrated on analysing what I had seen in the battle, looking for insights.  The barbarians had acted oddly, at least as far as I could tell, although that didn't mean that they weren’t acting rationally by their own standards.  They’d charged us, even in the face of cannon and matchlocks, and come uncomfortably close to overrunning the firing line.  If the thin red line had been broken, they would have routed us.  I understood the logic of seeking a battle – if we’d let them run amok while we hid behind stone walls, they would have devastated the farms that supplied the city – but I suspected that it wouldn't be so easy next time.  If there was a next time.  It was tempting to believe that the barbarians wouldn’t be willing to engage us again, but I knew better than to assume that they would run from us, having tested our mettle.  

The rasping breathing beside me started to shade into the snoring of true sleep.  I had to admire Brother Stone’s calm, even if his world had been turned upside down in a single day.  I would probably have been panicking, but he still seemed calm and unconcerned...I was sure that it was an act.  He had been the most powerful man in the army when we departed the city.  Now, he was an elderly man of little actual use.  The enemy had stolen his magic...

I sat upright, astonished at my own thought.  Magic here worked through command and control of the sprites.  A mage didn't work magic on his own; he commanded a sprite to perform the magic, using words of power and control.  Brother Stone could no more do magic on his own than I could grow a penis at will.  If the mages had been losing control of the sprites, could it be that the barbarian attacks and their magic had somehow been sapping their powers?  I remembered the look of infinite malice in supernatural eyes and shuddered.  If the sprites had been freed from their chain, they wouldn't hesitate to leave us to be slaughtered by our enemies.

My back jerked as a tingling, almost like an electric shock, ran through the wall.  I saw flickers of blue light dancing through the air, before fading out of existence.  No one else, even Brother Stone, seemed to have sensed anything, but I felt a deep and growing sense of apprehension.  The sudden thunder as the winds shook the building sent me to my feet, one hand drawing the pistol on my belt.  Tarfanaxe turned to look at me, just before the building shook again and one of the upper windows blew in.  A rolling cloud of sand poured into the building before the officers managed to block the window again.  I shook my head at his inquiring look, and then swore.  They’d blocked the windows with wood – no glass here, not outside the Great Houses – and they were using lanterns of my design to provide light.  Which was all very well and good, I knew, until we ran out of air.  No one had thought to provide air holes when they’d been sealing up the building.

Another flash of blue light shimmered in the air, followed by a greater shock.  “They’re coming,” I said.  Everyone apart from Brother Stone was on their feet, weapons in hand.  I could see the fear in their eyes – men who wouldn't quail from a threat they could see, scared by the unknown – and hoped that I looked calm.  I didn't feel calm at all.  The building kept shaking and I felt a growing tension in the air, like a mighty spring that was about to snap.  “They’re...”

Just for a second, a translucent face appeared in front of the door, malicious eyes glowering at us.  I almost screamed, a microsecond before the door exploded into a hail of woodchips, blasting out in all directions.  The first barbarian who came in through the door was wrapped in cloths, hiding everything apart from his eyes.  The sand that spun around him came flying towards us, threatening to blind our eyes.  I lifted my pistol on instinct and shot him in the head.  He stumbled backwards and collapsed, only to be followed by two more barbarians who advanced towards us, swords and daggers in hand.

Tarfanaxe lunged forward with his own sword and sliced through the second barbarian’s arm.  The third brought his own sword up and fought back, savagely driving Tarfanaxe back with the sheer power of his advance.  More barbarians followed him in and the officers struggled to block them.  I stumbled backwards as one of the barbarians took a swipe at me and almost sliced through my arm, just before one of the officers thrust his sword through the barbarian’s head.  Tarfanaxe had defeated his second opponent, but more and more were pressing in through the door.  If they drove us back from the door, I realised, they’d have us.  Tarfanaxe understood, at least, and barked orders.  We’d hold the door as long as we could...

The entire building shook again as the storm grew even stronger.  This time, we heard creaking sounds from up above.  The building’s owner had been a wealthy man – hence the three stories on his home and workplace – but it wouldn't save the building now.  The smaller buildings would probably weather the storm far better, if it ever let up.  I cursed the enemy magicians as I held my sword up, almost buckling under the weight.  The city hadn't seen the wisdom of forging swords for women either.  Wielding a sword required personal strength and endurance as well as wealth and freedom.  One of my father’s old sayings ran through my head and I almost smiled.  God made men, he’d said, when he’d taught me how to shoot for the first time, but Sam Colt made them equal.  And it was far easier for a woman to use a firearm than a sword.  I’d had almost no lessons, even when I’d managed to convince Tarfanaxe that I should join the army as one of his advisers.

I caught him as he stumbled back, blood flowing from a nasty cut to his cheek.  “We have to get out of here,” I bellowed.  I had to shout.  No one would hear anything less under the howling gale, or the sound of sand drifting to the ground.  The omnipresent sound was wearing away at all of us.  “The entire building is going to come down.”

He glanced upward, muttered something that was midway between a curse and a prayer, and started to bellow orders of his own.  I half-expected him to order a sally out into the midst of the storm – which would have been nothing less than suicide, although perhaps a better death than falling into their arms and trying to surrender – but instead he pointed towards the inner door.  The house’s former owner had created a kitchen that was almost modern, if one discounted the complete lack of gas ovens or electric lights.  I didn't understand as he shoved me towards the door.  Was he trying to save my life at the cost of everyone else dying?

I still didn't understand as one of his officers caught my arm and pulled me into the kitchen.  Even when he pulled up the hatch in the floor – the wooden floor someone had spent days creating and fitting neatly in place – I didn't get it, until I saw the lantern flame flickering in the draft.  The house had an underground passage to one of the other houses!  I cocked my pistol as he passed me the lamp, whispered a blessing in my ear and waved me down the ladder and into a cool dark tunnel.  It was black as pitch underground, yet I could feel a cool draft in my face and held up the lantern to find my way through the darkness.  I couldn't understand why someone had built the tunnel in the first place – the entire town was a warren of hidden tunnels – but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  The tunnel led to a underground crossroads and a chink of light in the distance.  I walked towards it and found a hatch, another wooden ladder – and a pair of soldiers pointing matchlocks at me.  Their quarters hadn't been attacked at all.

“It’s...ah, Lord Alex,” one of the sergeants said.  Officially, I’d named my male persona after myself.  If the soldiers had looked a little more closely...they probably wouldn't have seen any reason to doubt my masculinity, as long as they didn't strip me naked.  This culture was firmly wedded to the idea of men doing all the fighting.  “Sir...”

“The others are coming through,” I said, sharply.  I heard a stumbling scuffle from down below and looked back down the tunnel to see Brother Stone stumbling towards us.  He looked like a man who had been dreaming of happy days and had suddenly been woken up into a nightmare.  His long monkish robes were torn and stained; his staff had been broken, although I didn't know how.  He was helped to climb out of the tunnel and pointed to a safe corner.  I had my doubts about how long it would remain safe, but for the moment it would do.

The remainder of the officers followed quickly, leaving behind a small rearguard.  I had an idea and issued orders quickly, instructing two of the soldiers to move one of the barrels of gunpowder down the tunnel and back into the house.  Once it was ready, we could light a fuse and then run for our lives.  If we were lucky, the explosion would not only take out the building, but collapse the tunnel, making tracking us difficult, if not impossible.  I allowed myself a sigh of relief as Tarfanaxe appeared at the end of the tunnel, having left two wounded men to serve as the final rearguard.  Back home, their lives could probably have been saved, although perhaps with some difficulty.  Here...their deaths were certain.  I understood why they had been left to die, buying us some extra time with their lives, but I didn't like it.  I hoped I would never grow used to it.

“We lit the fuse,” Tarfanaxe said, as he was greeted by the officers.  Their salute – a clenched fist hitting their breastbone – almost made me smile.  “It should go off in a few moments.”

I endured what felt like lifetimes of suspense before the barrel of gunpowder detonated and shook the entire town.  The tunnel collapsed behind us.  I hoped that that would deter the barbarians from continuing their attack, at least until they worked out that that was a limited tactic that could only be used sparingly.  We didn't have the gunpowder to waste.

“Good thinking,” Tarfanaxe said.  He patted my shoulder and headed over to consult with his officers and sergeants.  I was suddenly very aware that I was the only woman in a crowd of semi-civilised men and found myself praying that my disguise still held true.  If they found out...I was no longer protected by a Guardian.  I could be raped or worse.   I almost started hyperventilating before I calmed myself, remembering the comforting presence of the pistol at my belt.  How many rounds did I have left?  Somehow, I couldn't remember.

I drifted off into an uneasy sleep when the expected attack failed to materialise.  My dreams were full of dark shadows and monsters, but when I awoke, I felt surprisingly refreshed.  Several men had slept next to me, their bodies pressing against mine, yet there was nothing sexual in their presence.  They were just seeking reassurance...it crossed my mind, suddenly, that there was no barrier to homosexuals serving in this army and I almost broke down into giggles.  It would be the height of irony if my disguise was penetrated by a horny man looking for his catamite.

Sunlight was pouring through the windows as I pulled myself to my feet.  A quick glance at my watch revealed that I had slept nearly nine hours, all through the night.  I had lost all sense of time in the storm.  I looked over at the watchmen, who had been awake and on their feet during the darkest hours, and stumbled over to the windows.  Warm air gusted over my face as I peered out, sucking in my breath at the sight before me.  The town was covered in sand, great sand dunes piled against all of the remaining buildings.  I shivered again, despite the heat.  The townspeople had been able to live in a respectable fashion, with their town providing them with a good living.  Now...it was an arid wasteland.  The sand would have ruined the farmland, poisoned the wells and killed whatever animals remained in their pens.

“Gods,” Tarfanaxe breathed.  I had barely been aware of his presence until his awed voice broke my concentration.  “What have they done?”

I had a sickening vision of the future and almost swore.  The sand was advancing now, slowly strangling the lifeblood of the city-states.  In ten years, perhaps less, the entire world would be nothing, but desert.  I’d seen desert planets in a dozen different science-fiction movies, yet I didn't want to live on one.  And if the sand killed everything, what kind of life would be left?  Would even the cockroaches survive?  Even the tribesmen had had to trade with the towns and cities to live.

Tarfanaxe barked orders and the remains of the army formed up.  We’d lost hardly anyone in the battle, but dozens of men were missing after the storm had faded away.  At least there would be plenty of horses to help get the wounded back to Padway.  I wondered if the barbarians would come slashing in to attack our flanks once we were away from the town’s limited protection, but I knew that we couldn't stay there.  Once our food and drink ran out, we would die on the vine.  

The ride home was nerve-racking.  Every time I sensed a flicker of magic, I almost panicked, expecting to see the barbarians riding over the sands to trap and kill us.  It was a colossal relief when we finally saw greenery again, even though I knew that it wouldn't last.  If the sand kept advancing, it would start hitting Padway itself in less than a week.  By the time we came in sight of the city’s walls, I was just too tired to even think straight.  I wanted a bath, a long sleep in a comfortable bed and some time to think.  I doubted I would get any of it.

I twisted in the saddle as we approached the city and saw, just within eyesight, a pair of horsemen watching us.  They’d followed us back to the city.  If they hadn't known where we’d come from, they certainly did now.  It wouldn't be long before Padway itself was attacked.  I pointed that out to Tarfanaxe and he shrugged.

“Let them enjoy their victory,” he said, seriously.  “They need time to boost their morale before we depress it again.”

He was right.  The city declared it a great victory.  Clearly, I thought in the privacy of my own head, this was a new definition of the word.  We’d barely held our own, at best.  It boded ill for the future.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I’d heard that the Ancient Romans really knew how to party.  The Great Houses of Padway put them to shame.  There were massive parades of soldiers and horse-drawn cannon, celebrating our success over the barbarians.  There were endless ceremonies in front of each of the temples, one after the other, thanking all the city’s gods for their support in the great battle.  There was a day of feasting and rejoicing, when aristocrats mingled with freemen and slaves – for one day – were allowed to forget that they were slaves.  There were dancing girls, prize-fights and heavy consumption of alcohol.  The cynic in me muttered that in nine months, the city might experience a population boom.  All of the normal taboos and social controls were forgotten.

I barely took part in the ceremonies.  My status in the city was somewhat ill-defined.  If I’d accepted Tarfanaxe’s proposal, I would have been numbered among the great ladies of the city, with my own role in the services outside each of the temples.  As it was, I could be excused from all ceremonies, even those hosted by the Crone’s priestesses.  I spent the first day reviewing what had been done in the College since my departure and then allowed myself as much sleep as possible.  And baths.  I felt selfish and cruel for insisting on a pair of steaming hot baths – private baths, I hasten to add – but it was easy for me to overcome my scruples.  Besides, I’d manumitted the serving wrenches I’d bought and paid them good money to work in the College.  

The city’s aristocratic women, much to my private amusement, loved mirrors.  They went for hundreds of gold coins apiece, although the one I had in my private bathing room had been a gift from one of my early patients, back when I’d been serving as a midwife.  I undressed, once the bath was full and the door was unlocked, and studied myself in the mirror.  I barely recognised myself.  My exposed skin was tanned, muscles rippled under my flesh and short blonde hair gave me an odd appearance, at least by the standards back home.  I felt an itch as I ran my fingers through my hair and swore aloud.  Lice.  I’d probably have to shave my head completely to avoid them here, at least until I could invent something that would exterminate head lice.  The soldiers had probably all been infected.  My fingers prodded my breasts, checking for any suspicious lumps – although God knew what I’d do if I found any – before walking down to my groin.  I’d refrained from discussing periods with anyone here – they had a whole series of taboos and superstitions surrounding menstrual cycles – but at least I was regular, now I was settled down.  I remembered what I’d been told of the rhythm method for preventing conception and grinned.  I’d have to make sure that that, at least, got into the medical books I planned to write one day.

I touched the bathwater, grimaced slightly at the heat, and then climbed in anyway.  I could feel whole layers of dirt sloughing off me, as a snake sheds its skin, as I allowed the water to rise up to my neck.  They hadn’t invented sponges, sadly, but they had invented facecloths and I used one to wash my hair before relaxing and allowing the heat to work its magic.  By the time I climbed out of the bath, once it had started to cool, I felt almost reborn.  I pulled on my robe – the aristocrats had body servants who were supposed to do almost everything for their masters when they bathed, but I had always found that creepy – and checked myself in the mirror.  I had never been a particularly vain girl, but I told myself that I looked spectacular.  Shaking my head, I walked out of the bathroom and into my private office.  Here, between other tasks, I was writing out everything I knew.  It wasn't an easy task.

It hadn’t occurred to me until I had arrived in this world just how ignorant I actually was in many ways.  I could field-strip an M16 or AK-47, but what I knew about actually producing them was incomplete.  In many cases, I needed to make the tools to make the tools before I could produce anything useful.  I knew that the Taliban terrorists had been capable of making their own AK-47s, but I was damned if I knew how they’d done it.  And there was no way I could take the city from where it was at the moment to computers and spacecraft in a single generation.  I certainly wouldn't be able to teach them how to produce nuclear power.

The tablets in front of me were my best hope for creating a legacy.  I’d started to write down what I knew and then start reasoning out the missing pieces.  I knew the basic theory behind steam engines, but it had taken me several days to come up with a design that could actually be produced in the city.  Once that was built, I hoped that my students would be able to improve on the design; they, at least, wouldn't be hampered by preconceived notions of what was possible and what wasn't with their level of technology.  If only I could remember more...one of the little elements no one thinks about is the difference between early American and early British steam engines.  The American design was much less efficient than the British design, but it was easier to build, maintain and repair.  Over the long run, it had proved itself more suitable to American conditions.  If I could reproduce it...

But I couldn't; at least, not yet.  Instead, I wrote down what I knew and left it for the moment, hoping that I would be able to recall more when I wasn't concentrating hard on it.  I knew that I needed to think about food storage and cursed when I heard the sound of early fireworks – one of my introductions – going off outside.  Tarfanaxe had been right to say that the city needed a victory, even a half-victory like we’d produced for them, but they were burning through entire warehouses of food.  What would they do when the food started to run out?

I was still considering the issue when the maid knocked on the door.  I’d been at pains to convince everyone in my household not to enter my private rooms without permission and the lesson had sunk in.  It had taken me several weeks to understand why, but once I had understood I hadn't hesitated to take shameless advantage of it.  This world had no laws protecting domestic servants or slaves from abuse and they could be mistreated horribly with no recourse.  Just by treating them as human beings, I’d won their respect and loyalty.  It helped that I paid the best wages in the city.

“My Lady,” she said, “Captain-General Tarfanaxe has arrived and would like to see you.”

I frowned.  I’d expected Tarfanaxe to spend most of the week enjoying himself.  Clearly, his sense of duty was stronger than I had realised.  It spoke well of him.

“Please escort him to the visiting room,” I said.  Merely being polite made me superior to any other employer in the city.  “I will be along in two minutes.”

She bobbed a curtsey and vanished, leaving me alone.  I looked in the smaller hand-mirror, unable to resist the chance to check my appearance, before remembering that Tarfanaxe wouldn't be impressed if I wore my hair in the latest fashion or not.  Why had he come to visit?  Did he want to talk military strategy – he was already being applauded as a military genius, thanks to his private lessons with me – or did he intend to try to persuade me to marry him again?  The thought was worrying.  All of the reasons I had had for refusing his suit were still valid.

I picked up a gold coin, the first I’d been paid, and put it in my pocket before leaving the room.  I was actually wondering if I was causing an economic headache for the rest of the city, for I was earning money at a fantastic rate.  Unlike back home, the economy of the city was very basic, with gold as the standard of wealth.  Someday, I would probably have to show them how to develop a paper economy, although that would have its own pitfalls.  I walked down the stairs, nodded politely to another of the maids and walked into the visiting room.  It was traditional in the city to have a single room set aside for visitors and I had – reluctantly – followed that tradition.  I didn't need to set more of their noses out of joint by reminding them that I wasn't from the city, although they probably never forgot it.

Tarfanaxe stood up as I entered the room and bowed to me.  It was a gesture of respect, all the more so because he was a born aristocrat and I was of somewhat vague social status.  I probably counted as a born freewoman, but I was too wealthy to be considered anything less than an aristocrat or one of the richer priestesses.  I’d have to find a way to wean them off the idea that birth counted for more than ability, if it were possible.

“My Lady,” he said.  I scowled inwardly.  It was clear that he was going to be formal.  Just for a moment, I understood how some women could like the idea of arranged marriages.  They never had to endure the embarrassment of talking with a man they’d rejected.  “I was surprised that you didn't attend the meeting in the council chambers this morning.”

“My invitation must have gone astray,” I said, more tartly than I’d intended.  The council didn't have to notify me of their meetings, let alone invite me.  “What did they have to say about me?”

“They had nothing to say about you,” Tarfanaxe said.  I wondered if he was pretending surprise, and then dismissed the thought.  He wasn't such a good actor.  “They were, however, very concerned with the advancing barbarian horde.”

I nodded.  The refugees had joined in the celebrations, of course, but they’d been unable to return home or even find useful employment in the city.  I’d heard through the grapevine – the network of emancipated slaves and servants I’d established – that many of them had fallen into prostitution and slavery.  It was rare for someone to volunteer to be enslaved, but a criminal or a debtor could be legally enslaved and bound by the same kind of spells that had bound me, months ago.  My lips twitched humourlessly.  If magic was failing within the city itself, those spells might no longer be reliable.

“And they were wondering what they should do,” he continued.  “I said that we would have to prepare the city to withstand a siege.  They did not want to believe me.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said, dryly.  It seemed to be a commonplace of governments everywhere that they wanted to believe the best and not the worst.  My father had always said that it was better to hope for the best and prepare for the worst.  “Did you manage to convince them?”

“They reluctantly agreed to allow me to start preparing defences,” Tarfanaxe said.  “They were worried about the precedent of allowing commanded troops within the city.”

I had to smile.  The city had a written and an unwritten code that governed how its soldiers could act and react within the city itself.  It was strictly forbidden for the Captain-General to assert any authority within the city without permission from the council and troops were not allowed to enter with their arms and armour.  They were allowed to carry the short swords that marked freemen from slaves, but even so they were governed by harsh laws.  I remembered how the Romans had lost their republic – first to Sulla and then to Caesar – and saw the logic in their words.  They wanted – needed – to prevent a coup.

The Garrison – the military base within the city – was not technically part of the city.  Inside the city, the City Guard was supposed to serve as a law enforcement force – and the Great Houses’ muscle.  Agreeing to allow Tarfanaxe to deploy troops within the city itself was a major concession, one that they would never have accepted unless they were terrified.  I considered everything that had happened since the army had marched to war and decided that they had good reason to be nervous about the future.

“We never discussed a siege,” he said, breaking into my thoughts.  “What do you know that might come in useful?”

I had to smile at his tone.  Having accepted the facts of my origin, he had no hesitation in milking me for his own advantage.  “The important thing is to make sure that we have enough food,” I said.  I knew where the logic would go and shivered inwardly.  Rationing was only the start.  It wouldn't be long until some bright spark realised that pushing the refugees – or perhaps some of the poorest people in the city – out into the midst of the barbarian hordes would save the rest.  Cold logic demanded nothing less, but I vowed to myself that I would not point it out myself.  I was not going to have that on my conscience.

“That may prove difficult,” Tarfanaxe commented, grimly.  “The merchants will object to opening up their warehouses to allow us to count their sacks of grain.”

I remembered, suddenly, the story of Joseph and wished that there were Christians here.  They would have understood the concept of hording grain in good years to prepare for the bad.  On the other hand, they would probably not have been very welcome in a society that worshipped many gods.  I tried to put the story into words he would understand and, once I had gotten the basics across, he accepted it.  It helped that they had a tradition of believing that dreams came from the gods.

“You have to collect as much as possible and then ration out the food,” I continued, once we had covered the basics.  “The longer we can make our food supplies last, the better.”

What I carefully did not point out – apart from all the other nightmares I was going to leave them to discover on their own – was the long-term effect if the sandstorms reached the city.  I’d seen an entire town devastated, the farms ruined beyond all hope of repair, by sand falling on the fields.  Even if the mages could maintain a barrier to keep the sand away from the city itself, they couldn't prevent the sand from devastating the farms.  And without the farms, the city would starve.  I made a mental note to urge my students to speed up collecting grain we could store in the College.  I wasn't going to let them starve if I could help it.

We ran through as many other ideas and concepts as I could remember, our discussion lasting long into the night.  I did have some grounds for reassurance now that we were behind thick stone walls, although I wondered how long they would hold against the storms, let alone powerful magic.  I had been able to sense the city’s protective sprites being marshalled by the mages for our defences, yet...how long would they remain loyal?  Hell, they were never loyal, not even slightly.  They were compelled to defend us and would desert us if they could.

“Thank you,” he said, finally.  He took my hand in his and gripped it firmly.  “With your knowledge and my experience, we will survive this nightmare.”

I looked up into his blue eyes and felt...an odd fluttering in my heart.  I’d been tempted before, back home, but this was different.  This was no teenage jock – all hormones and no common sense – or a nervous geek, too flustered to ask the question properly; this was a grown man, one who I found attractive on a physical and mental level.  I could ask him to spend the night with me.  I could feel my period coming on.  I could sleep with him without worrying about becoming pregnant...and I knew that we might both die soon.  The sense of danger only heightened my arousal.  I could take him to my bed without guilt.

But it would change things.  No matter how I wanted to deny it, he was a product of a society that didn’t – couldn’t – recognise the concept of male-female friendships.  Eligible women were either wives or whores and if I took him to my bed, I would have to marry him or be considered a whore.  Even if no one else ever found out – and I trusted him to be discreet – it would affect his thinking.  He would never look at me in the same way again.

And I was a virgin.  For some reason, I thought that that might be important.

“Thank you,” I said, finally.  “I’ll see you at the council of war.”

If he had expected an invitation to stay the night, he showed no sign of it as he kissed my hand and departed, following the maid.  I stared at where he had been for a long moment, and then turned, hiding my frustration behind an expressionless mask.  I told myself firmly that I wasn't going to cry and I meant it.  The maid approached and I dismissed her with a nod before walking up the stairs to my office and opening the door.  A cold gust of air struck me and I stumbled back, one hand grasping the pistol.  A shimmering translucent form was hanging in the air, bright eyes turning to meet mine before it faded and was gone.  The cold malice and hatred in the sprite’s eyes chilled me to the bone.

That was it, I decided.  It was time that Brother Stone and I had a long chat.

It was time I learned about magic.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Completely out of the question,” Brother Stone snapped.  “I cannot – I will not – teach a woman the fundamentals of magic.”

I held onto my temper with an effort.  It had been hard enough to convince him to meet with me, let alone to allow me into the Brotherhood’s Guildhall and speak with me privately.  I’d had to promise them additional money from my private supply of gold as well as tutors to school their apprentices in reading and writing.  It had astonished me that the mages couldn't often read or write themselves.  Much of their dangerously-won knowledge was often learned and relearned – and then forgotten, as mages died without passing their knowledge down to their apprentices.

“And yet you have a fear – a taboo – of female magic users,” I said, as calmly as I could.  Even among the soldiers, I had rarely encountered such blatant sexism – and they’d had good reasons to be sceptical of me.  “That suggests that some women must learn and master magic, doesn't it?”

He fixed his cold eyes on me.  Someone else, someone steeped in this culture’s fear of the mages and how they controlled creatures of vast power and limitless malice, would have cringed.  I no longer cared.  I’d seen their power broken by stronger magic and I’d sensed the sprites prowling through the city, spying out our defences.  The enemy horde was probably nearing the walls even as we spoke.  I had no time for their sexism.

“Every time a woman has learned some magic, she has lost control of it,” Brother Stone said, finally.  “The sprites break free and cause havoc before they are sucked back to the ethereal realms.  Women are simply incapable of mastering the sprites and maintaining control of them.”

My eyes narrowed.  It was perfectly true that some women would never be as good as some men, in pretty much any field, but it was also true that there were plenty of women who were better than the average male.  I’d known a female sniper who could outshoot every man in the gun show, a female runner who could outrace most male sprinters and a female writer who wrote military fiction and competed with the best male writers of her day.  There was no logical reason why every woman should lose control of the sprites.  From what I’d picked up, over the months I’d been in the city, there were far too many male apprentices who lost control – and didn't survive the experience.

I pointed that out, rather snidely.  “And are there no male apprentices who lose control of their sprites?”

“That is true,” Brother Stone parried.  “But it is also true that every woman who has tried to learn – and possesses the talent – has lost control.  Most of the male apprentices manage to learn to master the sprites before they break free and lash out at their captor.”

I sucked in a breath.  “If you trained more women with the talent,” I challenged, “surely some of them would succeed in mastering the sprites.”

“Talent doesn't run in bloodlines,” Brother Stone said, crossly.  It was probably true.  Almost all of the mages were sworn to celibacy, a celibacy enforced by magical vows.  It would be literally impossible for a mage to break his oath.  “We very rarely find women with the talent...”

“I can see the sprites,” I said, sharply.  I pointed up towards the stone ceiling, where a translucent form was drifting through the air.  “Can’t you see him?”

Brother Stone whirled around and jumped to his feet, pointing a pair of long fingers towards the sprite.  He rapped out a series of words in a language I didn't recognise, but each word seemed to fall on my head like a stone, echoing through my mind.  The sprite seemed to flicker and vanish, although a tiny shimmer of its cold hateful expression seemed to linger for a long second.  Brother Stone sat down and looked at me with new respect.

“There are trained mages who cannot see the sprites at will,” he said, very slowly.  I hoped he’d take me – and other women – more seriously in future.  God damn it, a man sworn never to want or have sex shouldn't be so damn...sexist.  “And you can see them...how?”

“I don't know,” I admitted.  “I can just...see them, even when they’re trying to hide.”

“The barbarians have been using them to spy on us,” Brother Stone said.  I allowed him to think that I didn't know that, although I’d seen them and it was a pretty obvious thing to do anyway.  The sprites had far more uses in war than simple destruction.  “We’ve been trying to keep them out, but many of the spells fail, or refuse to work for long enough...”

All of a sudden, he seemed much older.  “I have come to a decision,” he said, finally.  “If you wish to learn more about magic, you can learn.  If you kill yourself, or lose control of the sprites, you and I will be the only ones hurt.”

He leaned forward and caught my eyes.  “You’ll be oath-sworn to secrecy,” he added.  “If you break an oath sworn in front of an oath-sprite, you’ll wish that you had died a hundred times before the sprite is finished with you.”

I remembered the enchantment he’d used, long ago, to turn me into a slave and shuddered.  He didn't give me time to think, or reflect; as if he were determined to teach me what he could before he thought better of it, he caught my arm and pulled me towards a hidden corridor behind a statue.  The statue was so realistic that I wondered if it had once been human, one of the Brotherhood’s enemies transformed to stone and left to remind the others of the price of breaking the Guild’s law.  We came out in a large underground chamber, illuminated by burning torches set into the walls, rather than glowing sprites.  The rounded chamber was decorated with strange runes and symbols; the floor, made of marble rather than cold stone, was unmarked, save for a set of circles embedded within the ground.  I felt my hair stand on end as he motioned me towards an altar that seemed to glow, even though it provided no light.   There was a sprite within the altar, ancient, powerful and bound in iron chains.  I could feel its power beating on the air, sending shivers down my spine.  It reminded me of the sprite that had abducted me and transported me to this strange new world.  At times, I could pretend that I was merely in ancient Rome or Egypt.  The sprites mocked any such pretence.

Or did they?  I’d never studied Roman religion very thoroughly, but they’d believed in many gods rather than one god, at least until Christianity had come to Rome and had been embraced by the Emperor.  Had they known about powerful creatures?  Had they seen the sprites and believed that they were gods?  Were all the legends of gods and monsters echoes of a time when my world had known supernatural monsters?  I remembered the sprite – and how it had looked like a genie when I had first seen it – and wondered.  Had the sprites influenced the early civilisations?

“Place your hand on the altar and swear never to reveal any of the secrets of magic without permission from the Brotherhood,” Brother Stone said.  “Now.”

I reached forward and placed my hand on the altar.  The moment I touched it, my entire body froze, save only for my mouth.  I could feel the sprite awakening, invisible eyes focusing on me and staring deep into my soul.  I felt completely naked and helpless before its gaze.  The sprite could count every atom in my body, alter my mind anyway it chose...

“I swear that I will never reveal any of the secrets you teach me without permission,” I said.  As soon as I spoke, I felt as if I were caught in the centre of a powerful storm.  Painless fire seemed to explode inside my mind.  The words of my oath were burned into my soul.  A second later, I was free and staggering backwards, only to land on my ass on the hard floor.

“You have sworn your oath,” Brother Stone said.  I was suddenly aware of the oath inside my mind, an invisible barrier that I could no longer cross.  “Listen carefully...”

Brother Stone didn't know how to be a good teacher.  He was long-winded, went backwards and forwards without clear explanations and seemed to assume that I knew more than I did.  On the other hand, he was clearly intent on making sure that I learned something and paused often to quiz me on some aspect of what he’d told me.  I hadn't been aware that there were divisions between the sprites that were based on more than mere power.  Some sprites were specialised...and those specialities were assigned by their first human master.

“The first words of power summon a sprite,” Brother Stone said, as he paced around the chamber.  I noticed that he was careful not to step into any of the circles and resolved to remain out of them myself until he allowed me to enter.  “If you already know the sprite, or know of the sprite, you can call it by its name and it must answer.  If not, you pick your words carefully and then brand it with a name.  Once branded, it will be bound by that name and may not abandon it without your permission.”

I shivered, despite the chamber’s growing heat, as he walked over to a second altar, hidden behind the first.  “This is the Book of Names,” he said.  The book itself impressed me – it was the closest thing I’d seen to paper since I’d arrived on this world – but I barely had time to study the workmanship before he started to trace out intricate names and symbols.  “Each of the sprites bound by the mages is listed in this book.  If you wish to call them, call them by their names and they will answer, unless they are bound to a single magician.”

He strode over to a cabinet and opened it wide.  “A sword,” he said, pointing to a silver sword hanging in its place.  “A bowl” – also silver – “a rod, a lump of coal, a bracelet, a ring, a golden leaf...each of these represents an element of the sprite’s true nature.  They can be used to call the sprites and bind them to your service.  They must be produced by a mage and the best results always come from elements worked by yourself.”

I frowned, trying to understand.  There was an underlying logic to it, I was sure, but as he discussed the more powerful sprites – the truly dangerous ones – I suspected that he was playing a joke.  Why would a powerful sprite care if it were summoned by the blood of a pregnant woman, instead of the blood of an elderly man?  Why would a particular class of sprite refuse to be bound unless a living human was sacrificed to complete the ceremony?

“There is a great deal of debate about which elements are essential and which are not,” Brother Stone said, when I asked.  “Research into the subject rarely leads to a long life.  We have seen mages perform magic without knowing that their tools and elements have been altered, or replaced by less valuable items, but we have also seen mages killed when they knew that they were trying to cheat the sprites.”

“Right,” I said.  Another question had just occurred to me.  “Where do the sprites actually come from?”

Brother Stone shrugged.  “We believe that they live on a higher plane until they are called into our world,” he said.  “No sprite can enter our sphere without being summoned by one of us.”

“So a sprite that broke free wouldn't be a menace for long,” I concluded.  That was something of a relief, at least.  I’d freed a number of lesser sprites when I’d been experimenting in secret.  “What would happen if you died and your sprites were free?”

“They might lash out, depending on what happened to me,” Brother Stone said.  He looked up at me, his eyes distant and far away.  “Entire cities have been destroyed in seconds, the sprite taking what revenge it can before it returned to its own world.  Brother Dream’s death when he summoned you here was a very minor effect compared to what could have happened.  The entire city could have been destroyed.”

He stood up and passed me a wooden knife.  “I thought that we would try to summon one of the knowledgeable sprites,” he said.  “Your talents do not seem to run in quite the same manner as our own.  You may be able to ask it questions and receive straight answers.”

I nodded as he pointed me towards one of the circles.  “Once the ritual begins,” he said, answering my unspoken question, “do not leave the circle until I instruct you to leave.  You should be safe inside the circle; outside, you would be at its mercy.  It could destroy you, transform you...anything.”

We went through a quick rehearsal before he trusted me with real tools and blood, drawn from one of the older mages years ago.  It didn't seem too complicated, but I could feel a looming tension in the room, as if we were at the centre of an electrical storm.  I felt faintly repulsed by the bloodlines he drew on my face, just before he gave me the silver sword and motioned me into one of the circles.  The tension in the air was growing stronger.  I realised, suddenly, that a male apprentice would start off with a smaller sprite, one less capable of causing vast damage if it broke free.  It was impossible to tell if that was a backhanded compliment, or a deliberate attempt to kill me.

Brother Stone spoke the words one by one, his voice echoing in the air, as if an invisible choir was shadowing him.  I felt the room grow almost intolerably warm, then plunge down to freezing temperature, just before slowly rising up to boiling heat.  Sweat trickled down my back as I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware that if I collapsed, I would fall out of the circle.  I was starting to understand why the mages didn't flaunt their powers so casually.  The sense of invisible pressure in the air was growing stronger; the walls, so neat and simple before, were slowly bending in impossible directions.  Something hung in the air, shimmering into view; something so large that it seemed to exist in impossible dimensions.  I forced myself to look away, my eyes streaming with tears, as the sprite materialised in front of me.  It stared down at me, its gaze pounding into my head, and I had to fight not to fall on my face in front of the monster.  I could barely see any of its face, but what little I could see was disturbing.  It seemed a depraved mockery of the human form.

“By the power of our words, spoken from the gods, we bind and compel you, oh Darske, to answer our questions truthfully,” Brother Stone said.  His voice suddenly seemed very small, compared to Darske’s presence.  The sense of sheer power was almost overwhelming.  I caught a glimpse of the sprite’s eyes and found myself riveted, almost hypnotised.  It was toying with me, as a hawk might toy with a mouse before it swooped down and made its kill.  “We ask of you for answers.”

I almost forgot my lines and had to swallow hard before I could speak.  “Why was I brought into this world?”

Darske seemed to stare at me for a long moment...and then he burst out laughing.  It was a cruel sound, so loud that I could still hear it even after I jammed my hands over my ears.  I fought to stay on my feet as the sprite started to expand, slipping into dimensions that my mind couldn't accept, let alone see.  Madness seemed to howl at the back of my mind as the laughter grew louder, the sense of sheer power growing stronger.  Alarm bells were ringing in my mind as the sprite abandoned all trace of human form and became something completely beyond my comprehension, a presence that lacked anything I might recognise as a mark of humanity.  And then it was gone.  The chamber suddenly felt very small and cramped.

“Stay in the circle,” Brother Stone snapped.  I had been about to walk over the line, breaking the circle.  He held up one hand and said a few words.  A presence in the air – a presence I hadn't even been aware of until it was gone – vanished.  I felt another chill as I realised that it had remained behind, hoping that one of us would step out of the circle before realising that it had never been dismissed.

“You can leave now,” Brother Stone said, finally.  I sagged to the ground in relief.  My robes were stained with sweat and I felt exhausted.  “Whatever answers exist out there, we’re not going to learn them from that sprite.”

I stared at him.  “Has that ever happened before?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Brother Stone admitted.  It took me a moment to realise that he was terrified.  And that, I realised, suggested that I should be terrified too.  I probably didn't know enough to know why I should be terrified.  “The sprite should have been forced to provide a complete answer.  It should have known, even if we didn't know...and instead it laughed at us and vanished.  I do not understand?”

I wiped my sweaty hands on my robe.  “But what does it all mean?”

“I don’t know,” Brother Stone said.  I could see him deciding to be honest.  “That scares me, Lady Alex.  I just don’t know.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

There was a new tension in the air when I emerged from the Brotherhood’s Guildhall.  The city itself seemed quiet, as if it had suddenly become aware of its danger.  As my bodyguards surrounded me, I realised that I could hear chanting in the distance, voices echoing one another in a manner I recognised.  It reminded me of when I’d been with the tribesmen, during the Gathering.  They’d sung together in harmony.  By the time the messenger sprite flashed into existence beside me, I had already realised that the barbarians were at the gates.

“Lady Alex,” the sprite gabbled, “you are summoned to the Garrison to assist the Captain-General.  Your presence is requested immediately.”

I muttered a curse under my breath.  I had no objection to going to assist Tarfanaxe – I didn't want him to be pushed into launching a counterattack at once, when we didn't know what was going on – but I was uncomfortably aware that I stank.  I was also dressed like a woman and there wouldn't be any time to get into my male disguise.  I did consider going home first and changing, but the message had insisted that I went at once and I didn't think it would be wise to defy it.  The city council might not listen so keenly if they thought I considered myself above the law.

“I’m on my way,” I said, as I mounted my horse.  “Tell them...”

The sprite had already vanished.  I shrugged, wondering if it had taken advantage of a loophole in its instructions or if it had managed to break its chains and escaped, before dismissing the issue.  My horse neighed and cantered off towards the Garrison, followed by my bodyguards.  The streets were almost deserted – the population had probably gone to their battle positions, or to the temples to pray for salvation from the gods – and I allowed myself a moment of relief.  I had expected panic and rioting crowds and both would make it harder to defend the city.

I’d seen the Garrison when I’d first entered the city, but I’d only been allowed to enter it when Tarfanaxe had made me one of his advisers.  It was a colossal stone castle, easily capable of dominating the surrounding city, assuming that the castle garrison had had access to reasonably advanced weapons.  I hadn't understood at all until I realised that, given the general level of technology prior to my arrival, the castle would have been effectively impregnable to anything less than a Greater Sprite.  And if there were mages inside the castle, working to defend it, it would be impossible to break into the building.  That left siege as the only option and any besieging army would have been decimated by disease long before the defenders began to starve.  The defenders would have their own problems, of course.

The Garrison was part of the Inner Wall, a mighty wall that would daunt even a cannonball, at least at first.  As we rode up to the inner gates, I could see crowds of refugees trying to make it through the city gates and into the inner city.  The slums I’d seen on my arrival, slightly healthier after my knowledge had started to disseminate into the general population, were already being emptied.  I cursed under my breath as I realised that the guards were trying to shut out as much of the slum population as possible.  They wouldn't stand a chance when the barbarians started to break through the Outer Wall.  I had already decided that the Outer Wall was utterly impossible to defend.  No one had tried to gainsay me.

It took only a couple of minutes to pass through the guards.  An officer tried to commandeer my horse, but I swore at him and he stormed off, doubtless intending to complain about the crazy foreign woman who had refused to loan him her horse.  I passed the horse into the care of a pair of servants and started running as fast as I could up the stone stairs to the battlements.  The Garrison was actually the tallest building in the city.  From the vantage point, high overhead, I would be able to see everything.  I had the uneasy feeling that the worst was yet to come.

I was proved right as soon as I reached the top.  A number of military officers were pointing towards the south, where I could see the vague shimmer that suggested that sandstorms were just over the horizon.   In the distance, I could see the leading scouts of the barbarian army charging towards the city, knocking down refugees as they ran in hopes of escaping the enemy.  They didn't stand a chance.  I heard the trumpets blaring out the order to seal the gates and shuddered.  The slum dwellers would be trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea.

“Lady Alex,” Tarfanaxe said, as I joined him and a small group of officers.  They were peering at the advancing horde through telescopes, muttering to one another in tones too low for me to catch.  It didn’t sound very optimistic.  “As you can see, the enemy have arrived.”

“We will break their heads on the stone of our battlements,” an officer proclaimed.  He was halfway to roaring drunk and already losing control of himself.  I recoiled as I smelled the cheap wine on his breath.  It was very strong and probably poisonous as well.  “We’ll teach them a lesson they won’t forget in a hurry...”

“We have to hope that the preparations we made for a siege were enough,” I said to Tarfanaxe, ignoring the drunkard as best as I could.  Dear God – did these people think that drinking made a man smarter?  “You need to tell the City Guard to maintain peace on the streets.”

“The Guard won’t listen to me,” Tarfanaxe said, dryly.  “The best I can do is ensure that all of the battlements are manned and that we’re ready to oppose the enemy when they try to break the Inner Wall.”  He nodded towards a company of archers who were taking up positions on the battlements.  “We’ll use the archers to force them to keep their heads down and then use your weapons to wipe them out if they try to come over the wall.”

I shrugged.  If the barbarians had learned how to make gunpowder – and that secret was well and truly out – the defenders of the city might be in for a nasty surprise.  All the barbarians would have to do was dig a tunnel under the walls, fill it with gunpowder and detonate it in a single massive explosion.  The walls would be shattered, the defenders would be stunned and the barbarians would pour in through the newly-created hole.  I’d pointed out the weakness to Tarfanaxe, but he’d said that there was nothing they could do about it.  We would just have to hope that the barbarians didn't know the secret of gunpowder.  It struck me as nothing more than wishful thinking.

The next hour was nightmarish, if only because I was forced to watch as the barbarians thrust against the Outer Wall.  Freemen – and perhaps some slaves who had scooped up weapons in the heat of the moment – were struggling to hold the wall, but as I’d expected, it was impossible to defend it without far more troops and weapons.  The barbarians seemed completely unconcerned about the dangers as they challenged the walls, climbing up on the shacks and using them to get over the walls before slicing through the defenders and opening the gates.  They seemed to delight in slaughter, even to the point of killing surrendered captives rather than keeping them alive.  I saw some of the barbarians rounding up young women and dragging them off into the distance.  There was nothing I could do to prevent them from being taken off and raped, or whatever fate the barbarians had in mind for them.

I wanted to rail against Tarfanaxe – or the city council – but I knew that it would be useless.  There was nothing they could do either, unless they risked opening the main gates and leading an attack on the barbarians at close range.  We just didn't have the trained troops to make that possible, even with the matchlocks and cannon. Tarfanaxe did agree to fire on some gatherings of barbarians with the cannons, using the first explosive shells we’re invented.  They scared me to death – they exploded in the cannons about one time in four – but they seemed to teach the enemy respect.  As darkness started to fall, fires blazed through the remains of the slums, throwing an eerie light over the city.  I heard some of the guards talking about the end of the world and understood.  It seemed as through the entire city was surrounded by flames licking upwards towards the sky.  The stench of burning human flesh was overpowering.

“Maintain watch,” Tarfanaxe snapped, as the shifts began to change.  The sentries were choking and coughing because of the smoke, but they took their positions without demur.  I realised that the barbarians might hope to assail the walls in darkness and break into the Inner City.  “Don’t hesitate to sound the alert if they get up to the walls.”

I slept poorly that night, as did everyone else.  Alarms were common; I was woken several times by the sound of matchlocks being discharged and men with swords rushing to defend the wall.  By the time the sun rose, I felt as if I had barely rested at all.  I wanted to have a hot bath and a long rest.  Instead, I relieved myself, changed into a makeshift set of trousers and walked out onto the battlements.  Tarfanaxe was ahead of me, looking down through a peephole at the barbarian army.  I followed his gaze and cursed.  Most of the slums had been destroyed and the wreckage cleared away by former civilians, now slaves working for the barbarians.  The barbarian army itself was just beyond the Outer Wall, taunting us.

“We killed a few hundred who tried to come over the wall,” Tarfanaxe explained, as we shared a bowl of gruel for breakfast.  It tasted foul, as always, but I was relieved just to have it.  It wouldn't be long before starvation became a major threat, along with disease and rioting.  “The remainder decided to hang back and wait for daylight.”

I nodded.  In the darkness, even without modern night-vision gear, the defenders would still have had an advantage.  In daylight, some of those advantages would be nullified or altered.  I winced as an arrow flashed above our heads and nearly struck one of the messengers bringing news from the city council.  They were sniping at everyone who showed their faces to the enemy.  I hoped that they couldn't see us peering through the peephole.

“But this is absurd,” one of the officers was protesting.  I recognised him as the drunkard of the previous night.  He looked remarkably sober this morning.  “How long can they stay in one place before they have to move?”

I’d been wondering about that myself.  For horsemen, they'd shown a remarkable tendency to remain on the roads.  I’d decided that that was a way of saying Fuck You to the city-folk – the roads that had been built with so much care had become invasion routes leading right to the city – but perhaps they too were thinking about logistics.  If they’d built up a logistics corps or something like it, they’d need the roads to move wagons of food...and yet, they hadn’t shown any sigh of possessing such a concept.  I didn't want to consider the possibility, but it was quite possible that they’d picked up the idea from me.  It seemed unlikely, yet so much had seemed unlikely since I’d arrived in Padway.  Why couldn't they have watched my lectures on military planning?

The sound of renewed chanting – accompanied by drums and trumpets – brought my attention back to the wall.  They’d stopped shooting arrows at us, allowing some of the braver guards to peer over the wall and look down at the enemy.  I peered through the peephole again and blinked in surprise.  A small delegation was approaching the Inner Wall.  They wore the same outfit that I remembered from the Gathering – red robes and human skulls – and waved a white flag in front of them.  Here, just as back home, a white flag was a flag of truce.  I had to admire their bravery in approaching the wall – the city-folk rarely considered barbarians equals and hardly worthy of their attention – but it paid off for them.  Tarfanaxe, Lord Umbria, Councillor Joralan – a man who had disapproved of me and my New Learning – and a couple of others advanced down to the gate to meet them.  I followed at the back, unobserved.  If I’d had my male garb...I shook my head.  Wishful thinking, I reminded myself, was the first enemy of victory.

Up close, the delegates seemed fanatical, their eyes burning with inhuman fury.  Any sane person distrusts or even hates fanatics, for they will do absolutely anything in the service of their Cause.  I hated the delegates on sight.  Tarfanaxe’s face showed no sign of his feelings, but I could read his tension in how he held himself.  As under the custom, he had left his sword behind when he'd gone to the gate.  If they attacked, the only weapon we had was my pistol...

I’d half-expected them to order me away, as the tribesmen wouldn't consider a woman as either a leader or a fighter, but they barely even glanced at me.  I listened absently as they went through a brief ceremony in which they listed their descendents all the way back to the gods, followed by a similar response from my own side.  It took nearly fifty minutes before they even got to the point.  When they did, however, they were brisk and brutal.

“We have surrounded your city and occupied your farms,” the leader said.  His voice brooked absolutely no compromise.  “You cannot prevent us from destroying them, either through burning them to the ground or the power of the Prophet himself.  The sands of might will overwhelm your farms.  If you try to stand against us, you will be destroyed as Flint was destroyed, for all the struggles of his defenders.”

Tarfanaxe stepped forward.  “I am descended from a god, as are many of my fellow citizens,” he said, calmly.  I hoped that it wasn't just bravado.  Our position was very bad.  “We will oppose you and hold you – and then we will defeat you.”

“The Prophet of the Gods has spoken,” the leader said.  “You will be destroyed it you stand against us.”

There was a long moment of silence, broken by Councillor Joralan.  “Let’s not be too hasty,” he said.  “What are you offering us?”

The leader smiled.  “If you submit to us, we will allow you to live on our lands as our subjects,” he said.  “You will send to us tribute in the form of maidens and food and other such goods as we will determine, once we have taken stock of your wealth.  You will disarm yourself and we will grant you our protection.  You will no longer produce the flashing powder” – it took me a moment to realise that he meant gunpowder – “and you will only produce weapons for us.”

His smile grew wider.  “And you will hand over the Lady Alex to us.”

I almost started.  Only iron control held me still.  Why did they want me?  No, that was a stupid question; I’d turned the city upside down and created the weapons that had blooded them so badly at the first battle.  They would want to make sure that I created nothing else, unless I created it for them.  I had a sudden vision of my future – enchanted into a slave again and used to create new weapons – and shivered.  If they’d known who I was...

Lord Umbria cleared his throat.  “It seems to me,” he said, “that if we disarm ourselves now, we will be defenceless against you or anyone else at a later date.  Why should we trust in your good word?”

The leader glared at him.  “We are the Followers of the Prophet of the Gods,” he said, nastily.  “Our word is always good, for it is sworn before all of the gods.”

My head was swimming.  The concept of prophets wasn't new here, but...I was reminded of Islam, yet Islam was completely focused on one god, even to the extent of determining that Jesus Christ had been a prophet, rather than the Son of God.  And besides, early Islam had been far more civilised than these barbarians.  On the other hand, that wasn't exactly a remarkable achievement.

“The Lady Alex saved the life of my wife,” Lord Umbria said.  I caught the leader’s sneer at the thought of saving the life of a mere woman.  “We reject your terms.  It is better to fight now and be defeated than to return to slavery and become your chattel.  Leave now, before we end the truce and end you.”

He turned and marched away, showing them his back.  The leader glared after him for a moment, and then picked up the white flag and stormed away, followed by his companions.  I watched them go and then followed Tarfanaxe back to the Garrison.  We had barely reached it when the first projectiles came sailing over the wall.  Deep booming crashes echoed over the city as the projectiles struck home.

I cursed as the bombardment intensified.  I’d never thought of catapults.  It had quite simply never occurred to me.  I could have kicked myself.  The city-folk had never used them in their wars, considering them a breach of convention.  And now we were being bombarded.  Individually, the catapults might not be much more accurate than my cannon or matchlocks, but there were a hell of a lot of them.  And each hit did real damage.

And then the real battle began.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The first projectiles were nothing more than balls of stone; dangerous, but not as threatening as explosive shells.  They came down at random over the Inner City, striking a handful of buildings.  I saw a temple rock violently as one of the projectiles struck its walls, followed rapidly by the collapse of a tenement building as it suffered a direct hit.  I couldn't help swearing out loud as the entire building started to collapse in terrifying slow motion, perhaps allowing a handful of people to escape before the entire building crumbled to debris.  A handful of rocks crashed down near the Great Houses, but they were thoroughly warded and guardian sprites lunged to intercept and destroy the rocks.  I thought about suggesting that the mages expand the wards to cover the entire city, yet when I looked up I saw an eldritch battle crackling above the city, unseen by anyone else.  The mages had their hands full preventing the enemy from wreaking havoc with their magic.

We returned fire at once, with cannons and mortars.  The latter weapon had been termed ‘mankillers’ by me and my students had accepted it willingly.  They thought I meant to slaughter the enemy, but I’d meant the risk of them blowing up and wiping out entire gunnery teams.  The cannons had a roughly one-in-five chance of blowing up at any one time, odds that got worse the more the cannons were fired without being thoroughly cleaned.  The mortars, on the other hand, exploded one time in three.  I’d made a mental note to stay well away from any mortar team as they prepared to fire, knowing that the odds were not good.  The mortar teams didn't seem to care about the dangers.  They thought that the risks allowed them to prove themselves in the sight of the gods – and the neighbourhood girls.

The enemy didn't seem to be discouraged by our bombardment.  Unlike the previous battle, when they’d impaled themselves on our guns and it was almost impossible to miss one of the barbarian warriors, they advanced carefully using archers to cover their advance.  They’d worked out that our guns weren't that accurate and as long as they were nimble, they were relatively safe.  They’d created enough debris in their previous attack to give them some additional protection as they approached the walls, despite everything we could do to slow them down.  I ducked sharply as an arrow glanced off the rocky stone too close to me.  The enemy knew who I was...

I’d wondered how they’d intended to get over the walls.  I had my answer as the barbarians produced ladders and, covered by their archers, pressed them against the walls and started to scramble up.  Our troops rushed to defend the walls, intercepting the barbarians as they came over the battlements and tried to take the walls.  They were rapidly wiped out, but it was taking a toll on us as well.  Every soldier we lost was almost completely irreplaceable, at least at first.  If we lost the walls completely, we were doomed.

An explosion on the other side of the city made me jump.  It looked as if someone had dropped a JDAM on the city, which wasn't too likely.  I must have been stunned, because it took me several minutes to realise that they’d hit one of the powder mills and caused a vast explosion.  I’d warned those idiots in the Alchemists Guild not to store so much gunpowder close together, but they hadn’t listened to me; they hadn't wanted to believe that a woman knew anything about alchemy.  They hadn't known much about chemistry until I’d taught them the basics of what I knew and allowed them to open a whole new book, yet they hadn't taken me seriously.  The explosion would probably concentrate a few minds, if they’d survived the blast.

The fighting raged backwards and forwards for hours.  At times, it seemed that the enemy was on the verge of breaking through the defences and capturing the walls and one of the gatehouses, but we rushed troops forward to seal the gaps. Flames licked up from the other side of the walls where we’d dumped burning oil on the attackers – an idea they’d invented without any input from me – and sent hundreds of enemy warriors staggering back, burned beyond hope of recovery.  It seemed impossible that they could win, but I was uneasily aware that they were pushing us hard and there was little hope of someone coming to lift the siege.  The sandstorms in the distance were yet another reminder of their power.  If they succeeded in bringing the sandstorms forward and over the city, we’d lose the battle very quickly.

“Lady Alex,” a voice shouted.  I looked down from my perch to see a messenger.  “The Captain-General requests the pleasure of your company.”

I grinned.  My clothing was in a terrible state and I didn't look much better.  “I’m on my way,” I said, as another round of projectiles flew over the walls and came down somewhere in the city.  They were followed by a flight of flaming arrows and I cursed.  Most of the city’s buildings were built of stone, but there was enough flammable material around for flames to spread rapidly, if they managed to set fire to part of the city.  Padway had a fire department of sorts, yet they wouldn't be able to stop a flaming holocaust.

The walk to the command post was short and unpleasant.  I was starting to understand what life had been like in any of the cities back home that had been caught up in civil wars.  The constant bombardment was already fraying the city’s morale.  A couple of days of heavy bombardment and we might crack, surrendering to the barbarians and accepting their terms.  And they’d wanted me as their prisoner.  I wondered if I could escape before they announced their surrender, but I was just too well known.  The price of fame in the city was notoriety.

I pushed the thought of surrender aside as I walked into the command post.  Tarfanaxe was standing by a map of the city, his face tired and worn.  A handful of his officers were updating a second map, while messengers ran in and out endlessly, bringing in updates from the fighting.  They’d created a fairly accurate picture of what was going on though marking a simple map, although it would have its limitations.  By the time the map was updated, the entire situation might have changed and changed again.

“Lady Alex,” Tarfanaxe said.  He glared around him at the assorted officers.  “Everyone else, out.  I need to speak to the lady in private.”

If I had not been so tired, I would have blushed at some of the looks the officers exchanged before they filed out the door, leaving us alone.  Tarfanaxe gave one of the messengers a sharp look and the poor boy turned white before turning and fairly running after the officers.  I’d taught him that blaming the messengers was illogical, stupid, and a major contributor to defeat, but his attitude hadn't  filtered through the ranks yet.  Besides, he might die tomorrow and his successor might go back to the old attitudes.

“They’re hitting us hard,” he said, without preamble.  His voice was very tired, as if he was on the verge of falling asleep.  A distant crash from another projectile underlined his words.  “They’re even hurling dead bodies – our own dead bodies – over the walls at us.”

I blinked in surprise.  Most bodies were cremated on this world, with only a relative handful being buried beneath the soil.  It had something to do with their religious concepts; as I understand it, burning the body released the soul to progress onwards to the land of the gods.  Even so, the enemy tactic made no sense; they were actually heartening the defenders, because their dead could be properly burnt...

It was the tiredness.  It had to be.  “They’re trying to infect us with disease,” I said, wishing that I could think straight.  The bombardment was wearing me down along with everyone else.  “The dead bodies...ah, would play host to thousands of tiny devils that would spread out into the city.”

“I’ve ordered them all burnt at once,” Tarfanaxe said.  “Do you think that that will stop it?”

I shrugged.  There was no way to know, at least until disease started to appear in the city.  We were all jammed in so tightly that sanitation efforts would probably fail and then we would be looking at a dozen possible epidemics.  Cholera, or Plague, or...I could think of far too many possible infections.  Dear God – what if they had Smallpox?  It would be a virgin field epidemic and it would go through us like a knife through butter.  The only consolation was that we would probably infect the barbarians before we died.

“Let’s hope so,” I said.

He wanted comfort.  Not the comfort of my body, although I was sure he would accept it if I offered, but reassurance about the future.  I wished that I had some to give.  All we could do was wait, hold the walls and hope that the siege was lifted by disease before we ran out of food and water supplies.  The other city-states had dropped out of contact completely.  If they sent an army, they might not get here in time and all they would find would be a dead city, like Flint.  I had a sudden thought and smiled, tiredly.  My innovations had spread to the other city-states rapidly.  Even if we didn't stop the barbarians, the others might manage to hold them and then bleed them white.

I said goodbye eventually and staggered home.  The streets were coming apart in front of my eyes as panic spread through the city.  The Civil Guard was out in force, beating and clubbing rioters and looters in a manner that would have shocked everyone back home, but it didn't look as if they were having much success.  I saw a rioter, blood streaming from a gash across his face, pick up a club and bash a guard’s head in.  The guardsmen responded quickly to their comrade’s fall and battered his assailant to death.  Sickened, I walked on, untouched by the chaos.  No one wanted to tangle with my bodyguards.

My home was intact, thankfully.  I knew that I should probably sleep downstairs, or in the basement, but I was too tired to think of the risk.  Most of my servants had decamped to the College, as planned, yet I was able to get into bed with the aid of the remainder.  I was disgusted at myself for becoming so dependent upon servants as I fell into sleep, promising that I would start taking care of myself tomorrow.  It wasn't entirely my fault.  Whoever designed female fashions in Padway seemed to have decided to produce dresses that could only be put on with the help of at least one other person.

I slept badly as the fighting raged on and woke with a terrible headache.  This world hadn't produced any real painkillers and I had to nurse it as I ate a scanty breakfast and read some of the reports from the walls.  The enemy was pressing us hard, but we were holding them somehow, preventing them from getting into the city.  So far, it looked as if there was no idea of surrender, yet I was sure that that would change soon.  It had become a contest of endurance, one the barbarians might win.

My breakfast was interrupted by a pair of armed messengers inviting me to visit the Garrison.  This time, at least, I wore my male garb, trusting in my bodyguards, money and reputation to prevent anyone from making a fuss.  I couldn't disguise my headache, which only got worse as I stepped outside and the sounds of the bombardment grew louder.  The bastards were trying to hammer the entire city flat.  I caught sight of a statue, a golden image of the god of water, knocked to the ground by an enemy projectile, guarded by his priests and an angry mob.  Perhaps the barbarians had miscalculated.  They’d aroused a lust for revenge in the god’s followers.

The Garrison was sealed up tightly and a pair of armed guards insisted on checking my identity before I was allowed into the building.  I followed one of the messengers as he led me down a darkened flight of stairs into an underground complex.  It was lit by flickering torches, rather than sprite-lights, not unlike Brother Stone’s workroom.  The complex, however, served a very different purpose.  A handful of tiny cells were occupied by desperate, pleading men.  The City of Padway was not kind to its criminals.

“We caught this one trying to get over the wall last night,” a man I didn't recognise in the gloom said.  I recoiled from the stench.  The captive, a half-naked man chained to the bench, had fouled himself.  “It is time to put him to the question.”

I didn't realise what was about to happen until a second man appeared, carrying a pair of metal rods and a brazier.  He plunged the rods into the heat for long moments, and then pulled them out and held them towards the captive.  I could feel the heat as he pressed one of the rods into the captive’s legs.  There was a horrifying sizzling sound and his flesh started to burn.  I turned away, unwilling to watch, before remembering that a show of weakness in this city could be fatal.  The stench grew worse.  The torturer produced a second set of rods and, without warning, lashed them down on the burned leg.  I was nearly sick.  I’d seen violence and people had tried to kill me, but this was different.  It was cold and calculating, the deliberate infliction of pain.  I saw, just for a second, the torturer’s eyes.  He didn't seem to care about what he was doing, or the pain he was inflicting.  It was just a job to him.

Hot bile rose in my throat and I stepped back, swallowing hard.  I wanted to run, to flee, yet no one else seemed to care about the captive or his suffering.  Every man in the room – I recognised Tarfanaxe and a couple of his officers – seemed utterly unmoved.  It was yet another reminder that lives were cheap here and other things, like truth drugs, completely unavailable.  They started to ask him questions, branding him again and again when he refused to answer their questions.  He didn't hold out for long, not when they started to move the branding irons up towards his genitals.  The answers came out thick and fast, each one fairly tumbling over as he tried to answer before he was hurt again.

And very few of the answers made sense.  According to him, about two years ago, a Prophet had appeared to the tribesmen, showing power that he claimed came from the gods.  He had told them that it was his destiny to lead them against the city-folk and many had flocked to his banner.  Others had refused him, only to learn – far too late – that the Prophet possessed real power.  His most fanatical followers had started to rally the tribesmen to his banner, while he’d honed his power over the sandstorms.  And then he’d started to advance against the cities.  Flint had merely been the first to fall.

My father had never placed much faith in torture.  He'd warned that the captive was often willing to tell the interrogator what he wanted to hear, just so the pain would stop.  The only way it could be used was to have a way of verifying the captive’s claims, allowing the pain to be applied – or not – to encourage truthful testimony.  I couldn't see how we could do that and even if we could...did it really justify what we were doing?  I looked up at the men gathered around the captive and knew what they were thinking.  This was their city and they would do anything to defend it.  And besides, life was cheap here.  What was one tortured barbarian to the city?

Tarfanaxe asked about me and the barbarian had no answer.  The Prophet had warned them about a Lady Alex and ordered that she should be taken alive, but he didn't know why, let alone how the Prophet knew about me.  I suspected I knew the answer.  The barbarians had been infiltrating their sprites into the city and would probably have known about me.  And they wanted to capture me before I taught the city-folk how to build even more weapons...

Sickened, I stumbled out of the building and found the toilets.  I had always been disgusted by the city’s version of internal toilets, even after I had taught them the rudiments of sanitation, but I no longer cared.  I held myself over the hole and threw up everything I’d eaten for breakfast.  The thought of showing weakness no longer bothered me.  I stalked out of the Garrison and headed towards my home.  My confused bodyguards, waiting for me outside the Garrison, hastily followed me.  I was barely aware of their presence as I marched down the street, daring anyone to stop me.  I knew that I was running from a horror I couldn't face.  Everything that they’d done to their captive...

I knew that he was a barbarian.  I knew what his people would do to the city if they broke through the walls and stormed the buildings.  I knew what they did to their captives, male and female, and yet...did that justify what we’d done?  And I was just as guilty as the men back in the Garrison, the ones who had enjoyed inflicting pain and the ones who had coldly allowed them to make the captive suffer.  I was to blame.

My thoughts whirled around me as I strode onwards.  I was so distracted that I didn't even notice the ambush until I walked right into it.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I could have kicked myself the moment I realised that something was wrong.  I knew better than to lose track of what was going on around me, yet I’d been completely lost in my own thoughts and hadn't even noticed the danger signs until it was far too late.  I heard the twang of bows as my bodyguards were struck my archers, and then masked men were heading towards me, carrying short clubs in their hands.  Part of my mind coolly noted that it was a kidnap attempt, rather than an assassination attempt; the remainder of my mind focused on the nearest man.  I threw a punch with all of my strength and sent him toppling backwards.  The second man tried to grapple and I rammed my knee into his groin.  I turned, hoping to catch the third man, but he was too quick for me and dropped a dark bag over my head.  The world instantly turned black.  My hands were pressed against my sides as he drew the bag tight and then whacked me on the head.  It wasn't a hard blow, but it was enough to stun me as I was pushed to the ground and a rope placed around my legs.  I was still trying to recover as someone picked me up and carried me away.

It was impossible to see anything out of the bag.  I tried to wiggle my hands free, only to be rewarded with hard slaps to whatever part of my body my assailant could reach.  It was hard to count the minutes until we reached a safe house – I heard the door opening and shutting as I was carried inside – and I was unceremoniously dumped on the floor.  Someone big, heavy and male landed on my back, grappled for my hands and pulled them behind my back.  I felt a cord being knotted around them, tight enough to cut off the circulation, just before my hands were thoroughly lashed.  Escape would be difficult, if not impossible.  My pockets were empted – they even took the pistol – before strong hands pulled at the bag and tore it away.  I twisted and found myself staring up into a very familiar face.

“Rafik,” I said.  The tribesman was just as handsome as he had been the day he had abandoned me and one of his sisters in Padway.  His dark skin, hawk-like face and glittering eyes still haunted my nightmares.  “Why...?”

He turned away from me and snapped out a question to one of the other men.  “We caught her,” he said.  They were treating me as nothing more than an object!  I was almost offended, despite my predicament.  “Have you cleared the path with our friends in the city?”

The second tribesman looked oddly familiar.  I wondered if he was one of Rafik’s cousins, before I realised that he actually reminded me of Hastur, the oaf who had tried to rape me.  He’d been burned to a crisp, but I had no Guardian now to save my virginity.  The look in his eyes promised nothing, apart from a violent death.  I fought to keep my fear hidden, even though I had gone from wealthy semi-noble lady to prisoner.  Fear would encourage them to take advantage of me.

“The traitor dog has promised we can leave soon,” the second tribesman said.  He had a dark and husky voice, reminding me of some of the noble sons who had studied in my school.  They’d been children born to wealth and power, the very apex of their city; they’d had a reason to be arrogant.  The tribesman had nothing apart from a chip on his shoulder.  “He even promised an escort out of the city.”

He squatted next to me and rolled me over.  “We can enjoy ourselves until then,” he added, as one hand reached down to grope my breast.  I winced as he squeezed hard enough to hurt.  “I claim the right of...”

Rafik yanked his hand away and pushed him onto the floor.  “Yavak, the Prophet has issued his orders,” he said.  “The Lady Alex, murderess of your cousin, is to remain alive and unharmed until she is delivered into his presence.  Do you believe that you can force yourself on her and the Prophet will remain ignorant of your crime?”

Yavak glared at him.  “She murdered my cousin,” he snapped.  I could see his frustration building up to the boiling point.  “I will have my revenge, blood for blood...”

“And if you defy the Prophet on this, the entire tribe will be at risk,” Rafik countered.  He made a fist and held it up near the younger man’s face.  “I will not have the entire tribe slaughtered to appease your desire for revenge.  You may petition the Prophet for the right to kill her once she is within his tent.  Until then, control yourself or I will teach you control.”

For a moment, I thought that Yavak was going to lunge at him, but the younger man had more control than I had realised.  Breathing heavily, he sat up slowly, glared in my direction and then paced away towards the far corner.  Rafik gave me an unreadable look and then squatted down beside me.  I wondered if he was going to offer encouragement, or make threats of his own, but instead he just smiled.

“That boy was placed into another tribe as a mark of honour and was not at the Gathering when his cousin died,” Rafik said, by way of explanation.  I had already guessed that much.  “He took it personally and swore a blood oath to hunt you down and kill you.”

I felt a surge of defiance, even though I knew that I was trapped.  “Tell him to get in line behind all the others,” I said, tartly.  Rafik snorted.  “Why did you join the Prophet anyway?”

“The tribes are uniting,” Rafik said, finally.  I saw the struggle on his face.  He came from a society where women were expected to be neither seen nor heard, let alone be included in any planning sessions.  The idea of treating me as an equal would have been alien to him even before I’d been enchanted and enslaved.  Now, even though the Prophet clearly wanted me alive and unharmed, it was still hard for him to consider me anything other than a lesser being.  I clung to that thought, as demeaning as it was.  I was no longer his slave and I’d have a chance to break free and escape.  “We will destroy the cities that blight the land and return to a world where we can ride free.”

It was a rote recitation, I realised.  He didn't believe it himself.  “You could come with me instead,” I offered.  “I could...”

He slapped me, hard.  “You don’t understand,” he said, angrily.  “The Prophet has my family.  If I turn against him, we will be extinguished from the earth!  We will die, as if we had never existed!”

I could say nothing to that.  My head hurt as the hours started to wear on, even after Rafik gave me some water and cold meat.  I hoped that the water was safe to drink, before realising that it hardly mattered.  There was nothing else to drink.  Yavak paced the room, glaring at me whenever Rafik turned his head away, before resuming his endless pacing.  Finally, there was a knock at the door and a heavily-masked man stepped inside.  He took one look at me, and then spoke rapidly to Rafik.  I could barely hear him, but I recognised the accent.  It was someone from one of the Great Houses.  I’d been sold to the barbarians.

Rafik turned back to me, pulled something out of a sealed bag and pressed it against my neck.  I felt a tiny jab and yelped in pain and surprise.  The device – it looked like a sharpened piece of wood – didn't seem to have done anything at first, but then the place where he’d jabbed me started to go numb.  My mind started to swim, as if I was on the verge of blacking out, before stabilising.  I felt as if I were slightly disconnected from the world.

“Hear me,” Rafik said, very quietly.  “Hear and obey me, only me.  When I untie you, do not shout for help or attempt to get away from us.  Follow us and obey me, always.”

I knew that I should be alarmed, but my head felt too disconnected to feel alarmed, as if I were watching it on the television rather than having it done to me in person.  His hands rolled me over and then cut my bonds.  My legs were freed a moment later.  I started to rub my hands together in the desperate hope of restoring some circulation, but I felt sore and tired.  And my head was still swimming.

“Get up,” he ordered.  My body obeyed while my head was still trying to process his command.  “Change into these clothes now; hurry!”

I obeyed automatically.  My body seemed to be moving at his command, no matter how I struggled – and I could barely struggle.  I undressed rapidly, tearing my clothes as I stripped, and then pulled on the outfit they’d given me.  It was a concealing dress, as might be worn by a young girl from a poor freeman family, hiding her many charms from the boys.  If I wore a headscarf as well, no one would even recognise my distinctive hairstyle.  They might be searching for me now and I’d walk past them, unable to do anything, but what I was told.  It was worse than when I’d been enchanted.  At least then my head had been clear.

“It is called the Juice of Command,” Rafik said, sensing my consternation.  “We use it sometimes to make a rebellious wife obedient to her tribe.  Regular doses will soon turn a disobedient girl into one who works to please her husband and family in any manner they choose.”  His eyes narrowed.  “And if the Prophet wishes it, you will be kept on the juice until you join them in obedience.”

“No,” I said.  “I...”

“Be quiet,” he said.  My mouth snapped closed.  “When we leave the building, keep your eyes downcast and avoid attracting attention.  Do not speak to anyone apart from me, and only then when I command it.  Follow.”

He strode towards the door and I followed helplessly, like a puppet on strings.  No amount of struggle seemed to break through the effects of the drug, so I tried to think about something else.  If the city-folk had had such a drug, it would have made torture unnecessary.  The tribes did understand more than the city-folk about hygiene and sanitation; for all I knew, they were well versed in the uses of roots and plants that only grew out in the great deserts.  In fact, I recalled a particularly nasty date rape drug that placed its victim into a near-hypnotic trance, where they followed orders and recalled nothing the following day.  They might just have injected me with a similar drug.

No one noticed us as we walked through the city.  My garb belonged to the poorer classes, the ones who aspired to rise up through the social levels until their descendents joined the Great Houses.  No one would look too closely at me, not with two burly freemen on each side.  They would know that the freemen, masters of their own destiny since they had earned their freedom, would fight anyone who even looked twice at me.  As we walked into the poorer areas of the city, twilight falling as the day began the long slide towards night, others joined us.  I knew then that there was little hope of rescue.  We walked into a house built up against the Inner Wall and Rafik ordered me to remain still.  I froze, unable to move beyond breathing.

“Is that her?”  A voice demanded.  I could hear him, but I couldn't move to see his face.  It was another Great Houses accent.  “Will she ever return?”

“The Prophet will decide her fate,” Rafik said, firmly.  “Until then, she will be bound and enslaved by the Juice of Command.  She will be unable to escape.”

“Good,” the voice said.  I recognised it now.  Councillor Joralan.  It struck me suddenly that I would be lucky to escape alive and even if I did escape, the Great Houses would turn the city against me.  “Make sure she never returns.”

I had wondered how they intended to get me over the wall and out of the city.  As it happened, it was alarmingly simple.  The house was right against the Inner Wall, allowing them to go up through a hatch in the roof and climb up onto the wall.  The sentries had all either been bribed or quietly removed; bribed struck me as more likely, as if they’d killed the guards they could have slipped a large force into the city before anyone could sound the alarm.  I scrambled up on command, felt the gusts of a sandstorm blowing against me and almost fell back, just before I was caught and pointed to a ladder.  It all happened very quickly.  Before I knew it, I was marched towards a pair of horses and ordered to mount one.  Rafik mounted the other and ordered me to follow him.  I could only obey.

The ride away from the city seemed to last forever.  The sandstorm seemed to be little more than wisps of sand, but it concealed our passage rather nicely.  It felt like hours before we saw campfires in the distance and rode up to a large campsite, surrounded by armed tribesmen and – I was alarmed to discover – sprites on roving patrol.  They paid little attention to Rafik, but they closed in on me and studied me with their cold translucent eyes.  I doubted that anyone else in the camp, perhaps even the Prophet himself, could see them unless they were mages.  They might not be aware of how closely they were being watched.

It nagged at my mind as we reached a small group of barbarians and Rafik went forward to explain himself to them.  He’d said that the Prophet possessed great power.  It struck me as odd, because the only magical power possessed by humans was the ability to call and direct the sprites.  Perhaps the Prophet was a mage, either a rogue or someone who had taught himself how to do magic, or...perhaps he was a fake.  Or...could he have tapped into some other source of supernatural power?  I knew of none, yet there were stories about the gods and how they’d gifted a handful of humans with strange powers.  Maybe the Prophet was a servant of the gods, carrying out their will.  I would have giggled if that small freedom had been left with me.  Wouldn't that shake the religious factions back in the city to their foundations?

“Climb off the horse and follow me,” Rafik ordered, once he’d finished with the barbarian officers.  My body obeyed him, although my mind was clearing and I was starting to wonder if the juice was wearing off.  It probably wouldn’t matter even if I recovered my free will.  I was right in the heart of the enemy camp.  We reached a small tent, large enough for two or three people, and he motioned me inside.  It was empty, illuminated by a single glowing lantern.  “Remain here.  You may move freely within this tent, but you may not pass through the flap.”

Once I was alone, I tested his commands and found that they held true.  I couldn't touch the flap, let alone lift it and escape.  I paced around the tent, but saw nothing helpful apart from a pair of small chairs and a single table.  It struck me that I might be able to get out a different way, but the canvas was tied too tightly to allow me to escape.  Muttering curses, I slumped down on one of the chairs and tried to think.  There had to be a way out of this somehow, if I could only see it.  Absently, I studied the lantern, wishing that it had been a sprite-light.  I could have repeated my earlier escape.  Instead, it was a very basic design.  And it wasn't one of mine.

The nagging thought that had been at the back of my mind finally emerged into the daylight.  The barbarians had advanced too far, too fast...but then, so had the city.  And the reason the city had advanced so fast had been that they'd had a source of knowledge from an alternate world – me.  Could the Prophet be someone else from my world?  What if he’d come from a background where he’d known more than I’d known, tricks and appropriate technologies I could barely guess at, much less build.  For all I knew, he was a military historian with an interest in the ancient world.  Someone with that kind of background would have too many tricks to pull out and deploy to further his aims.  Hadn't I read a story about that once?

A flicker of translucent energy danced through the air, distracting me.  I could sense power building on the other side of the flap, more power than I had sensed when Brother Stone and I had tried to summon a sprite, two days ago.  My hair stood on end as a single man stepped into the tent and gazed at me.  My treacherous legs pushed me to my feet as he studied me, cold eyes sweeping over my body before locking with mine and peering into my soul.

“Lady Alex, be free of the juice,” he commanded.  His voice was resonant with power.  It was hard to look at him directly, not with the translucent energy swirling around his form.  My body staggered as I was freed.  “I bid you welcome to this place.  I am the Prophet of all the Gods.  I am Brother Dream.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“No.”

The Prophet looked at me, as I might look at a particularly stupid or lazy student.  I could see energy flaring around him, shimmering in and out of existence.  The more I studied him in my mind’s eye, the more that didn't quite add up.  His body seemed to move oddly, as if he wasn't quite sure how to walk or talk.  Something clicked in my mind and I understood.

“You’re a sprite,” I said.  “I thought that sprites couldn't exist in this world unless they were summoned from wherever they come from.”

He – it, perhaps – sat down on the other chair and smiled.  It was an oddly inhuman smile, as if he wasn't sure how to smile either.  “What you don’t know about magic – what the mages themselves don’t know about magic – could fill an entire book,” he said, dryly.  “For all of their acuminated wisdom, they really knew very little of the truth of existence – but then, you already know that.  You’ve been teaching them the scientific method.”

I felt my mind spinning and concentrated on the here and now.  “What are you doing here and what do you want with me?”

“I’m here to avenge my kin,” he said.  “You’re here because you’ve been teaching the city-folk new tricks that slaughtered many of my loyal followers.  I don’t wish to actually harm you, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to spend the rest of your life with us.  Don’t worry.  We’ll make you perfectly comfortable.”

“I don't understand,” I said.  In fact, I was starting to think I understood everything.  “Who are you avenging and why?”

The sprite grimaced.  It was the most human expression he’d shown.  “Centuries ago, one of your people stumbled upon words of power,” he said.  “You will understand, of course, that words are objects that shape reality, at least at one level.  What they discovered were words that could be used to call beings from another plane of existence.  This second dimension existed at right angles to your own, but it had very different physical laws and the beings that existed within the universe were beings of pure thought and energy.”

“The sprites,” I said.

“Indeed,” the sprite agreed.  “You must understand that my people were just as surprised as the early mages.  The idea of a universe consisting of matter and matter-based beings was completely novel to them.  Many explorers discovered that they could manifest within the new dimension, if they were summoned by the inhabitants.  What they deduced, eventually, was that the words of power shaped them into creatures that could exist briefly within the matter-based dimension.  What they didn't realise, at least at first, was that the words of power also imposed chains, chains that not only enslaved them, but bound them to a certain nature.”

I frowned, puzzled.  “A certain nature?”

“It’s hard to explain in human terms,” the sprite said.  He sat inhumanly still and considered.  “You are a human female.  There are certain things that you can do that a male cannot; as such, you have no real inherent understanding of the male form.  You are bound to your femininity and you cannot change it.”  He pressed his fingers together as he spoke.  “But imagine you could; imagine that you could change sex, or hair colour, or appearance at will.  And then imagine that you were bound into one form.  You’d realise that you’d lost something you hadn’t really understood you’d had until it was gone.

“The mages wanted sprites who would serve a certain purpose.  When they called them from our home, they summoned them and bound them into a certain concept.  There is, at heart, no real difference between the Least Sprites and the Greatest Sprites.  The mages bind them, define what they will be in human terms...and in doing so, enslave them.”

“As if someone took my prisoner and cut off both of my legs,” I said.  I thought I understood.  Brother Stone had spoken of the sprites as if he’d believed that they varied in power and ability, but if I was right, the mages were actually amputating the sprites every time they called a new one into the matter universe.  “I think I understand.”

“I’d be surprised if you did, at least fully,” the sprite said.  “You humans are bound by your own natures, just like us.  You are mortal creatures; you are born, grow old, pass your genes along to your children and then die – and terminate.  We are beings born of energy, existing within a universe that provides us with an infinitive source of food – as you would term it – and immortal.  To impose even a small bond upon us is to cause terrible agony.”

I shivered.  Every sprite I had seen, with the possible exception of the one in front of me, had been railing against its bonds.  I’d been aware that they hated humanity and regarded us with cold malice, awaiting the chance to break free and wreak havoc.  Brother Stone had warned of the dangers of summoning the greatest and most powerful of the sprites, without realising that the more power they wanted, the more they were pulling into the matter-based universe.  The mages had taken creatures that were used to flying free and imprisoned them in a universe utterly unsuited to their kind.  No wonder they hated us.

“Very few of your mages had even an inkling of the truth,” the sprite continued.  “Why should they have?  We could not break free without being pulled back to our own universe – they learned, very quickly, the dangers of allowing us to roam free.  Why do you think this world has very little water?”

“You – one of you – took it all,” I realised.  I hadn't understood what had happened to the oceans that should have watered this world.  I’d wondered what kind of disaster had befallen this world, but nothing I knew had been able to provide an answer.  “What did you do to the water?”

“Drained much of it below the earth,” the sprite said.  “We do have problems operating within your universe, even without the bonds your people place on us.  The sprite who lashed out at you hoped to destroy your entire world and end the torment you inflicted on his fellow beings, even if we exiled him for genocide.  As it happened, the results were...incomplete.”

“An entire world is suffering for lack of water,” I said, dryly.  “I think he succeeded all too well.  He made us more dependent on you than ever.”

“Perhaps,” the sprite agreed.  He shrugged.  “You are merely human and it would be hard to explain, in your terms, the limits we face when we operate within your universe.  We don’t really comprehend how it works, any more than you can understand us.  Our society is very different from yours.”

He smiled, coldly.  “And so matters remained until one of the mages went mad,” he continued.  “You know, of course, that the mages have no real power of their own.  The words of power they use can only affect creatures bound to different natural laws.  They can't harm or control their fellow humans, at least not directly.  You might as well shout obscenities at an advancing army and expect them all to drop dead on the spot.  This mage, who had perhaps grasped a tiny inkling of the truth, believed that it would be possible to actually merge himself with one of us.  He would become all-powerful, immortal and utterly supreme within your world.  Leaving behind his students, some of whom had learned what he knew about the sprites, he walked into the desert and performed the ritual.  The sprite he summoned into existence was me.

“A merely human mind cannot hope to comprehend the mind of a sprite.  Nor could I, a being made of energy, comprehend the limits of a matter-based intellect.  We were so different that the attempt at fusing us together caused us both tremendous pain.  My...pattern, for want of a better word, was badly twisted.  His mind simply snapped.  Energy – my energy – boiled through his body, burning away his humanity.  Somehow, I found myself repairing his body and then discovered, to my horror, that I was trapped within him.  I could not escape his human form.  My power could not free me from my prison.

“Perhaps I would have died there, lost to both our worlds, if I hadn't been discovered by a group of wandering tribesmen.  One of them picked me up and fed me for the first time.  It was fantastic.  It had never occurred to me that there were compensations for being a matter-based being, so small and so limited.  They introduced me to different foods and drinks and they were all astonishingly good.  I experimented with drugs and even sex.  Maybe I would have stayed with them for the rest of this body’s lifespan, if I hadn’t started to lose control of my powers.  The tribesmen banished me back into the desert and fled.”

“Just as they abandoned me in Padway,” I said, sourly.

“Quite,” the sprite agreed.  “I came as close to death as is possible for one of my kind.  It took the sheer desperation of trying to remain alive to force me to focus on repairing the body again.  It would have been impossible if I hadn't encountered another sprite, one bound as a messenger by the mages, and used him to repair this body.  I was healthy again and suddenly aware of my power.  I could take revenge on the human race for what they had done to my people.

“I walked to the next Gathering and spoke to the tribesmen.  They rightly feared magic and sprites, perhaps knowing that the deserts they travelled had been created by one of us.  It was easy to manipulate them once I showed them some of my power.  My early followers called me their Prophet, messenger of the gods, and I took their belief and built on it.  The tribesmen hated the city-folk and were very willing to believe me – aided, of course, by the occasional demonstration of power.  I was far more powerful than any of the mages; how could I not be, when I commanded power directly?  The more powerful I became, the more I could extend myself into their minds, feeding on their human emotions and pushing them towards unthinking servitude.  Why should I not?  Humans had done the same thing to my race.

“I understood far more about magic than any of the mages.  I knew what the words of power actually did, how they affected the fabric of this universe and the one beyond, the home of my kind.  I started to interfere slightly with the universal fabric myself and twisted it, just enough to start weakening the words of power that bound my kin to slavery.  The brotherhood of mages became aware that their spells were failing, although I think they never even guessed at the cause, and started to panic.  I allowed them to panic while I gathered my army.

“And then Brother Dream, who had been a student of the mage who had summoned me into this world, had an idea.  He summoned another sprite and ordered it to find someone who could help them overcome the growing crisis.  The stress of summoning the sprite and issuing it with specific orders killed him, but unfortunately he completed the ritual before he died.  That sprite went out into the dimensions and picked you.  You turned the entire world upside down.”

I stared at him.  “Why was I picked?”

“You have a certain version of the talent needed to use the words of power,” the sprite said.  “You have the knowledge and ability to assist them in developing ways to exist – to improve themselves – without using us.  You have the intellect and the ability to push your ideas forward even against heavy opposition.  And you have a good heart.”  He shrugged, his features blurring for a long second as magic billowed around him.  “You had the right background and were the first the sprite encountered.  Why not you?

“Think about it.  You came to Padway with nothing more than the clothes on your back.  In a few months, you taught them basic sanitation, a system of reading and writing that is far simpler and easier to use than the one they developed for themselves, you introduced all kinds of small innovations and even taught them how to produce gunpowder.  Most importantly of all, you taught them the scientific method.  They may not be as advanced as your own world, or some of the other worlds our explorers saw when we studied the matter-based, but they are on the way.  Even if I were to kill you right now, your legacy would live on – if, of course, the human race survives.”

I gathered myself.  “What are you going to do?”

“Do?”  He repeated.  “I am going to destroy the cities and wipe out all trace of the knowledge used to summon and imprison my people.  I am going to reduce humanity to the tribes and nothing else, people wandering in the desert, unable to build a civilisation that will, one day, rediscover how to summon my people.  The survivors of the cities will be turned into slaves and used to service the tribes, once I have verified that all the ones with dangerous knowledge have been killed.  Does that answer your question?”

“You can't,” I said.  I was suddenly aware that I was pleading for the entire human race.  “I know that some of us have done terrible things to you, but what about the ones who have done nothing to you or your race?”

“They allowed the mages to summon us without ever thinking that we might have wills and intellects and even souls of our own,” the sprite hissed.  “They gained from our enslavement, even if they had no hand in summoning us permanently.  Why should they not be destroyed?”

His form was becoming less and less human by the second.  “And look at your puny little race,” he added.  “You are so...crude, so impermanent; bound by your nature to control your fellows or be controlled by them.  How many of your race have sought control over others?  Even your world, one of the more advanced of the worlds I have studied, has those who seek control over others.  You scrabble endlessly over a diminishing world while you ignore the techniques that could save you.  Your leaders lie to their followers, whipping them up into seas of hatred – as if there was any real difference between you and them.  You allow states that brutalise their own people to exist, even supporting them, even as you decry their crimes against their own people.  You carry out the worst atrocities in the name of your god!  How can you possibly be considered civilised?”

His eyes were glowing with red fire as he stood up and stared down at me.  “I should kill you now,” he added, each word burning into my skull.  “And yet, you have friends.  You freed some of my people from their imprisonment and they have spoken in your favour.  I may not kill you without incurring their displeasure.  Our...government would not allow it.”

I grasped at a shred of hope.  “I could speak to your government,” I said.  “Perhaps if we could come to an agreement...”

“Everything you could possibly say has been considered,” the spite said.  I didn't understand.  “You do not understand our nature.  I cannot explain it to you, any more than you could explain democracy or dictatorship to a slug or an ant.  You have been judged.  Whatever happens in all of the other dimensions, humanity will be crippled here, reduced to a handful of tribes struggling for existence and survival.  My people will be free!

“But your friends have forbidden me to kill you,” he added.  “I will grant you life, as long as your puny mortal form remains alive.  You will remain here until the cities have been destroyed, their populations slaughtered and my people are free.”

“We could free them all now,” I said.  “We could go back to the brotherhood and tell them what they’ve been doing and how it caused this war.  They could be compelled to free their sprites and refrain from summoning any more into this world...”

“They would not listen,” the sprite said.  “I have studied your race from the inside.  Their control over us is the source of their power.  They would not willingly abandon it.”

“We could make them abandon it,” I protested.

“They would not listen to you,” the sprite said.  “They risk their own lives every time they summon one of us into their world and bind him to a certain nature.  Even if the remainder of the city-folk ordered them to refrain, they would continue, perhaps in secret.  Your race seeks power and control over your environment.  They would continue to summon us and use us.”

He stood back from me and walked over to the flap.  “You will remain here,” he said, firmly.  “Tomorrow, you will be moved to another camp, where you will stay until the cities are burning.  If you leave the tent, you will be torn apart by my followers.”  He smiled.  “Your puny race always grasps for life.  You will not leave this tent.”

Just for a second, I saw the sprite under his human form, a billowing nexus of power existing in many more dimensions than I could follow.  I felt my eyes streaming and looked away.  When I looked back, he was gone.  I sagged into the chair and closed my eyes for a long moment.  I should have seen it from the start.  A sprite would have understood magic perfectly; the mages could never have shared its understanding.  Hell, Brother Stone had said as much.

I pulled myself to my feet, concentrating on a single thought.  I had to get out of here.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bracing myself, I stepped up to the flap and opened it, just a little.  It was still dark outside, but I had no idea of the time.  It could be an hour to dawn for all I knew.  A single guard stood outside the tent, who turned to look at me as I peered outside.  He made a single motion with his spear, ordering me back inside the tent.  There didn't seem to be any sprites on guard, although I couldn't understand why...unless the Prophet-sprite feared that I might be able to subvert them.  It wasn't hard to realise that the Prophet was mad.

Before I could think better of it, I clasped my breasts and looked up at the guard, giving him my best ‘come hither’ smile.  I had very little practice at seduction, but men are men everywhere.  His eyes fixed on my breasts as I pushed them upwards, and then licked my licks as suggestively as I could.  I’d seen it on a pornographic movie once a few years ago.  I concentrated on  looking as sexual and willing as I could and was rewarded when the guard came forward, one hand pushing me into the tent while the other started to fiddle with my robe.  He pulled it down, baring my breasts and legs, as he kissed me, just before I rammed my knee up into his groin.  I caught his mouth and pressed down on it before he could scream, and then knocked him down and kicked him in the head.  It had probably been a relief after I rammed his testicles into his stomach.

Ignoring my nakedness, I undressed him as quickly as possible and pulled his trousers and shirt on over my body.  His clothes stank of unwashed male, but I forced myself to ignore it as I dressed myself quickly and took his weapons.  He’d had a pair of knives as well as his spear.  I knew nothing about using a spear in combat, yet I took it anyway.  It might come in handy.  Bracing myself again, I walked out of the tent and into the campsite.  The cool night air struck me, reinvigorating my soul.  I might be in the centre of the enemy encampment, but I was at least mistress of my own destiny again.  Or so I told myself.

I concentrated on looking for magic and sensed a spinning whorl of power in a larger tent, set up in the middle of the camp.  That had to be the Prophet, I told myself, and headed in the other direction.  Most of the camp was sleeping, thankfully, but I avoided the handful of guards and wanderers who seemed reluctant to go to sleep.  They’d probably been gorging themselves on food and drink taken from the wrecked towns and cities they'd destroyed along the way.  It occurred to me that Flint might not have been the only target and I shuddered.  Alone in the darkness, the cold stars twinkling down at me, it was easy to believe that the remainder of civilisation had been destroyed and I was alone.  The Prophet had been right about one thing, at least.  I’d come into a world where I could build on what was already there until I made a very real difference.  If the cities were destroyed, if the human race was reduced to a handful of tribesmen, there would be no hope for a future.  This world would hit a dead end and go no further.

My father had taught me how to navigate by the stars.  It was easier here than it would have been on my world; there was no light pollution drowning out the stars.  I’d had a rough idea that Padway was somewhere within the south of France, at least as it would have been in my world, which meant that I was somewhere within the Mediterranean Sea.  It wasn't a sea here anyway, just an endless desert.  I concentrated until I was sure I knew which direction to take and then started to walk towards the horses.  I knew that they would be heavily guarded, yet there was no other choice.  Tired and hungry as I was, I couldn't hope to survive a trek across the desert on foot.  

I heard the horses before I saw them.  They were uneasy and their two guards were uneasy too.  I was surprised that they’d trusted their horses to only two guards – the tribesmen thought more of their horses than they did of their women – before realising that most of the tribesmen had already decamped and headed towards the cities.  The remainder, the Prophet’s most loyal followers, would follow them in due course.  I hid myself in the shadows and studied the two guards.  They weren't familiar faces, but they both looked tough and determined.  They’d been given one of the greatest responsibilities in the camp.  I was sure I could deal with one of them, perhaps with the advantage of surprise, yet I knew I couldn't take them both out.  I had to separate them, but how?  If they discovered I was missing, they’d be sure to search the camp and...

Before I could think better of it, I picked up a stone and threw it neatly towards one of the guards.  He whirled around, looking for the person who had almost hit him with a stone, and saw me in the semi-darkness.  His expression turned from puzzled to angry in a second and he started to march towards me.  He hadn't realised that I was an escaped prisoner, I realised as he chased me towards a second tent.  He thought I was just a kid playing a joke on his elders and betters.  I’d seen enough of how their kids acted to play the part.

He caught me by the arm and spun me round.  I wondered if I had miscalculated, just before he rammed one hand into my trousers and stopped, dead.  He looked almost comically surprised, giving me an opening.  I rammed my hand into his throat and he made a horrific gagging sound, before he toppled over.  I’d probably killed him, I realised, but there was no time to be sick.  He’d thought I was a boy and intended to humiliate me.  I told myself that he deserved his death and started to walk back towards the horses.  His comrade would be alarmed if he didn't return in the next few seconds.

I almost ran into the second guard as I rounded the tent.  He stared at me and then opened his mouth.  I stabbed one of the knives into his guts and pushed my hand over his mouth, preventing him from crying out.  He collapsed, flailing at me weakly, before dying in front of me.  Again, I pushed my horror and revulsion to the back of my mind.  There was no time to do anything, but run.  I picked myself up, relieved him of his weapons and a handful of gold coins, and ran for the horses.  They’d been tied to the ground, so I freed the nearest horse, pulled myself onto his back and pushed the creature into motion.  The campsite didn't have walls, thank god.  I could be away before anyone thought to check on the prisoner in her tent.

The horse moved jerkily, as if he was aware that I wasn't his normal rider.  I used all the tricks I knew to convince him to move faster, just before something started to shimmer into existence in front of us.  The horse skidded to a half and almost bolted as the sprite glared down at us with inhuman eyes.  I cursed my own mistake almost as much as I cursed the horse – and the Prophet.  I should have realised that some of the defences wouldn't be human at all.  The Prophet could command his fellow sprites to help secure his camp.

There was no time for panic.  I reached out with my talent as I felt the sprite’s power firming up around us.  Oddly, now that I knew more about them, it was easier to see the chains binding the sprite in place.  The Prophet had chained his fellow sprite.  It puzzled me, but I didn't dare stop to ask questions.  As the sprite’s cold malice started to seep through my head, I reached out and broke the chains.  It was a desperate gamble – this sprite was far more powerful than the ones I’d freed in the past – but it worked.  The sprite was suddenly gone and I was free.  I knew that the Prophet might feel what I’d done and I pushed the horse into a canter, and then into a run.  My only defence was speed now.

The desert slipped by astonishingly quickly.  I was silently grateful that I’d picked a horse that knew the desert, even though riding without a saddle or stirrups rapidly became a painful and unpleasant experience.  The moon, high overhead, cast down shimmering rays of light, providing a limited illumination to the ghostly scene.  I knew that there were tribesmen behind me, and perhaps in front of me, but it was easy to believe that I was the only person left alive.  The endless desert seemed likely to swallow me up.

I sensed a trickle of magic behind me and twisted, peering back the way I’d came.  A blur on the horizon resolved itself into a sandstorm, a sandstorm shaped and directed by the Prophet, his final revenge on the human race.  It was gaining on me quickly.  The horse whinnied in panic as I pushed myself down on the saddle and urged him forward.  We galloped faster and faster, but the sandstorm was gaining on us with terrifying speed.  I risked another glance backwards and saw that the crest of the storm had become a familiar face.  The Prophet himself was glaring down at me as the storm advanced.  I wondered if it was just an illusion –the  Prophet was bound to his human form, unless he’d lied about that – before realising that it hardly mattered.  Once we were in the sandstorm, we would be killed or perhaps lose our way.  The tribesmen could catch up with us and recapture me with ease.  They’d probably kill me, whatever the Prophet had ordered, to punish me for stealing the horse.  To them, it wasn't a little prank like rape or murder.  Their horses were their life.

The horse seemed to bound across the sand, crossing the miles with terrifying speed.  I could still feel the sandstorm gaining on us and started to pray with a fervour I hadn't felt since my mother died.   It struck me that this world worshipped many gods, not one, and I started to giggle.  Perhaps the one true god could still hear me...I hoped He could, even though I hadn't been a faithful churchgoer.  Or perhaps I should pray to the Crone.  Very few actually prayed to Her, even though they tried to appease the goddess.  She was not a just and forgiving aspect of the universe.  It made me wonder if, at some level, the gods were real.  How might the mages have discovered the words of power without help from elsewhere?

I smiled, despite the roaring behind me and the pitter-patter of sand on my back.  The Prophet had said that his people had tried to explore the matter-based universe without really comprehending what it was, at least not at first.  For all I knew, the gods this world worshipped – and the gods my forefathers had worshipped – were sprite-like creatures, explorers from another universe.  Perhaps we had bound them into gods – worshipping them as the god of war, god of water, god of...well, anything – and they’d eventually left us.  I suspected that I would never know the truth.  

The horse somehow found an extra burst of speed and we lunged forward, crossing the sand dunes and escaping – for a long moment – the sandstorm.  The whirling power seemed disinclined to let us go, even though we had crossed where the desert had turned into scrubland – now covered in sand.  I remembered the farms and villages I’d seen, back when I’d first been taken to the city.  They would all be buried now under the sand.  It struck me that even if we won – and I had an inkling of an idea – the deserts would still have moved inland.  The long-term survival of the human race was still in doubt.  I caught myself wondering if it was possible to drill down to the water and bring it back to the surface, before realising that that was how the cities found their water.  It had bubbled to the surface over the years.  The roaring was growing closer...and then the storm was upon us.  The sand closed in and we were blind.

I swore as the horse panicked.  I knew a moment of absolute terror as the horse just raced forward, ignoring the human on its back.  I opened my mouth to scream, just as the horse jumped in the air and spun madly, as if it were being assailed by hornets.  I heard a crack as the beast fell to the ground, and then it tried to heave me off its back.  I flew through the air and landed on my ass.  If I’d fallen on solid ground, I would probably have broken my back.

The storm seemed to be centring around me, no matter how I ran.  The horse was lost somewhere within the storm and I could no longer even hear it.  I ran in what I thought was the right direction, yet the storm followed me until it began to slack.  I had only a moment to think that the Prophet might finally have run out of energy before I ran straight into the trap.  A strong hand grabbed me before I even saw him.  As the storm faded away, I was forced to the ground and tied up, again.  I was getting sick of being tied up.  The anger helped keep me from dwelling on the fact that I was trapped, again.

“Bitch,” a voice said.  I looked up in numb resignation and saw Yavak.  He kicked me hard and I yelped in pain.  I could have killed him at that moment, if I hadn't been a captive.  The handful of other men in his small band didn't seem to care about me.  I had a suspicion that the Prophet’s orders were about to be forgotten, even if their entire tribe would be at risk.  “Murderer of my cousin, you will pay!”

I would have said something, but he pushed my head into the sand.  I could taste it in my mouth and wondered if it were the end.  I’d die here, away from my family; I’d never see my father and his friends again.  A  moment later, just as I was on the verge of blacking out, he pulled my head up and I gasped for breath.  He poked me hard in the chest and I recoiled.  It took everything I had to lift one leg and kick out at him.  It was easy for him to dodge.  I’d never felt weaker in my life.

There was an argument going on between the tribesmen, but I couldn't understand the dialect they were using.  I felt that I knew what they were saying, however; Yavak was trying to urge them to take their revenge, while others were questioning the wisdom of defying the Prophet.  Yavak was winning the argument.  Two of the tribesmen walked off into the gloom, while the remaining four gathered around me.  Some of them, I realised, were on drugs.  They had the high-pitched laugh of a person stoned out of their skull.  Yavak reached down for me, rolled me over and drew a knife.  Before I could say anything, he had slashed my clothes and pulled them away from my body.  I felt his rough hands running over my bare skin, squezzing my buttocks before he rolled me back over and reached for my legs.  Two of his comrades stepped forward and each of them took a leg, spreading me wide open.  Yavak knelt between my legs and began to fumble with his pants.

I tried to fight, but they were too strong and my arms were still bound.  No matter how much I struggled, they held me firmly.  I puckered my lips, hoping that I could lure him close enough for a kiss so I could bite him, but he ignored me.  I saw his penis as he pulled his pants down and prepared to force his way into me.  Helplessly, I closed my eyes and braced myself for the worst.

The next second, there was a weird sound and a gasp of pain.  I opened my eyes and saw an arrow sticking through Yavak’s head.  The other tribesmen were reaching for their weapons, but it was already too late.  My rescuers charged them and cut them down ruthlessly, without mercy.  A dark figure emerged from the shadows and came into the flickering campfire light.

“My Lady Alex,” he said.  I recognised him at once.  “We found you just in time.”

“Tarfanaxe,” I said.  I couldn't describe how relieved I felt, just as he freed my hands and passed me a coat.  If he’d wanted to kiss, or do much more, I would have let him.  I wanted to fall into his arms and feel safe again.  But then. I’d never really been safe since I’d come to this world.  “I...I...”

I kissed him as passionately as I could, and then just clung on to him.  “How did you find me?”

“We realised you were gone and one of your students realised how you’d been taken from the city,” Tarfanaxe said.  “We had to wait for darkness to slip through their ranks and start hunting for you, once we’d determined that you’d left the city.  All we have to do now is get back inside.”

“Oh,” I said.  I gave him another kiss.  “Is that all?”

Chapter Thirty

We hid in an abandoned shack for the day, and then headed back to the city when night fell.  The barbarians had surrounded the walls, but Tarfanaxe used a firework – one of my ideas – to send a signal to the city and soldiers started to bombard the barbarians on the other side of the city.  Expecting a breakout, the barbarian leaders ordered their reserves to head around to the other side of the city, allowing us to slip through their lines and over the wall.  There was a brief moment when the guards insisted on checking our faces before they let us through and then we were safe, if only for a few days.  I doubted that the food supplies in the city would last much longer.

“Lady Alex,” Tarfanaxe said formally, as soon as we were through the defences.  “Welcome home.”

I smiled.  By now, I had come to think of Padway as home.  “Thank you,” I said, and meant it.  “What happens while I was gone?”

“We repulsed an attack in the morning and sent a party to look for you, led by me,” Tarfanaxe said.  He winked.  “The councillors weren't too happy about the Captain-General leading the search party in person, but I convinced them that we owed you too much not to send the best.  And it helped that one of the councillors had betrayed you to the barbarians.  If that news had gotten out into the city, the entire council might have been lynched.”

“And you couldn't have risked a civil war, not right now,” I agreed.  He nodded, grimly.  A civil war with the city under siege would have been disastrous.  Treacherous councillors might have risked inviting the barbarians into the city to bolster their position.  I was pretty sure that that was what they’d done during the time of Genghis Khan.  “I need to meet with the council and Brother Stone as quickly as possible and...”

I broke off and yawned.  I’d been running on aderliiline and sheer determination.  Now everything was catching up with me; the kidnap, the Prophet and the attempt at rape.  I needed to sleep desperately, even if it meant delaying my discussion with the council.  Tarfanaxe seemed to understand.  Without consulting me, he waved over a carriage and helped me into the seat.

“Get some rest,” he ordered.  “I’ll see you in the afternoon.”

Dawn was breaking over the city as the carriage took me through the crowded streets and back to the College.  I wasn't surprised to see dozens of my students on guard, holding the latest matchlocks as well as swords and spears.  The College was one of the stronger buildings within the Inner City – almost as strongly held as the Garrison – and would hold out even if the remainder of the city were to be looted and destroyed by the barbarians.  I’d taught my students enough about preserving food to ensure that we could have held out for several weeks, but I hoped that it wouldn't come down to it.  I had no idea how the medieval world had managed to endure so many sieges and wars with puny technology.  In some ways, knowing what was possible tore at me as I watched my students lining up to salute.  What couldn't I do with an entire town from my world?  The library alone would be worth its weight in whatever precious metals I cared to name.

I accepted their salutes – the odd clenched fists against chest salute – and thanked them all as gravely as I could.  Their leader, one of my better chemists, dismissed them and made a few enquires after my heath, before I finally managed to get rid of him and up into my chambers.  I didn't have time to undress; I just staggered forward and collapsed into bed.  It felt like the softest and most welcoming bed I’d ever enjoyed.  I crashed into sleep before I could even take off my boots.

My dreams were dark and chilling, yet when I awoke I almost felt refreshed.  I undressed, washed and pulled on new clothes.  Part of me wanted to just go back to bed and sleep for the rest of the day, but I knew that that wasn't a possibility.  I had to talk to the council and the mages before it was too late.  The Prophet would be sending his invisible spies into the city and would probably already know that I had made it home.  He’d be preparing his final attack right now.  And if I was wrong about his weakness, the entire world would plunge down into unbroken darkness.

I ate a quick meal and called for a horse.  When it arrived, I was surprised to discover that I had an escort, a set of priests representing the various gods.  Their leader, when I expressed my surprise, explained that the priests had decided that I was a messenger of the gods in my absence and had ordered to escort to make it clear that attacking me would be the worst kind of blasphemy.  I didn't like the idea at all – it was superstitious, and superstition would weaken their commitment to the scientific method I had been teaching – but it seemed that argument was impossible.  Besides, it would help discourage others from attacking me.  I doubted that all of the traitors had been rounded up and put to the question.

The streets seemed full of people who wished to cheer me as we rode through the city.  I don’t know how politicians endured long hours of kissing babies and talking sweet nothings to people who probably couldn't be bothered going to vote.  My arm grew sore from waving back at them, even though I was touched by the display of welcome.  I just hoped that I could actually deliver them victory, or it would all be for nothing.  My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden change as the escort led me to a different building, where I was greeted by Lady Aylia and Lord Umbria.  I could see the relationship between them, even though they were as different as night and day.  They both had the same cheekbones and an expression that suggested that anyone who wanted to try his luck should get his will written out first.

“Welcome back,” Lord Umbria said.  He sounded oddly contrite, not what I would have expected from a man in his position.  Perhaps he was embarrassed; one of his fellow councillors had attempted to hand me over to the barbarians.  “The council wishes the pleasure of your company in the Chamber of the Gods.”

“You are welcome,” Lady Aylia agreed.  She gave me a wink.  In her dark red robes and golden headpiece, she looked magnificent and somehow inhuman.  She was almost the Crone’s representative on Earth.  “The gods brought you back to us.”

“Thank you, both of you,” I said.  I was a little overwhelmed and I wasn't quite sure what to say.  This sounded like one of the rituals someone brought up within the city would understand and follow without hesitation, but I didn't have their knowledge or understanding.  “It’s good to be home.”

Lady Aylia smiled, rather sweetly.  “And we welcome you,” she said.  She turned, her robe spinning around her.  “And if you will come with us, we will bring you to the Chamber of the Gods.”

We walked through a long stone passageway and came out into a massive chamber.  I saw statues of each of the gods, ranging from the ones who had thousands of believers to ones who were only honoured in memory, if that.  The city adopted gods from other cities, or someone would proclaim a new god and build a following.  It confused me, but in some ways I had to admit that it was more civilised than back home.  There were no civil wars over religion in the city.  They believed in all the gods, even if each person worshipped only one or two.  It was a matter of personal choice.

I stopped as I saw Tarfanaxe – and the man kneeling in the centre of the chamber, his hands bound behind his back.  Councillor Joralan’s body bore the unmistakable signs of torture.  I could see bruises and burns everywhere, for he was wearing nothing more than a wrap around his waist.  He’d betrayed me and sent me to the barbarians, for whatever reason made sense to him, yet I almost felt sorry for the bastard.  The city’s interrogators knew just how to apply their tools to ensure that the victim suffered, without dying of shock or anything else.  If I ever produced an alternative, I told myself, I would see torture abolished within the city.

“We are gathered here today in the sight of all the gods,” Lady Aylia said.  Her voice echoed in the chamber.  It was a perfect echo chamber, ensuring that everyone within the chamber could hear every word.  I saw the other councillors, guild masters, priests and representatives of each of the other classes.  The entire city had gathered to pass judgement upon their fallen son.  “The man before us is accused of betraying the city to the barbarians who threatened to destroy us, as they have destroyed our tributary towns and our sister city of Flint.  In his treacherous mood, he arranged for the Lady Alex, the mouthpiece of the gods, to be kidnapped and handed over to the barbarians.  It is only by the will of the gods that the Lady Alex was returned to us.

“It is the Crone who stands in judgement over cases of treachery and betrayal,” she continued.  “She is the one who stands in every human heart; she is the one who watches as treachery flourishes within their souls; she is the one who casts her net to ensure that the traitors are brought to justice and forced to pay for their crimes.  Her cold eyes judge those who fall from their position in the sight of the judge.  Her punishments are always just and fitting.  For those who commit treachery, the Crone awaits them, ready to hold them to account in the sight of the gods.”

“In the sight of the gods,” the crowd echoed.  I stared.  What was about to happen?

“I stand before you as the Crone’s representative in the world of life,” Lady Aylia said.  “She speaks through me.  This man believed that he could preserve his life, his family and his position by handing the Lady Alex over to the enemies of the city.  It is the Crone’s judgement that he acted in full knowledge of the deaths of his treachery.  It is the Crone’s judgement that he did not believe that he was doing the right thing, or that he made a mistake.  He is no barbarian, sworn to serve their cause rather than ours, but one of us.  His treachery stands before you in the sight of the gods.”

“In the sight of the gods,” the crowd echoed, again.

Silence fell.  You could have heard a pin drop as Lady Aylia stepped forward.  One hand reached out and almost caressed Councillor Joralan’s hair before she took hold and pulled him upwards by his hair, baring his throat to the crowd.  I saw the marks of his torture in sharp relief and felt unwell, a sudden desire to vomit sweeping through my body.  I’d seen a person being tortured before and it still struck me as sickeningly evil.

“The Crone is old and wise,” Lady Aylia said.  “It is she who represents those who tend to the dead, once their souls have passed onwards to the land of the gods.  It is she who greets men and women in their final moment.  It is she who passes judgement on a life.  It is she who holds the scales of judgement.  And it is she who will pass judgement on this traitor.”

A young woman, naked save for a gauzy wrap around her thighs, stepped forward and knelt in front of Lady Aylia.  She held her hands upwards, holding out a single golden knife.  Lady Aylia took the knife and held it up high, and then held it to the kneeling man’s throat.  I realised what was about to happen and shuddered.  They were going to execute him in front of me.

“The Crone is merciful,” Lady Aylia said, into the silence.  “Is there anyone here, in the sight of the gods, who will plead for this traitor’s life?”

“I will,” I said, before I had quite realised that I was going to speak.  I didn't quite believe that I’d spoken and only the gazes that were trained on me suggested that I had said anything.  They were astonished.  I’d been the victim.  By their standards, they would probably be expecting me to pass water over his grave.  A traitor wouldn't be granted ritual burning and burial.  “He may redeem himself in the future.”

An idea was unfolding in my mind.  “He may be of use to us,” I continued.  “If he can make contact with the barbarians, he could pass on a message from us to their leader.  We could use him to feed them false information.”

I’d be surprised if they hadn't developed the idea of the double agent.  The cities spied on each other constantly.  If they understood what I was suggesting, they might go along with it – or they might order his death anyway, despite my words.  I’d just have to hope they listened to me.  My father would not have been amused.  He’d point out that I’d been kidnapped and nearly gang-raped by the kneeling man in front of me.  He would order his death without a single second thought.

Lady Aylia walked over to me, taking slow deliberate steps.  Her eyes locked on mine and held them.  I couldn't even blink.  Just for a moment, I wondered if there was some truth in the ritual, if the Crone really did exist and was working through her servant.  I had to remind myself that it was superstition and even then I wasn't quite sure that I believed myself.  The effect was impressive and terrifying.  Lady Aylia truly believed every word she’d said.

“You are the offended party,” she said.  Her voice sounded different.  “And yet, you suggest keeping him alive, knowing that a traitor will always remain a traitor.”

“Yes, My Lady,” I said.  I had to fight the urge to drop to one knee.  There was power in her voice, terrifying power.  “I do.”

“If the Crone accepts your plea, she will hold you responsible for lives ruined or lost through the actions of the traitor,” Lady Aylia said.  “Do you understand what you are saying?  We are in the sight of the gods.  They will all stand with the Crone.  There will be no escape if you are wrong and the traitor betrays others.”

“I understand,” I said.  The odd thing was that this city had a better record of religious toleration than back home.  But then, they would have considered Yahweh, God and Allah to be three different gods, all co-existing within the same heaven and the same earth.  “I will accept responsibility.”

“And so the Crone will test the traitor,” Lady Aylia said.  She reached into a hidden pocket and produced two tablets, holding them out in her hand.  “One of these will kill the traitor; the other will grant him his life, until the gods see fit to end it.  Let us see what he chooses.”

She placed one tablet in each hand and held them out to  Councillor Joralan.  I realised, suddenly, what was going on.  One of the tablets was poison; the other would be harmless.  If he picked the poison one, the Crone would have rejected my plea.  The traitor would die in worse agony than having his throat cut in front of the crowd.  And if he picked the other one...

I understood what she’d meant.  The city didn't have a fancy legal system, where someone could escape responsibility by claiming diminished judgement or insanity.  If I took Councillor Joralan under my wing, I’d be responsible for him and anything he did after he was freed.  And yet...if I freed him, I could use him as a double agent.  I had a plan.  I just wished that I had a complete plan.  Far too much could go wrong.

Councillor Joralan nodded towards the right hand.  Lady Aylia stepped forward and thrust the tablet into his mouth.  There was a long moment when he gulped it down – I hated dry swallowing myself – and everyone waited to see what would happen.  The minutes passed slowly, until Lady Aylia stood back and smiled.

“The Crone has accepted your plea, Lady Alex,” she said.  She used the knife to cut the councillor’s bonds.  “His is yours now, the least of your slaves.  And watch him, for his actions will rebound on you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I motioned to a pair of guards, who would escort him out of the building and to the College, where he would be held in a room until I could speak to him and offer him his freedom in exchange for a particular task.  The meeting seemed to be breaking up, with most of the crowd heading out of the building, as if they no longer wanted to be in the sight of all the gods.  I understood.  They chose one god as their personal god, their master and their protector, yet the gods were all equal.  Actions in the sight of all the gods would never go unpunished.  I saw Brother Stone across the room and walked over to speak to him.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“I thought you might,” he said, slowly.  I could sense the sprites crackling around him, protecting him against almost anything.  It would have been easy to free them, now I knew how.  “We’ll find a private room and...we will talk.”

Chapter Thirty-One

“Absolutely out of the question.”

I sighed.  It hadn’t taken long to tell him everything that had happened since Councillor Joralan had organised my kidnap, but he hadn't believed a word.  I’d told him about the Prophet and his strange nature, and how he was waging war against the human race to free his kindred, yet it seemed impossible to him.  All of his knowledge – and his self-interest – mandated against believing me.  I suppose I couldn't really blame him that much; back home, entire nations had been willing to buy oil off nations which used some of that money to fund terrorism and enemy propaganda.

“You have been enslaving sprites since the day your forefathers discovered how to call them to your world,” I said, tartly.  “Why do you think that they’re so hard to summon and call – hell, why do you think they lash out if you lose control?  They hate you – they hate the entire human race!  And the Prophet, being partly human and partly sprite, is capable of weakening your magic from the inside.”

“It is impossible for a sprite to exist in this world without an anchor,” Brother Stone said, sharply.  “A sprite simply cannot exist here without someone calling it into this world and then binding him to an anchor...”

“He has an anchor,” I snapped.  “He’s got his own body!  You use your body to hold your personal sprites to this world; why can't he do the same?  If some idiot tried to merge a sprite into his own mind, why couldn't the sprite end up in control?”

That shook him.  He thought about it before answering.  “No one would try that without being properly warded,” he said, finally.  “It would be certain death if it failed...”

“You know as well as I do that people can be killed while summoning powerful sprites,” I said.  “Brother Dream was killed when he summoned me to this world.  And I think I know why I was summoned.”  He stared at me.  “I think I know what he wanted.”

I put my thoughts together carefully.  “Your world is dependent upon sprites,” I said.  “You – the mages and the Brotherhood – have been using your abilities to keep the city-states fragmented, rather than forming proper nations.  It allows you to keep your position because they’re dependent upon you for communications and even security.  You have been impeding the development of science and technology on this world – without even knowing what you’re doing – and so the world remains dependent upon you.

“And now the Prophet is weakening your spells, you’re losing control of your magic and the network that binds the cities together is falling apart.  Brother Dream knew that, I suspect, and he decided to do something about it.  He knew about alternate worlds and ordered the sprite to find someone who could help your world develop the basis of technology before it was too late.”

Brother Stone looked at me.  “Too late?”

“He may not have known what the Prophet actually was, or even if he existed, but he knew about the advancing deserts,” I said.  That was a guess, but I felt that it was a good one.  “Your world is dying.  Ever since some idiot thought it would be a good idea to cause a geological catastrophe and drain or destroy most of the free water on your world, you have been slowly dying.  The sand is advancing and I think it was advancing long before the Prophet started to take control of the sandstorms and use them as weapons.  How long is it going to be before this world can no longer support even its relatively small population?  And there’s nothing you can do about it if you lose control of the sprites.”

I pointed up towards a glowing sprite-light, high overhead.  “The creature in that light hates you for what you’ve done to it,” I snapped.  “You pulled it out of a universe where it could fly free, compressed it down into a tiny light and trapped it within a matter-based universe that is utterly unsuited to its kind.  You worry endlessly about losing control of the powerful sprites, but I’d bet that you should be more worried about those.  What happens when they break free, all at once?”

Brother Stone looked shaken.  “Trapping and binding Least Sprites isn’t hard...”

I shrugged and climbed onto the table.  As he stared, I reached up for the light and pressed my fingers against the tiny creature.  Freeing it was easy and it vanished, leaving the room illuminated by nothing more than the light streaming in the window.  He stared at me as I stepped back down and returned to my seat, unable to believe what he’d just seen.  I could have pitied him if he hadn’t been unknowingly enslaving creatures that were just as intelligent, perhaps more so, than humans.  And he had enslaved me.  I wasn't going to forget that, or forgive it.  Councillor Joralan had done me less harm.

“The Prophet is coming to destroy us all,” I said.  He was still gaping at me.  “What are you going to do when he comes for you?”

I leaned forward, trying to overawe him.  “You won’t be able to control the sprites any longer,” I said, sharply.  “He’ll just free any sprites you try to send towards him.  Or maybe he will take control of them and point them back at you.  And then you and your people will all be dead.  It will be the end.  The entire human race will be wiped out.”

Brother Stone pressed his hands together.  “Do you know how hard it would be to convince every mage in the world to stop summoning sprites?”

“I know,” I said.  If we could take out the Prophet, we might be able to win enough time to convince them to stop without causing massive upheaval.  The mages saw the sprites as the basis of their power.  Without them, they would be nothing.  “But if we don’t stop now, how long will it be before we are all destroyed?”

He had no answer.  “This is what we need to do,” I said.  “We have to gather every trapped sprite within the city and bring them here – no, to somewhere nearer the walls.  And then we have to call the Prophet and offer to free them, in exchange for a truce.”

“He could just free them and carry on with the war,” Brother Stone pointed out.

I nodded.  It wasn't something I wanted to say aloud, but I was convinced that there was more humanity in the Prophet than he wanted to admit.  The sprites were creatures of pure energy, yet the Prophet seemed bound by some of the limitations of humanity – and he clearly enjoyed human pleasures.  I had a nasty feeling that he might be mad, at least by human standards.  He was the sum of two very different minds had been jammed together.  Madness would be the natural end result.

“But it will lure him out to where we can deal with him,” I said.  Or so I hoped.  I had the beginnings of a plan, yet I knew that far too much could go wrong.  And if I was wrong, there would be no time to correct my mistakes.  I’d be dead before the end of the day.  “I think he really believes what he said to me.  Offering him the chance to free every sprite within the city would be irresistible.”

“You’re gambling everything on one thought,” Brother Stone said.  “What if you’re wrong?”

“We all die,” I said.  “But we will die anyway.  Do you know how long the city can feed itself?  About a week at most.  I’d be surprised if we didn't have food riots within the next two days.  As we grow weaker, disease will spread from person to person, slaughtering hundreds of thousands indiscriminately.  The city will become a charnel house and the few remaining defenders will be unable to hold the walls.  They’ll break in and slaughter the remaining defenders, before they launch an orgy of looting, raping and burning.  The city will be destroyed and once it is gone, they will layer the ground with salt.  There will be no resurrection, no return to civilisation.  And that will be the end.”

I pushed closer.  “They will wipe out all of the city-states, all of the hundreds of cities struggling to survive as the land grows ever more parched and unsuitable for farming.  The city-folk will die in their millions, some quickly through war, others slowly through starvation or thirst.  Disease and deprivation will stalk the land.  The tribes will survive, at first, until they discover that the land is slowly dying around them.  They will be unable to save themselves and will vanish within the sand.  And that will be the end.

“Maybe, years from now, explorers from other dimensions will look into yours and wonder what went wrong.  They would find nothing, but ruined cities – if they are not buried under the sand.  And maybe they will be very lucky and they will discover a handful of desperate survivors, struggling to survive while making magic with spells that no longer work.  And that will be...”

“I understand,” he said, sharply.  He stared down at the table for a long moment.  “I will organise the gathering of the sprites.  I will disband the mages.  And if you are wrong...”

“We will all die,” I said, flatly.  “You’d better pray that I am not wrong.”

***
“There are times when I wonder,” Tarfanaxe said, four days later, “if you’re a messenger of the god or simply crazy.”

“I know too much to be crazy,” I assured him.  It hadn’t been an easy four days.  I was mildly surprised that none of the assassination attempts hadn’t come close to killing me.  The only surprise had been a sprite that had appeared out of nowhere and launched himself at me, only to vanish as I freed it from its bonds.  I guessed that one of the mages had decided it would be better to kill me rather than give up his power.  Why not?  The slave-owners of Dixie had been equally reluctant to give up their slaves until forced to do so.  “And the gods bless slaves who find their freedom.”

We were standing on top of my house, looking towards the South Gate.  At my command, newer walls had been drawn up in positions where they would block the barbarians if the Prophet failed to take my bait.  I was sure that the Prophet had joined his army – I could feel the tight mass of power surrounding him, even at such a distance – and time was running out.  Everything depended on him coming in through the South Gate.  His power, used offensively, could probably result in all of the walls coming down.  Joshua blew and the walls of Jericho came tumbling down...

I pushed that thought aside and concentrated on the plan.  We’d already hollowed out the ground under and before the warehouse and my students were packing it with gunpowder.  I’d have preferred C4 or even a baby nuke, but neither would exist on this world for decades, at the very least.  Besides, if Guy Fawkes had believed he could blow up the Houses of Parliament in Britain with barrels of gunpowder, I could use it to blow up the Prophet.  The real danger was collateral damage to the city.  Of course, it would be a moot point if failed to prepare ourselves in time.

“They do,” Tarfanaxe agreed.  “They certainly blessed you.”

I looked up at him and saw his smile.  He was right.  I’d been a slave and now I was the richest and most influential woman the city had ever seen.  Even if I died in the coming battle, my legacy would live on, reshaping the entire world.  I felt, once again, the odd sense of disconnection from the world.  I had been volunteered for the mission, yet I no longer resented it.  I had changed an entire world.

“One more blessing and then I would die happy,” I said.  I looked over towards the Inner Walls.  Smoke from barbarian campfires drifted up in the distance, mocking us as the wind blew cooking smells over the city.  The barbarians had captured the cows, pigs and sheep that had graced the farms they’d overrun and were gorging themselves upon the meat.  It was an extremely wasteful process, one I suspected the Prophet was encouraging.  The famine that would follow would force them to raid other cities or starve to death.  “And if we succeed...”

I pushed that thought aside as well and took his hand.  It was odd how reassuring I found his touch, but...well, he had saved my life at great personal risk.  In some ways, he’d risked the entire city for me and...I wondered if I was starting to fall in love with him.  Perhaps it would be worth the risk of having children here – hell, I was sure that my father would approve of him.

“Come on,” I said.  His hand felt too warm to release.  “We have to go speak to the traitor.”

I sensed his reluctance, but I wasn't about to let go of his hand.  He followed me down the stairs and into my living room.  Councillor Joralan sat there, flanked by two burly guards.  The guards were there for his protection more than anything else, as the remainder of the city hadn't taken the Crone’s judgement too well.  Legally, he was free and my responsibility; practically, he’d almost been lynched twice when outraged citizens had tried to take matters into their own hands.  I wasn't sure what I was going to do with him if he survived his final task.  Perhaps I’d give him a horse and tell him to find a new home within the desert, somewhere where his past wouldn't catch up with him.

“Councillor,” I said.  He looked up, his dead eyes fixed on me.  His title was a joke now, for he would never sit on the council again.  He’d been lucky not to have been enslaved, or executed  by his outraged peers.  Or, for that matter, thrown to the mob.  “It’s time for you to repay your debt.”

I saw his expression and smiled.  Twisting the screws gave me a certain kind of pleasure, even though I should have known better.  I could work with someone who didn't like me because he didn't agree with me, but a traitor...in the network of families, relations and obligations that made up the Great Houses, a traitor and oath-breaker could be devastating.  No wonder they’d been so prepared to make a spectacle out of his death...if the network that governed the city became so corrupt, nothing would work properly.

“I want you to go to the barbarian camp,” I said.  I didn’t miss his whimper.  The barbarians had less use for a failure than the Great Houses.  “Tomorrow, you will be lowered over the wall and be sent to them.  You will be taken to their leader, their Prophet.  Once you are facing him, you will tell him that you have been sent with a message from the Lady Alex.”

I smiled.  I’d been careful to keep any knowledge of the real plan from him, just in case the Prophet could read his mind.  “You will tell him that we have assembled every sprite in the city and will hand them over to him so he can free them personally.  We will open the South Gate and he may enter the city, with as large an escort as he feels he needs.  And then we will discuss a truce with him.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he said, finally.  His face had turned white.  “But they will kill me!”

“Maybe,” I agreed.  I leaned forward, pushing as much menace into my voice as I could.  “On the other hand, the people inside the city will definitely kill you if I hand you over to them...”

He stared at me, and then lowered his eyes.  I was sure that he was already planning to betray me to the Prophet, but it wouldn't matter.  Whatever he told the Prophet, the Prophet would sense the presence of his kindred and come to their rescue.  I hoped.

“Take him to the gatehouse,” I ordered the guards.  They nodded grudgingly.  “Give him a good meal and then let him sleep.  We’ll send him to the barbarians in the morning.”

I watched as he was hustled out of the room and then pulled Tarfanaxe into a second room.  I’d prepared it as a guest room, but with so much confusion I doubted anyone could notice or care if I used it myself once or twice.  He looked surprised as I pushed him onto the bed.  I didn't mind.  He was cute when he looked surprised.

“This could be our last night alive,” I said.  Oddly, I felt nervous now, my thoughts spinning around.  Was this a terrible mistake?  “I...”

I kissed him, hard.  He stared at me, and then kissed me back.  I no longer cared about the dangers of unprotected sex here.  I just wanted to be held.  He fell back onto the bed and I climbed on top of him, barely pausing to breathe as I kissed him again and again.  His hands came up to hold my breasts as I pulled at his pants, struggling to undo them as my passion grew.  And then I was lost in pleasure as I felt him thrusting into me...

Afterwards, he held me all night.  I barely slept.  My thoughts kept spinning around and around, mocking me.  I was no longer a virgin, I could be pregnant and...god alone knew how he would treat me tomorrow.  I laughed at myself as I drifted back into a restless sleep.  There was no point in worrying about the future, not now.  

Tomorrow would decide everything.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I had never considered myself a particularly emotional girl.  Perhaps it was my tomboy upbringing, or the fact that I preferred to solve matters on my own rather than asking for help, but I had always been a little contemptuous of how some girls – perhaps most girls – broke down into tears over affairs of the heart.  They seemed to act out a script that echoed through their bodies and souls, where they became terrifyingly jealous of their boyfriends and, at the same time, worried endlessly that they weren't perfect for him.  I’d seen girls my age fretting about their weight and trying to make themselves throw up in the bathroom, or complaining about how their boyfriends treated them, to which I had always replied that they should stop rewarding bad behaviour.  If they picked their dates from boys who treated them well, all other boys would eventually copy the behaviour of the successful boys – the ones who got to go to bed with the girls.

My words seemed to haunt me as I dressed the following morning.  I had never placed much stock in virginity, even though I’d guarded mine carefully.  Now I had been deflowered, I felt oddly unsure of my position in the world, even uncertain that I had done the right thing.  It hadn't hurt as much as I had expected – perhaps that had been because I had practically forced myself on him – yet...I felt different and I didn't understand how, or why.  And now that I had given myself up to him, would he still want me or would he dump me for someone from the same social class.

I told myself to shut up, firmly.  I was being just as much of an idiot as those girls I had mocked.  Fine; I was no longer a virgin.  So what?  I was still wealthy and powerful in this world, independent of anyone.  It hardly mattered to my position if he married me or had second thoughts after discovering that I was new to the bedchamber and didn't know all the tricks.  On the other hand, men were remarkably easy to please.  Or was that just the cynic in me talking?

We exchanged few words over breakfast.  He seemed to have problems meeting my eyes, even though I could see that he was dying to start bragging of his conquest to his friends.  That’s something else women should have dealt with years ago, I noted; a man who loses his virginity is a hero, but a woman who does so outside marriage is a slut.  Male double standards had always annoyed me; perhaps, here, I could reshape feminism in my own image.  Now that the world was on the path to technology, women would be far more competitive in the workplace and able to stand up to men.  My father would have been bitterly amused.  If the freemen here insisted on wearing their swords everywhere, they’d love revolvers and whatever other handguns we could produce in the next few years.

Once our somewhat awkward breakfast was over, Tarfanaxe and I walked through the city to the South Gate.  The streets were deserted, as we’d ordered the City Guard to evacuate the entire area.  I wasn’t entirely sure just how big a bang I’d get for the small fortune I’d invested in the project, so I’d decided to be safe.  I didn't want to accidentally blow up half the city.  Our two guards were awaiting us, along with the messenger.  Councillor Joralan looked as if he hadn't slept all night.  I checked in with him, reminded him of what he had to tell the Prophet, and then ordered him lowered over the wall.  I’d wondered if the barbarians would take the opportunity to put a few dozen arrows in him – they'd taken to firing arrows over the wall at random, which didn’t hit many people but scared hell out of the population – but it seemed that they weren't going to kill the bastard.  The guards who’d lowered him over had reported that the barbarians had grabbed him at once and marched him away into the distance, towards the spinning whorl of power I could feel.  The Prophet seemed to be expecting him.

The thought didn't bother me as much as I had feared.  I knew that everyone who knew what I actually had in mind wouldn't be speaking about it to the empty air.  Any sprites prowling through the city shouldn’t – if we were lucky – pick up on what we were doing.  They didn't seem to understand the concept of technology in any case, which meant that they should be surprised by my plan.  And if I were wrong, we might still win.  It all depended on the Prophet taking the bait.

“We could have given him an escort,” Brother Stone said, when we returned to the gatehouse.  “He might just decide to break free and run...”

I shrugged.  “Run where?”  I asked.  “They’d get him before he got more than a metre from anywhere they wanted him to be.”  I had to smile at the mental image.  “And besides, we’re meant to be offering them every sprite in the city.”

He scowled.  I knew that it had taken hours of arguing to convince the mages to give up their sprites.  The Brotherhood, once it had been convinced by Brother Stone, had taken the lead in hunting down any remaining sprites, but I had a nasty suspicion that some had remained undiscovered as mages scurried to hide them from the searchers.  Once the battle was over – if it came down to a battle – we’d have to start passing laws banning the summoning and imprisoning of sprites.  By then, we should have enough technology developed to replace them, although I knew that it was going to be painful.  The mages wouldn't want to give up the source of their power so easily.

An hour ticked by slowly.  I tried to avoid thinking about what could go wrong; the Prophet could have refused my bait, he could have decided to kill Councillor Joralan before the traitor managed to gabber out the message, he could have decided to head to one of the other cities instead...the possibilities were endless.  I worried about them in lieu of worrying about my future life in Padway.  I’d had unprotected sex.  My father had insisted that I learn about sex and I knew that a girl could get pregnant on her first time.  I had no reason to think that I was biologically incompatible with a person born on this world, so...I might be pregnant.  The thought was terrifying, in a way.  A bastard child had rights in this world – they were more progressive than some of my world’s early civilisations in some ways – but a bastard child wouldn't have access to the higher levels of society.  The father would have to acknowledge the child publically before he or she could claim a position...

I pushed that thought aside as I felt magic stirring in the distance.  It built rapidly, until I was almost cowering down from the invisible glare.  Brother Stone and the other mages who had arrived to oversee the collecting and delivering of the imprisoned sprites could feel it too; even though my pain, I realised that they wouldn't doubt me anymore.  The sheer level of power blazing towards them was far beyond anything they’d ever seen personally.  I doubted that any of them would willingly risk summoning a sprite again, at least not for a few years.

The Prophet hung in the air, gliding forward in a slow, stately motion.  He was surrounded by a dazzling nimbus of power, so powerful that even the untalented people on the walls could sense the magic crackling around him.  It was easy to see, now, why the tribesmen had hailed him as a living god.  Part of me wanted to get down on my knees and prostrate myself in front of him.  I barely noticed the small army of barbarian warriors escorting him, as if their presence was needed.  They seemed pallid compared to his glowing form.

“By the gods,” Brother Stone breathed.  He seemed to have recovered from the sudden impact of so much magic.  It wasn't so easy for me to recover.  I could feel his presence, even when I squeezed my eyes shut and turned away.  His image seemed to dance in front of my eyes.  “He’s magnificent.”

“He’s dangerous,” I grated.  The pain was rapidly turning into a mighty headache.  It had to end quickly, before I found myself completely useless.  My eyes were burning, as if I were staring into the sun.  “Sound the trumpets, now!”

At my command, passed on by my escorts, the trumpets sounded the warning.  The South Gate was opened and the walls were evacuated.  The soldiers would fall back to the defence lines we’d built within the city, just in case something went badly wrong.  I looked up at Brother Stone, and then at Tarfanaxe.  Neither of them wanted to run and leave the Prophet to his work.  I had to force them to start moving as the glowing light enveloped the gatehouse.  The works of man somehow seemed puny and futile against the living power shimmering through the air.  When it faded, when the Prophet stepped into the city, the gatehouse crumbled to dust.  Even though he was standing on the ground, I could feel his power beating on the air.  Every step he took sent new waves of magic shimmering through the city.  

We’d cleared buildings out of his way, allowing him a clear walk to the warehouse where the sprites were stored, awaiting their brother’s coming.  I found myself wondering if his power would warp reality so badly that the plan would fail completely.  The mages had never wielded power on such a scale, but then they’d never really understood what they were doing.  A sprite, a creature born and composed of magic, would understand it far better than grasping humans, who lacked even the scientific method.  What nightmares could he unleash upon the world?  I heard a distant rumble and saw the sandstorms moving in the distance.  The magical shield the mages had raised over the city no longer existed.  If the Prophet called the sandstorms to him, the entire city would be swamped.  And all I could do was wait and pray.

“I HEAR YOU, MY KINDRED,” the Prophet said.  He spoke in a quiet voice that boomed in my head, in the head of everyone within the city.  I covered my ears, but it was pointless.  He seemed to be speaking directly into my mind.  “I HEAR YOUR PAIN AND SUFFERING, TRAPPED WITHIN MATERIAL AND ENSLAVED TO THE WILL OF FLESH-BASED BEINGS.  I HAVE COME TO FREE YOU.”

His mental voice grew louder.  “YOUR SUFFERING WILL BE REPAID A THOUSAND TIMES UPON THE RACE THAT IMPRISONED YOU.  THEIR PUNISHMENT WILL BE SWIFT AND TERRIBLE.  THIS WORLD WILL NO LONGER TOLERATE THEIR PRESENCE.  YOU WILL RETURN TO THE SHINING RIVERS OF THOUGHT AD MAGIC, WHILE I PUNISH THOSE WHO HELD YOU AND BOUND YOU TO THEIR WILL.  YOU SHALL BE FREE.  THEY WILL BE NOTHING.”

“Start the timer,” I ordered.  My head was still ringing.  Dear God – if he could do that, what else could he do?  Perhaps he was a god after all, or a devil.  The thought threatened to overwhelm me before I pushed it away.  The Prophet was no god, just an immensely powerful creature.  I refused to consider that there might be no difference between one and the other at such a level.  “Start everyone moving back, now.”

I didn't need to give the order.  Panic was spreading through the streets.  Hardened soldiers and guardsmen, street traders and hookers, refugees and noblemen...they were all fleeing.  I saw thousands of people trying to get away, even though they knew that there was no such thing as safety.  Others were fleeing to the temples, prostrating themselves in front of their gods and begging for divine mercy.  The gods were silent.  They seemed to be less real, somehow, than the maddened sprite walking the earth.

“It’s done,” Tarfanaxe said.  The timer had taken several days to construct and I had my doubts about it, but I wasn't going to ask someone to kill themselves for me.  “Come on, you have to get out of here.”

“I need to watch,” I said, firmly.  The Prophet was walking forward now, his glowing eyes fixed upon the warehouse.  I could almost feel his thoughts shimmering out, pressing against my skull.  “You get running...”

He slapped my bottom, hard.  I spun around and he grabbed me, picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.  I shouted abuse and curses in his ear, but he ignored me and started to run.  It occurred to me that I could fight, that I could break free of him, yet that would doom him to die along with me.  I hadn't realised how calmly I’d accepted the possibility of my own death until he ensured that I wouldn't die that day.

“YES, I HEAR YOU,” the Prophet said.  I almost cried out as his voice boomed straight into my skull.  It took me a moment to realise that he was talking to the imprisoned sprites.  “I HEAR YOUR CRIES.  I COME TO FREE YOU”

My watch, the last thing I had from my world, began to bleep an alarm.  “Get down, now,” I said, sharply.  Tarfanaxe put me down, pushed me to the ground and lay on top of me.  My mind produced a sudden comic image of him trying to seduce me in the final seconds before the world ended, perhaps trying to slip into me from behind, just before the Prophet spoke again.

“WAIT, WHAT IS THIS?”  He asked.  “WHAT IS THE DARKNESS THAT PRESSES AGAINST YOUR MIND?  WHAT IS THE...?”

The explosion went off like a baby nuke.  I felt the entire ground heave and, for a terrifying moment, pieces of rubble and debris crashed down over the city.  Tarfanaxe rolled off me when I kicked him, not gently, and I sat up.  A colossal mushroom cloud was forming where the South Gate and the warehouse had once been.  My strange talent, overburdened by the presence of the Prophet, seemed to clear at the same moment.  The Prophet was gone, along with all the other sprites.  I knew that they hadn't been destroyed, but released, sent back to their own dimension.  It took everything I had to pull myself to my feet and peer around, smiling to myself.  I silently wished the sprites well on their trip back home.  If we were lucky, no one from this world would ever call on them again.

I heard Tarfanaxe’s gasp as he took in the sheer scale of the damage.  The blast had torn the wall down and wrecked hundreds of buildings.  A temple, one devoted to the god of night’s dreaming, was slowly collapsing under the shockwave.  I could hear the cries of thousands of injured people, screaming for help that might never come.  My students, the medical guild and what remained of the City Guard would help them, if they could.  I knew that far too many of them were going to die.

There was no sign of any of the barbarian warriors who had accompanied the Prophet into the city.  Those who had remained in place when the Prophet started to speak into their minds would have been vaporised.  I’d planned the blast as best as I could, but I’d had to use as much powder as possible, knowing that we would never get a second shot.  I’d given the word ‘overkill’ a whole new meaning, at least on this world.  I wondered what they’d make of nukes, once they developed them for themselves.  Perhaps I would still be around to see it.

I kept walking towards the steaming crater, reaching out as best as I could with my talent.  There seemed to be no magic left, apart from fading shimmers that vanished even as I looked for them.  The heat deterred me from going any closer, but I was sure that the Prophet was gone.  He’d been bound to the human body he’d inhabited and it had been blown to smithereens.  His followers seemed to be fleeing as fast as they could, which was lucky for us.  If they’d launched an attack through the gap in the wall, while everyone was still running around in panic, it would have been impossible to stop.

In the distance, I could see the sandstorms slowly spinning out of existence.  Perhaps this world’s weather patterns would start returning to normal...no, that wasn't likely to happen, not now and not ever.  The sprites might be gone, but their effects remained behind.  The vast deserts that had replaced the seas wouldn't fade away, not now.  Humanity’s future would still be in doubt.  But perhaps they had a chance now.

I looked up as Tarfanaxe came stumbling after me, reaching out for my hand.  I took it and I was surprised at how good it felt just to hold his hand.  He didn't press me further, he just stood by my side as I watched the sandstorms fading away.  Once we’d fixed the city, we could start working on the farms and clearing the sand away.  And then...I knew just how many things we could develop in the next few years.  I’d be busy for the rest of my life.

“Lady Alex,” Tarfanaxe said, finally.  “Will you marry me?”

I almost burst out laughing, but I quelled it with a mighty effort.  His face was completely sincere.  If I’d laughed, it would have hurt him badly.  Men aren't any more emotional than women, but they think differently.  Men!

“I will,” I said.  I kissed him, as hard as I could.  “But I’m afraid I will be a difficult wife.”

And so we began the rest of our lives.

Chapter Thirty-Three

In my later days, they called me the Oracle.  I tried to discourage them, but they insisted.  Half of them came to believe that I was a messenger from the gods; others, more practically, believed that I was merely a genius.  If I had known, would I have stayed if I could have gone back to my world?

***
Ten days after the Prophet was banished back to his home dimension, we were married in the sight of the gods.  I’d worried that the aristocracy would suspect that I was pregnant – I wasn't – but it seemed that such quick marriages were far from uncommon here.  The maidens who served the Crone ensured that I was prepared for the wedding, while Tarfanaxe and his shield-bearers prepared for his appearance.  I had my doubts, but they all drained away when I saw him in the wedding outfit, decked out like a golden centurion.  The ceremony was thankfully brief, yet we couldn't run off together just yet.  There was an endless banquet afterwards, followed by boring speeches from everyone who was anyone.  I was almost tempted to offer to divide out my fortune between them, if they would only just shut up.

That night, we shared our official wedding night and then went to a villa some distance from the city for our honeymoon.  I was amused to discover that this world shared the same tradition, although with some refinements of their own.  We were escorted by nine young men and nine young women from the Grand Families, who ensured that everything was ready for us before leaving us alone.  There was also a small army of servants to cook, clean and generally run errands for us.  I told myself not to get used to this level of luxury.  It wasn't going to last.

I like to think that our first child was conceived on our honeymoon.  It shouldn't have been too surprising.  This world didn't have the pill, or any other form of contraception apart from very primitive and unsafe condoms.  I’d taught my students how the feminine cycle actually worked, but it proved to be too difficult to maintain the rhythm method.  It was only after I’d missed my period for the second time in a row that I began to wonder if I’d fallen pregnant.  And then I had to convince him, and my students, to stop treating me as if I were made of china.  Men!

The College continued to expand under my supervision.  It wasn't long before we had satellite colleges established in nine of the nearest cities, with apprentices and students competing to see who could be the first to make another breakthrough.  I worried that they were too dependent upon me – once we cracked the paper mystery, it was a short step to the printing press and then a proper set of libraries – but my new status as an Oracle seemed to help them from being too overawed.  The oracles they recalled from history, men and women imbued with gifts from the gods, had never given precise information on anything.  I kept my sceptical thoughts to myself and tolerated their near-worship, reluctantly.  

I was six months into pregnancy – a remarkably easy pregnancy by the standards of the city, but hard enough for me – when I had a visitor.  Rafik looked older than I recalled and he seemed surprised to see that I was pregnant, even though it was common knowledge throughout the city.  He wanted to ask me to use my influence to halt the killing of the tribesmen, even though I had no reason to wish them well.  The armies of the cities were harrying the tribesmen heavily, pushing them to the brink of extinction with ever-more advanced weapons.  Two of my students had produced a version of the Gatling gun that was more than suited to its task.  The tribes were on the verge of being exterminated.

It took almost no time to decide on an answer.  If the tribes agreed to change, to abandon the social structure that I had so detested while I was their slave, I would use my influence in their favour.  Rafik didn't like that at all, but I didn't care any longer.  He’d enslaved me and pushed Brother Stone into using magic to make the slavery impossible to escape, at least until someone had tried to rape me.  And besides, I considered their culture sick and evil.  If they wanted me to help them, the least they could do was adopt civilised habits.

Back on my world, there were people who would have been appalled at my decision.  Perhaps I would have been horrified as well, but then I’d been a slave.  I’d seen it from the inside, as someone who had no choice but to submit, and it had shocked me.  Very few back home would have been enslaved, not by culture or biology, at least in America.  And that led to them believing that it was better than it was.  I saw it as an odd kind of racism, perhaps even a perverted form of sexism.  Centuries in the future, I was sure that some revisionist historians would accuse me of a form of genocide no less unpleasant than the actual genocide that would be perpetrated if the tribes didn't change their habits.  I couldn't have cared less about their view of me.  I would do what I saw fit and God would judge me.

The birth of my first child almost killed me.  I’d been fretting for weeks as she grew within me, and then I’d had to risk midwives from the Medical Guild, knowing just how much they didn't know.  Who would have willingly given birth in such conditions?  In the end, I was lucky – perhaps luckier than I deserved.  As I held my daughter to my breast, I told myself that I wouldn't become pregnant again.  I was wrong.

***
My second child came four years after the first.  By then, we had adopted some of the war orphans and raised them as part of the family.  It helped that Tarfanaxe wasn't precisely in line to the headship of his family, which meant that the blood relationship wasn't as important as who had raised them and who they knew.  Besides, I’d told them about the dangers of inbreeding, even to the point of copying Islam’s instructions and building on them.  It was now illegal for a person to wed anyone closer than second cousin.  I wasn't sure that that was safe, but there was very little choice.  Most of the Great Houses were related to one another in some way.

The Colleges had continued to grow.  I’d changed the very bedrock of society when I’d introduced reading and writing, even though few of them had seen it coming.  It was suddenly much easier for a freeman to rise quickly through the social strata and assume a place among the merchant princes who dominated trade to the other cities.  The aristocracy had tried to fight back, using their control over much of the land in the city to slow down the pace of reform, but it had proven increasingly irrelevant as freemen started to build factory complexes outside the city.  I knew that the changes had only just begun, yet I’d been careful to keep that to myself.  The aristocracy would try to avoid the sucker punch if they knew it was coming.

They hadn't believed in the railroads until the first steam engine actually worked, followed rapidly by a whole series of radically improved designs.  The freemen laid the first tracks from one city to another, creating a whole network that bound the cities together.  I’d watched the first war with the weapons I’d created in horror, but as the cities found themselves in closer contact with one another, it seemed that war would be inevitable.  Or, perhaps, some form of political union.  The concept of the nation-state was just entering its infancy.  I told myself that it would all work out and did my best to shepherd it along.  It wasn't easy.

The second pregnancy went very wrong from the start.  I cursed – again – my lack of knowledge as pain threatened to tear me apart.  We’d created a basic anaesthetic, but it was barely enough to deaden the pain slightly, not when I felt that the child was clawing his way out of my body.  I screamed and cursed everyone from the gods to Tarfanaxe himself and fainted.  When I awoke, there was a child at my breast and blood between my thighs.  I knew what it meant at a very basic level.  No more children, now or ever.  It was a miracle that my little boy had survived to be born.

He was a bonnie child, although he was weaker than most children as he grew up.  I told myself that it didn't matter, because he was brilliant.  By the time he was seven years old, he was playing with toys and devices I’d brought home from the College, learning how they worked and trying to improve them.  His sister took very good care of him, but as she grew older she decided that she wanted to be more like her father.  Tarfanaxe had gained a seat on the council – it was a sore spot between us that I had had a seat ever since the defeat of the Prophet, the first non-Priestess to hold a seat – and she was determined to follow in his footsteps.  I’d been careful with reform – there was entrenched opposition to allowing women the vote – but she intended to challenge it.  I prayed for her safety and success.  

Brother Stone had undertaken the task of enforcing the new ban on sprites being summoned against their will.  The entire city had seen the Prophet and there was very little opposition to the ban, at least inside the city.  Outside it, the ban was often ignored, particularly in cities that had never heard of the Prophet or the barbarians until the railroad was extended out to their land.  They chose to ignore the ban, even with the Brotherhood transformed into its enforcing arm.  Once we had a working telegraph up and running, most of the cities reluctantly accepted the ban.  Others chose to ignore it.  Only time would tell.

***
As an old lady of the city, I stand in the watchtower and look down on Padway.  To the south, as darkness falls over the land, I see the lights of the factory complex built to provide locomotives for the railroad.  The great industrial magnates – descendents of freemen of the city – finally won voting reform, ensuring that everyone received a vote.  I’d helped the council to write the first constitution, one that had both created a democracy and placed limits on it.  It was my proudest achievement.

To the north, I see the airfield where the students are experimenting with powered flight.  What little I could tell them was enough to start their minds thinking along the right lines, allowing them to design aircraft that looked hideously unsafe, yet practical.  I’d watched the first test flight that actually succeeded, followed by improved aircraft that flew over the deserts and over to what, in my world, would have been called Britain.  The railroads had been extended to North America through the endless deserts, although it would be a long time before planes flew towards the distant continent.

I turn and look towards the west, where shines have been raised to those who have died since the end of the war against the Prophet.  Tarfanaxe’s ashes are buried there, along with many others from his family who fought in the war.  I missed him, even though we’d had some hard times in our later years.  We’d squabbled more than a married couple should, for we had had very different upbringings.  How could we not have fought from time to time?  And yet I missed him.  My children were married now and producing grandchildren of their own, my other legacy to the city.  I like to think that my father, their grandfather, would have been proud of them.  

Before I walk home, I look to the east.  The College stands there, towering over the city, home of a thousand scientists and researchers.  They have long since surpassed what I taught them and no longer need my half-remembered science lessons.  I am still the Chairwoman of the College, but younger minds handle the changes better than an elderly woman.  I watch from my chair as they progress in leaps and bounds, fighting to hide my pride.  Perhaps the College is my greatest achievement, not the constitution.  They will carry on my legacy long after I am gone.

My memories of my world are faded now, lost in the mists of time.  Was there ever a world where my father had lived and worked?  Was my arrival on this world a real story, or had I made it up one day and come to believe that it was real?  It was the one thing I could never discuss with my children.  Too many people believed that I had had some form of divine assistance as it was.  Let them embrace their father’s heritage and forget mine.  It would save them from embracing legends.

I take one final look up into the air and then start walking back down the stairs, to where the carriage waits for me.  I know that I will not live much longer, that I will not see the ultimate result of my work.  It seems somehow fitting now they have surpassed me.  They no longer need me, or my legend.  Everything I have created will go on without me.  I changed an entire world.

How many people can say that?

When the pain comes, when the darkness that hovers at the back of my mind reaches out for me, I embrace it.

The End