FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The cast of characters expands as Jon makes his escape from the city of Jaikot, picks up a new job, a new home, some new friends... and a very old way of relieving stress.

Chapter 5 of The Road to Mandalay takes us on a bit of a roadtrip, introduces a few more characters, and explores Jon's evolving relationship with his subjects and his servant, the barbarian Kajrazi. Smut returns! As always, thanks to the help of my editor the inimitable Spudz as well as all you others who know who you are :) Thanks guys

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

The Road to Mandalay, by Rob Baird -- Chapter 5, "Beyond the Pale"

---

Previously, on _the Road to Mandalay:_

Strong forces in the colonial city of Jaikot have aligned against the Colonial Governor, Jonham, Lord Gyldrane. Rescat Carregan, the industrialist from his homeland, has allied with the strongest caste in the city -- the Reth, who head the Merchant's Guild. When a fight breaks out, and a few civilians are killed, Jon moves to have Rescat Carregan arrested...

... But she's one step ahead of him. With Carregan's backing, the Reth launch an industrial coup with a handful of other powerful castes. Captain Vanao Barut of the city guard buys him just enough time to escape, and Lord Gyldrane flees from the city with two loyal guardsmen and his servant, the wild mountain-dwelling Kajrazi Kasharman.

Temporary shelter in a farming town reveals that Jon's assistant Raiza Serapuri has been secretly redistributing the province's funds, performing infrastructure work and buying the loyalty of the underprivileged. As he makes his way east to the safety of Fort Shandur -- outpost of the still-loyal Royal Frontier Corps -- Jon must decide who is on his side as he awaits word from the government of his homeland and his remaining allies...

And now...

Over the following two days I learned that Urja Harruk had been prescient -- or that he had contrived to tell others that we were coming. I hoped it was not the latter: I could see that the muntjac would've fancied himself a doer of good deeds, but it sharply reduced the amount of time it would take for Rescat Carregan and the Rethaya to find out where I'd gone.

Either way, though, it meant that we found reasonably warm welcome in the farming towns along our route. The second night, we stayed in a plantation-owner's guest house; lunch the day after was taken at the home of the mayor of Pad Kaliri Township, a tiger who regaled us with tales of the town's former glory.

"But these days... we've managed to cobble something together -- well enough for the harvest, at least. The next year..."

He had spread before us a sumptuous feast, ordered from a pliant serving lad who seemed more awed by our presence than anything. Pausing before a bite of some honeyed cake, I tilted my head. "The next year?"

"Who knows?"

This ambiguity kept the cake hovering tantalizingly close to my muzzle while I prodded him further. "What do you mean?"

"The raiders have been getting worse. I've asked the local guard for help, but, of course..." The tiger shook his head. "Not that we're ungrateful,kajja Jonham; far from it. But we can't keep our stock safe, nor our caravans. If we were Rethaya, we could hire Ellagdran mercenaries to guard against them..."

"Raiders from the mountains?" He hadn't batted an eye at Kajrazi's presence, which I found a little unusual.

"No. We have no blood quarrel with the_araimuri_. These are our kin -- highwaymen, roving bandits... I'm afraid it's easier to steal a crop of cotton and sell it downriver than it is to make your own. Once it was that our own countryfolk would never have turned to these pursuits. But everyone is desperate now, kajja. Desperate and... hungry."

My next bite of cake was more mindfully taken. "You lack the soldiers to man the pickets? Your town guard can't make up the difference?"

"Pad Kaliri is three hundred people,kajja. Half of them old men or children -- though not many of those. Everyone is in the fields. We have no one to hold a pike; no horses, no powder, no shot."

And I wanted every able-bodied man of my own at Fort Shandur, but I did not tell the tiger that. "I'll see what I can do, but you know it's... the politics of the provincial capital are complicated at the moment."

"I know. And we will send aid to you as soon as we can. When the harvest is over, perhaps -- we're thankful for what you've done already,kajja. Replacing the granary roof before this monsoon -- the new mill... yes. When the harvest is over. Twenty men at least -- they're not trained, but maybe they can carry water for your soldiers..."

As much as it heartened me to think that I had allies in the rural parts of Nishran, it would not do to let the hinted supposition stand: "I'm sure they won't be needed. This will be dealt with well before harvest time. Just need to let them cool off a bit..."

Hopefully that would be true. Hopefully everything I'd said would be true. With some distance, it was possible to be a little less pessimistic; the scent of burning buildings no longer threatened my muzzle, and the horse beneath me was putting a greater distance from my tribulations with every sure-footed step.

"You seem more at ease out here,kajja Gyldrane," Reth Modin observed. "In the country. On horseback."

"It's less complicated. A horse may try to throw you, but at least she won't lie to you first. And I've never liked cities..."

"Where from?" Shanwir twisted himself around in the saddle to look at me. "Where you from?"

"I'm from a place called Dalchauser, on the borderlands -- in the Iron Kingdom we call it_the Marches_. The territory between the heart of the Empire and the frontiers. Much like Nishran, actually -- although we don't have mountaineers like Kajrazi. Desert types, or those weird forest people. I've only seen them once or twice... living, that is. The whole thing is guarded by a series of forts and walls -- the Pale. Beyond the Pale is... mad wilderness. Within, ah..." I sighed. "Within, the warm comforts of the Iron Kingdom."

"Do you miss civilization,kajja?"

That was a word I had not used. "Ah, Mr. Reth, whether Dalchauser counts as civilization is a question for the ages. They taught us a ballad, once: I'll sing a song of Chauserlin, with her stony walls and her stately halls; tell me, traveler, have you been to that town of great acclaim?"

"A dramatic exaggeration?"

I chuckled, and started to actually sing, in my unpolished voice. "She guards the edge of the Iron Pale -- that stately fort, with her noble court -- so listen traveler, to my tale of how she earned her name." Akal Shanwir was watching me curiously. I grinned, for the first time in what felt like years. "In Chauserlin I've found a bar, and the finest beer in the world is here. Amber whiskey by the jar, and it hardly ever blinds ye..."

I had been to the pub, the Second Thorn, that inspired the song. At least, the bartender claimed that it had -- doubtless the ballad's author had not meant this as a point of pride, but we of the Marches are strange folk. I was not consciously aware that I was letting my keenly guarded Tabisthalian accent slip into something coarser. That, as we cantered eastward, I might well have been on one of the friendly rides of my youth, with my boyhood friends.

"An' in Chauserlin the sweetest maid is a lassie fair wi' silken hair. A lovely week in 'er arms I stayed -- an' t'were only thirty shillin'." I paused to let Kajrazi help Shanwir with the exchange rate. "An' later on I met 'er ma; a handsome wench on the brothel bench -- wi' th' biggest cock y'ever sa -- an' cor but she were willin'!"

The other verses, as I worked through them, sang the praises of the town guard, and the priests, and the farmers, and the nobility. Of which I was, of course, one -- though the song was really about a great-great ancestor, somewhere in the mists of time.

"My home like that also," Akal Shanwir snickered, when I was finished. "Many jokes."

"That so?"

"What the first thing you do when taking the most noble Akal in Marigar to dinner? Untie him from his hitching post." And another, the bulk of which Kajrazi had to translate. Shanwir managed the punchline on his own: "Then man said, 'Well,kajja Akal, thank you for the money, but... you supposed to ride donkey into Marigar for that.' Silly Akalaya, yes..."

"Aye, but yer house done right wi'--" I coughed, and started over. "Yes, but your house has done alright by you, with your posting to the guard. Captain Vanao respects you, at least."

"Well," he allowed again. "I am best marksman in Jaikot. Maybe in all of Dhamishaya. Nobody challenges. Not after I cut Tukyapitti's throat."

"I wouldn't," I agreed. "No use for guns. You, Mr. Reth?"

The leopard shook his head. "I'm a man of the sword myself,kajja. Pistols have their place, but not in my hand."

"Kajrazi?"

The firefox looked at me, a little too apprehensively for my comfort. I suppose she still had the idea that she was supposed to be walking on eggshells. "Kajja?"

"You challenge Mr. Akal, here?"

A quick shake of her head. "No,kajja, of course not."

The dog grunted. "Your people great warriors, eh? Where your spirit,araimura?"

"I would not... wish to slight you, Mr. Akal," she said softly. "I am in any case not... familiar with your weapon. My people don't use small firearms like that."

"Musket, then?"

I did not intervene to save her from Shanwir's questioning, and presently she nodded her head. "Yes. Weapons for use at a greater distance. Muskets or longbows. At short range, I suppose... I suppose we are resigned to already being dead."

"Bad decision," the dog snorted. "Kajja Jonham, we stop perhaps? To water the horses?"

We had been riding for most of a long afternoon. The next town, Ka Malak-Choti, marked the edge of the farming country. From the hill for which it was named, one could look north-east, to the barren scrublands, or back west to vibrant green jungle. Already, though, the trees were beginning to thin.

It was another hour's ride, perhaps, to the town. We would make it well before sunset, so I acceded, bringing the horses to a halt near a shallow brook at which they sipped lazily. Akal Shanwir took a swig from his canteen, and then sidled up to me. "Sir. I show you something?"

"Yes, Mr. Akal?"

He withdrew the curious revolving pistol from its holster, and gestured with it at a hapless tree twenty yards away from us. "This tree. He threaten you."

"Kajja Gyldrane is not the type to be threatened by a tree," Reth Modin said, looking up from his horse as he tended to her. "You should know that."

"But suppose he was.Kajja Gyldrane" -- I could tell Akal was not to the noble manner born; he did not always remember the 'kajja' -- "pull out his sword. Then there is swordfight. But, kajja... what if I am with you?" He returned the pistol to its holster, though he kept his paw close. "You tell me. 'Attack.'"

"Very well," I said, a little amused at the suggestion. "Mr. Akal, please attack that tree."

The stocky dog bent down, and when he stood again it was with a stone in his left paw. He weighed it, and then glanced behind him to the little creek. "Yes, sir," he growled -- and tossed the rock in a shallow arc over his shoulder.

Before I could question this -- before I could say, or do, or perceive one damned thing -- his paw darted like a striking viper for his holster. By the time I understood I was seeing the_santharad_ being removed, he was already firing it -- bulky paws belying the speed with which he cocked the gun, pulled the trigger; cocked again.

Then it was over: the last of the seven shots was ringing in my ear. Some eternities later, I heard the splash of the stone landing in the water. Akal Shanwir gave me a broken-toothed grin. "Done, sir."

When we examined the tree, we found four holes bored in its tender bark; three of the shots had evidently gone wild, but considering he had fired them in perhaps a second and a half I was willing to cut the dog some slack. It did, in the event, suggest a keen reason why Vanao Barut kept him employed: left to his own devices, with his weapon and his barbaric grin, he would've been a very effective highwayman.

"Where you shoot,araimura?" he called out to Kajrazi, when he saw that the firefox had been observing all this as well. "Where a mountaineer shoot? One hundred yard? One hundred fifty?"

"A volley at three hundred," she said. "At two hundred, you had better not miss..."

"You hit nothing at two hundred yards," he sneered.

"Not with one of those," she agreed.

My interest was piqued; I lifted one of my folded ears to the firefox's suggestion. "But a rifle?"

"Perhaps,kajja."

I did not like guns. They were loud, and barbaric, and ill-suited for the stealth of hunting or the quick work of close-quarters sword combat -- so I had never trained with firearms. But my sister had sent me a brand new rifle as a gift. It was this that I kept lashed to my pack, just in case I ever had cause to use one of the damned things.

I slipped it free, feeling its heft, and waved Kajrazi over. "Here."

"What?"

"You said you could shoot," I reminded her, though our conversation on the luxuries of nobility had been a very long time ago, indeed. "Show me."

"It's unloaded,kajja, and besides..."

"'Besides' what? Don't tell me you don't know how to follow orders, mountain girl. If I'd told you to suck me off you would've been on your knees by the second word." With my free paw, I tossed her one of the boxes of cartridges I had been given along with the rifle.

It was not an Ellagdran weapon; the Confederacy makes the best long arms on the continent, but national pride would not stand for the indignity of ordering from them, and this example had been made in Inverbar. It was, however, a needlegun in the Ellagdran style: breech-loaded, fed by carefully assembled cartridges, with a firing pin designed to pierce a percussion cap like the stinger of a hornet. Hence the name.

The Ellagdrans had invented it, and the Iron Throne had stolen it because, to be honest, that was something we were relatively good at. No one else on the continent used such things, and I was given to understand that there were subtle differences between a Confederate version and our own, though I was insufficiently educated to understand or care about them.

The firefox had caught the cartridges deftly, but she seemed more hesitant with the rifle itself. Perhaps because it was mine, perhaps because it was a weapon; perhaps because it was valuable. Perhaps because, at four and a half feet long, it was not conspicuously shorter than she was. Finally, she reached out one charcoal paw, and took the gun.

It was at this point that I became aware of two things. Firstly, I became aware of just how gorgeous the rifle was. Truly a work of art; the stock was of fine western hardwood, polished to a gleam. It was not affixed to the metal parts so much as it appeared to have embraced them, clinging as tightly and intimately as two newlyweds.

The barrel itself was dark, and swirls of subtle color led me to suspect a thaumaturgist had been involved in its construction. The receiver was engraved in fine detail as fine as any tapestry, retelling in geometric figures the circumstances that had led to the creation of the March of Dalchauser many generations before. Had the firearm been of Tabisthalia, or Harradon, or Kiathen, or any of the cities of the Old Kingdom, the carvings would've been picked out in gold and platinum and mother-of-pearl.

But it had been made for a Dalchauserman, and there was nothing so ornamental in its decoration. Only brutal, deadly simplicity, and here I came to the second thing I had noticed. Kajrazi had taken the rifle hesitantly, but in holding it, it was not possible to doubt that she knew how to use one. I recalled that she said she'd been taken from her clan at a very young age -- which meant they started training their children even younger. Disconcerting, that.

"Tree with crooked limb," Akal pointed. "Two hundred yards, you think?"

"Probably," I agreed. "What do you say, Kajrazi?"

The firefox sat, which did not do her diminutive stature any favors and made the rifle's length look even more prominent as she cradled it in her lap. Her paw worked the breech-bolt smoothly, testing the action; in her deliberate movements I saw hints of carefully honed skill. Then she looked to the box of cartridges. "He fired seven shots, yes,kajja?"

"Correct."

She counted out seven of the paper cartridges, each the size of her largest finger. Then she turned to lay flat, looking down the long barrel at the offending tree. I watched carefully as her black paw pulled the bolt back, slipped one of the cartridges into place, and smoothly worked the mechanism forward again -- no hesitation in any of her movements.

I heard the rifle's report before I understood that she was squeezing the trigger; its echoes had not died away before she had worked the action again, and another shot rang out. Three. Four. Five. Six. After the seventh she sat up again, and took the rifle back into her lap.

Akal Shanwir had definitely been faster, and his was a terrifying skill. But the clinical, easy precision in Kajrazi's paws intrigued me. Perhaps she was simply naturally adept at such things. She was, after all, pretty good at getting my pants off, and I vaguely recalled that she'd implied little familiarity with that job, either. Well, the mountain folk are given to lying.

Reth Modin stayed behind to watch over the horses, who -- like me -- were somewhat nonplussed by the loud noises that Shanwir and Kajrazi had been making. The other canine and myself followed a few paces behind the firefox, who carried the muzzle of the rifle like she might the muzzle of a pup -- gently, and on her shoulder.

White splinters marked where the tree had seen the worst of her intent. Three marks in total. Shanwir grunted begrudging approval. "Slower than my_santha_..."

"Accurate at range, though," I pointed out.

"Less accurate," Shanwir countered. "Three hits."

One of the bullet holes punched into the tree had my attention. It did not seem quite possible, except by great fortune, but... "Give me your knife."

"Sir?" I repeated the order, and he unsheathed a sharp dagger, handing it blade-end to me.

It was just thin enough to let me reach the bottom, and to pry out the soft lead. As I pulled the metal free, it split in half, revealing the misshapen lumps that had once been two bullets, still warm to the touch. "Four hits."

"Luck!" he growled. "All luck..."

"No doubt." I pocketed the bullets -- hopefully the lead could be melted back into something useful. And we started back towards the stream. "Not bad, not bad, mountain girl..."

"Well... but it_was_ luck," Kajrazi said quietly. "Using that rifle... one could be more accurate. With some practice... and a sling. You should have a sling made, kajja. It would be more comfortable to carry, then, also."

"Why don't you do that, then?"

"Do what?"

"Get a sling made."

"Oh.Shishi, kajja. It will need to be sized..."

"Not for me, though. Keep the rifle."

The firefox paused in mid-step, and turned to me with a canted head. "Kajja?"

"You think I'd be able to make any better use of it?"

Kajrazi's muzzle opened, to make some sort of protest -- but, deciding that I was not to be dissuaded, she bowed. And I noticed, when we settled down at the inn in Ka Malak-Choti, that she cleaned the breach with a very fond sort of caring. She did not choose to sleep with the thing -- curling up at the foot of my bed again, instead -- but I sort of believed that some of her people probably did. Strange folk.

In the morning, the sun dawned over the desolate wastes to our east -- miles and miles of empty plains, marked only by clumps of scraggly trees that had abandoned all hope of prosperity. From a high vantage point, with a spyglass to my eye, I could not see even a hint of other people, nor animal life.

But at least we made good time, what with there being nothing better to do. Reth Modin suggested a brief detour that afternoon, towards a temple that straddled one of the scrubland's few watering holes. I could have ridden onwards to Shandur, myself, but my companions were clearly becoming fatigued -- and the leopard pointed out that it could be source of valuable information. I permitted myself to be persuaded.

The Temple of Mirim the Younger looked, from a distance, like any other rock outcropping. Up close, though, it became a pyramid of skillfully hewn boulders, fitted together to withstand the baking heat and the fierce winds we had, to that point, largely been spared.

Before it sparkled the flat water of a clear pond, fringed with soft green ferns. One of the rocks around its edge lifted itself up at our arrival, and by the time our horses had come alongside I saw that it was a man in dark robes -- a langur, one of the curious jungle-dwellers whose alien appearance many found deeply unsettling. Snow white fur rimmed his black, muzzle-less face -- and when he smiled, it was to show off terrifying fangs.

"Sahasnam," he said to us. His voice was a guttural hiss.

"Greetings," I answered. "I was wondering if we might trouble the priest for a brief stay at your... ah, at this lovely temple and oasis."

"You? Well, of course, for you..." By his speech, the priest had studied the Iron Tongue extensively; he was at least as fluent as Kajrazi or Reth Modin.

The phrase seemed slightly curious, so I echoed it back to him. "'Of course'? What do you mean?"

"Travelers, coming from the west to stop for a drink at our famed oasis? We don't see that often, not from that track. And four of you," he breathed. "Gods above, four of you! Riding on horseback! Just as the prophecies have foretold..."

I rubbed my neck, and decided the odds were good I was growing tired of_shishi_ superstitions like that. "There were prophecies?"

The langur rolled his eyes. "No. I just thought you might like something more grand than... 'welcome, please step in.'" When I did not rise to the offered humor, he stepped back, and spread one long arm to indicate the granite-floored hall. "Welcome, please step in. Mirim the Younger welcomes all travelers."

He guided us to a side room of the temple, which was provisioned in its spartan way with a few places to sit and a long, low table that had not ventured far from its origin as a felled tree. "But you said you don't get many visitors?"

"Not all that often -- it's rather remote. It's why we survived the purges during the first years of the occupation... and you look like a strange group. You've even..." He examined us closely from behind thick glasses. "Yes, I thought so. You've even brought with you an_araimura_. Very curious." And, indeed, that emotion seemed to be his primary motivator, because he smiled, and addressed the firefox directly: "Mej beha khobl, sala mej bina shar Bayekat. Berhesha nakhtun, tefkih."

Kajrazi paused, glancing to me as if for approval, and then bowed lightly to the priest. "Berheshayyat. But I will avoid Bayekat in favor of the Iron Tongue, which I also speak. I am kajja Jonham's; it is proper to use his language."

"Of course. Now, sit down, please, and I'll have some water brought."

As ordered, we sat, and the priest disappeared. I had engaged very little with their type, and so I turned to Reth Modin -- the highest borne of my three companions. "Who is he?"

"Matahi, probably.Shekh Matahi is a religious shekh. Supposedly they're from the north, originally. They speak in their secret language with the Vesans."

"The Vesans?" I had vaguely heard of the order, located in the impenetrable jungles that marked the fuzzy edge of Dhamishaya. It was said that they traveled the world, collecting tales from the locals and secreting them away, so that in the event of another cataclysm the world's stories of greatest importance would never be lost. They had never made their way to Dalchauser, which I suppose put my mother's moral lessons in their place.

"The Vesan's territory lies over the Kinba Mountains, to the north -- not part of...Simir Gal Anavari?"

I shrugged. Kajrazi, who had folded her compact body into a chair to disappear obligingly, lifted her voice. "'The Spine of the World,'kajja. That's what you call it. The Kinba Range is a spur that meets it well north of here. My people venture as far north as the highlands, but it's very inhospitable..."

"Nobody for you to kill and eat," Modin said; the leopard's voice had gone very dark. "Or maybe they're just big enough to fight back. Wouldn't that be interesting..."

His claws were out, and I judged that it was time to nip that one in the bud. "Calm yourself. I already said I'm the only one who gets to eat Kajrazi. You were explaining about the Vesans, Mr. Reth."

Grumbling, he turned away from the firefox and back to me, sheathing his claws once again. "The only way to get there is by going to Issenrik, and then upriver, and along the plains. Supposedly the Matahi know a track through the Kinbaya, direct to Palakarppinhomi. Their ancient, walled, jungle city. The Matahi keep their secrets well, though..."

"All the better to use them effectively," our host said, setting down a tray of glasses. I noticed that he'd brought one for Kajrazi, too, and that he didn't hesitate before setting it before her. Religious devotion, I guess. The langur sat, crossing his legs beneath him on the awkward wooden chair. "But he has judged me correctly. I am Matah Parandar, the head priest of this fine place."

"Thank you for being so welcoming, Mr. Matah."

"Of course. Now if I might be so bold, myself -- what brings you here? 'A Reth, an Akal, an_araimura_ and a... well, whatever you are... walk into a temple.' It sounds like the setup to some bizarre story."

"More tragic than bizarre," I corrected. "I'm the Colonial Governor of Nishran province -- which includes this temple. I haven't visited before, because I've... well. Remained in Jaikot, for the most part. But Jaikot is less than hospitable, these days. The Rethaya and their allies -- including some Aernians -- have seized control."

Matah Parandar's fingers wrapped slowly around his cup, lifting it to his curiously flat face. He drank with an equally contemplative ponderousness. "So it's true, then. I've heard very troubling things..."

"You? Even out on the frontier?"

At the center of his tray was a shallow silver pan, polished so finely that not one scratch showed. A thin layer of water just barely covered it, and he waved his fingers above the rim. "There are those who say that all water on this planet is part of an endless cycle. That in its lifetime every drop has met every other, and they are all bound up together..." And then he shrugged: "But in this case, I heard it from the Pala."

"The Pala?"

"A Vesan monk and his acolyte stopped to water their horses here yesterday afternoon. They say Issenrik has begun to arm itself. They dispatched five hundred men upriver to Aldimarek, and those men were armed with very fancy Tausrun needleguns."

Tausrunvast, one of the states in the Ellagdran Confederacy, produced some of the finest rifles on the continent -- finer, if I had to be honest, than the one Kajrazi now bore. "Issenrik and the Confederacy are pledged neutral on affairs of the Iron Throne," I pointed out.

"Issenrik and the Confederacy watch Dhamishaya's northern borders," Matah Parandar countered. "They're too close to be disinterested -- particularly when a colonial governor of the frontier provinces is forced to flee, and the captain of the town guard is crucified."

Akal Shanwir and Reth Modin stiffened sharply, and I felt a chill run down my spine. "Did you hear that from the Pala, too?"

"That, I heard from the waters," Matah answered. His voice had softened, as though he was conscious of the burden that now weighed on me and my companions. "Your city holds its breath. Anything could happen..."

"The native liaison?"

"I don't know."

Reth Modin lifted his head. "Might you scry for us,kajja Matah?"

"Scrying is a... difficult art, and not always profitable for the questioner."

"We could make it worth your while."

The priest rolled his eyes. "Do you take me for one of your kin, Reth? I meant that it is not as clear as you might think. I'm willing, at least, to see what the waters hold. If you desire it, Mr. Aernaya."

"Jonham," I gave my name. "Jonham, Lord Gyldrane. And yes, I'm curious myself."

From his robes, the langur withdrew two vials, of different sizes. The larger one he uncorked, and tapped a few scarlet drops into his pan of water. It coated the surface in a thin red film, and when he was satisfied he took the other bottle. It was far smaller, and he handled it with great care. "This one," he nodded to Kajrazi. "She shouldn't be here."

"Why not?"

"It's not for foreigners to our realm to see," he said. "Take her away."

"If it's not for foreigners," I pointed out. "I shouldn't be here, either."

The red film already seemed to be taking on a life of its own -- little beads and swells forming, halting, and melting away again. The priest turned his glittering eyes on me. "Here I thought I was being subtle. But you can have me thrown in a dungeon,kajja Lord Gyldrane, and this one cannot."

"She stays," I ordered him firmly.

Matah Parandar snorted, nostrils flaring. But then he unscrewed the vial anyway, and from it appeared a pale amber fluid, oozing like sap. A single drop fell -- and as soon as it touched the pan the whole red film burst into sudden light. The langur was hissing along with the flames that cast terrifying shadows of his alien features --

Then darkness. When I could see again, the pan of water had gone inky black. All five of us stared into the infinite reach of its darkness. Darker than the deepest cave, than the coldest night; eerie, and still, and_wrong_ -- and just as I began to fall into it, little pricks of color began to form at the edges.

Before my eyes they started to dance, and swirl, and come together -- shimmering in opalescent finery. I could discern no patterns there, in the bubbling rainbows that seemed to froth a fathom below the surface of the scrying-glass. They became sharp-edged, like forged steel, like castles, like the glorious branching traces of frost, lit by all the fires of creation.

And I could make no sense of it, but Matah Parandar sucked in a sharp breath. "Ah!"

It was not the sort of exclamation that invites an immediate follow-up question and so, despite my curiosity, I sat back and watched, biding my time as the priest stared intently, his head bobbing and swaying back and forth like one of the fishing trawlers at the harbor in Harradon.

At last, though, he slumped back from the water-pan; I could see that it had lost its luster. Matah Parandar's head lolled limply, but just as I reached out to touch him he snapped back to attention. "No -- don't."

"I wasn't certain if you were..."

"Awake? Yes. Trying to... to understand. Some of the messages were confusing. You call yourselves... the children of metal, don't you? Or... metal skeletons? That would explain some of it."

"The sons and daughters of steel, yes," I said. "Or the iron-boned. The iron-eyed..." There was no part of the body that some Aernian clan had not claimed an iron form of as its own.

"Heh." The langur closed his eyes again. "That is why we call you the 'children of rust'... in my vision, that is what you were. Rusting. Everything was rusting..."

"You're suggesting some kind of... a second apocalypse?"

"No." The priest stretched out, and then shook himself like a roused housepet banishing sleep from its limbs. "This is why we cannot trust the untrained to interpret the signs. In my view, the message is..." A lengthy sigh followed, and then a silence in which his eyes searched the bare room. "A great game is being set in motion. But the stakes are not known. The rules are not known. Even the players are all not yet known -- save that you are one of them,kajja Gyldrane. And so is this one." He pointed a bony finger at Kajrazi. "Nakhti kokhinabat dad, ha-adl noga eshin ter karam. Nikh addin adl dash peshim nokhad sar." His eyes narrowed ominously. "Adl mej jaka inim nakhti esha. Dhamijjakat amakh eshijja dawai ki piik, tefkih."

Kajrazi's little ears pricked, and the firefox shrank by degrees. "Mej eshijja qani dawa. Jonham ritinim Kajrazikat qurta..."

Matah Parandar grunted. "A-shamabl kekeshin siliik, Bayekih. Ritinim ku ritinin?"

"Ritinim..."

"I don't really like being kept in the dark," I finally interrupted this discourse. "Would you mind... translating?"

"She will not," Matah Parandar muttered. "She will not say what I told her."

"And you?"

The langur took a long drink from his cup of water -- so much cleaner, so much less ominous than the pan before him. "You need some mystery in your life_, kajja_. If you had all the answers, your life would be as boring as mine. Or this monastery's. We have endured a long time -- do you know that kajja? Well before the Fall. One hundred thousand and six years."

'Well before the Fall,' indeed. And suspiciously precise. "How do you know that?"

"Well," the priest allowed. "When I joined this order, they said: 'we have endured for a hundred thousand years,' and that was six years ago... so I can only assume. We didn't last this long indulging in speculation or a passion for the mysterious, child of rust. You'll learn in good time. For now, why don't you all take a nice bath, and we'll water your horses and see you along..."

The water in the oasis, mostly unprotected from the baking sun, was warm and pleasant. But I wanted to be moving again, so I kept my bath perfunctory. Shanwir and Kajrazi lacked such compunctions; I found myself sitting at the edge, on a slab of hot sandstone, next to Reth Modin.

"Do you trust what he said, Mr. Reth? The priest?"

The leopard had, like me, made a quick show of bathing. On reflection, it might have been that we were used to it, and less inclined to consider such a thing a luxury. Our fur was still slightly damp, and we spared each other the indignity of looking too closely. He didn't turn to me before answering: "Perhaps."

"Perhaps?"

"The Matahi mean well. It can be hard to tell what they are saying, of course."

"Even when they're not speaking a foreign tongue. You don't understand what he said to Kajrazi, do you?" I still was not particularly happy about the obfuscation, and I hadn't yet had a chance to compel the firefox to translate for me.

"No. I don't speak those things' language. I'm not sure why Matah Parandar does either.Kajja Matah... must be a strange man."

I smiled, and wasn't able to help a quiet snort. "Like I'm strange, you mean? Reth Kanda didn't understand why I didn't turn my_araimura_ over to his hunters."

"I don't really understand that, either," he admitted. "Well -- perhaps not hunting. But there are plenty of low-born servants you could've hired without turning to animals."

"They're not_exactly_ animals."

"They behave like it." The leopard's voice had gone cold again. "Do you know how many people we've lost in the caravans? Over the years -- over all the raids?"

Not by number, but the predation on the caravans was one reason I had taken such an interest in the Royal Frontier Corps. "Too many."

"It's easy for you or Mr. Raiza or even Captain Vanao to sneer at... at_those highborn Rethaya_ and their sense of entitlement -- but we paid for our station in blood, kajja. We pay for it every day. And when you can't protect the caravans, is it any wonder we'd look to hiring the Ellagdrans as mercenaries? Or taking the law into our own grasp? I don't care about the gold, kajja Jonham. I'd just as soon see the araimuri dead for what they did to my brother Pratib. Or my cousin Shakhar. Or my grandmother."

I sighed, and thought at once of how tame Kajrazi looked -- and how natural she had held the rifle. "I know your history with the mountain folk is... complicated. I suppose I wasn't fair to you, either. Reth Kanda is hard to like."

"My uncle is a fool with delusions of grandeur. It's why he's aligned with Carregan Rescat -- the only reason I can think, at least. But at least he's not a murderer -- or a thief, like Raiza Serapuri."

"I owe a lot to Mr. Raiza."

"You owe a lot to what Mr. Raiza did with other people's money. They were cattle-drivers, you know? Living in filth and reeking of dung... before your people lifted them to bureaucratic office. I'm sure that office has cleansed them -- but they've stained it, also."

"Yet you fight for us anyway."

Reth Modin's fangs were in better shape than Akal Shanwir's, but no less striking when he smiled -- white, and honed to razor points. "Do I have a choice? It's that or throw away whatever remains of civilization. I may not like him, but Raiza Serapuri_is_ the Native Liaison. And I may not agree with your choice of servant, but you are the Colonial Governor. And in return I like to think that you may not want to deal with my shekh, but you would enforce the law fairly, because it's the law. That's what I swore to uphold."

It was, I thought, the best way of approaching it. Whatever separated us from the barbarians, or people from animals, it was something about the law, and the trust that underpinned a functioning society.

So I was willing to trust Reth Modin. And I trusted Kajrazi, although she said she didn't know what Matah Parandar had been talking about. In her explanation, he had only said that she would have some part to play in things to come. When I asked the firefox if she thought that was a good thing, she shrugged her shoulders, and declined to offer a straightforward answer.

We reached Shandur in the middle part of the evening, when the sky was pale indigo and the stars were beginning to assert themselves. The guard at the gate waved us through without challenge; Atta-Farash Irzim, in full uniform, stood waiting. I suppose our arrival had been telegraphed -- there were not, as Matah Parandar had said, many travelers from our direction.

"Welcome,kajja. I'm glad that you made it."

"Thank you, Mr. Atta-Farash."

The panther did not seem to have had an especially pleasant day, judging by the frown he wore. "I was worried for your safety. I'd sent out a few patrols, to see if we might intercept you..."

"How bad is it?"

Atta-Farash's look remained grim, and he gave a short, hollow laugh. "Not good. The rumors from downriver are that about thirty men of the town guard escaped, and are making their way here, but I've only seen six so far -- eight, with your two. The town is on edge, with the peace kept by Carregan's men and Rethaya mercenaries -- a dubious peace, at that."

"Martial law?"

"And worse," he nodded, and I thought again of Vanao Barut, and of what the temple priest had said. "I've sent word to Fort Vindari. Major Apni told me through the_ramigor_ that they're ready to fight -- they expect it, at least..."

Which could be either good_or_ bad, depending. "And who would they be fighting?"

"The Corps is loyal,kajja. They're not going to support an uprising like that."

I turned my attention to his map, where the markers for his command stood proudly. "Three hundred dragoons at Vindari. A hundred and eighty here..."

"Less than that."

"I wasn't counting your command troop, major." The organization of the RFC was a little fuzzy to me, but they mostly followed the same rules as a civilized army, and all told Nishran was supposed to be assigned a full regiment for the defense of its frontiers.

"Neither was I. Officially I have six troops of thirty-six men, plus my staff. But I also have eight outposts to guard,kajja. I post a section to each now, with the increasing restlessness, and so far that's been enough. Barely. Colonel Æmerlas has been requesting reinforcements for months..."

I shut my eyes for a few seconds, and finished: "But the viceroy hasn't answered."

"Purse-strings are tight everywhere,kajja. Either way, you should know that Shandur itself is only guarded by four half-strength troops. There are eighty men of the Corps here -- no more. A few native water-bearers and the like, but none trained..."

"Lord Coltharden must be in a similar situation, then." Suddenly the markers on the map looked far less magnificent than they had before. Suddenly, indeed, they seemed no more substantial than the wood they were made of. "He should have almost five hundred under his command. I'd hoped he could provide three..."

"That, I'm sure he can do. Sura is not as wild a place as we have here. What's your plan?"

"Muster as many men of the RFC as I can, march back on Jaikot, and kick Carregan and Reth Kanda out before anybody has a chance to get confused over who's in charge."

My bluntness amused the panther, who joined me in looking at the strategic map, reaching out to carefully adjust the position of one of the markers. "An excellent plan, in that case. I had thought perhaps you meant to muster the entire regiment. For some real fighting..."

"'Real fighting'?" I shook my head. "No, I hope not."

I had come to this particular realization on the ride to the fort, musing over the priest's words. It occurred to me that even if he was not willing to check Carregan's ambitions in the province, the viceroy could not very well permit serious competition to the Royal Frontier Corps or his own garrison in Surowa. That meant -- I hoped -- that he also could not very well permit Carregan to reinforce her detachment far beyond where it already stood. Which was small enough that three or four hundred dragoons could easily best it -- maybe even without the untidiness of a battle.

"That's a bit of a gamble," Major Atta-Farash pointed out, when I explained my theory.

"Perhaps. But consider it from his perspective. I will return with the Corps and suppress the revolt. Rescat Carregan is too valuable for me to kill, so he assumes I'll let her live when I return. The railroad will remain -- under a new Carregan no doubt. Meanwhile the wealthiest_shekh_ in the city will have its back broken, and trade will be centralized under Aernian authority. And I am back in the Colonial Governor's estate..."

I felt rather proud of myself for having deduced this. Atta-Farash didn't seem as impressed; his long whiskers flicked when he snorted. "Everyone wins."

"I presume it is, rather, that those who lose are unimportant." And I was not -- I hoped -- one of these.

"Will you be taking command of the Corps, then,kajja?" Telling him 'no' took the panther by surprise; his powerful head tilted. "No?"

"Much as I wouldn't mind it. My father was always quite strict about command -- and about his belief that we should not adopt any titles that were not earned. And I have not been given command, so it would be rather unseemly to just... take it."

"You'd want it?"

I laughed, and stood to look more closely at his map. "Yes. I would. I've envied Lord Coltharden since he was appointed here. I have no great love of my governor's desk, or my governor's quill, or my governor's damnably tedious office."

Back on sympathetic ground; Atta-Farash smiled with me. "You have led men before?"

"Cavalry, yes. I commanded a company of the Bannered Militia." And one other, besides -- the only time I had seen real combat. That was more complicated than I felt like explaining at that particular moment. "Mostly patrolling the frontier, if I'm honest -- more or less as you do."

"Would you want a command?"

Lifting an ear, I turned from the map to him. "Are you offering? My duties as governor seem to be... light, at the moment -- I'd be more than willing to join up for a spell."

Atta-Farash Irzim thought on this with a purring growl. "I could use a good captain here, yes. Your Jaikotan guard can be integrated, but I need somebody skilled to train them."

"Fair enough. I'm not sure that's really my strength..."

"No. And even if it was your strength,kajja, I'd prefer someone familiar with the territory." He crossed the room in two steps, and leaned out the door to the heat of the afternoon outside. "Captain Sinla!"

Sinla, who might've been a wolf were he not so rangy, entered a minute later, and snapped to attention. "As ordered, major."

"At ease. Do you know_kajja_ Gyldrane? I think you were on patrol when he last visited. You do not? He is the Colonial Governor of Nishran -- effectively, the ruler of the province." Being barbarians, the shishis did not shake hands; instead, Sinla simply bowed his greeting. "You've heard he's brought us some new friends. Thirty men of the city guard."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll recruit them into the RFC. This means I need my most experienced soldier available to train them. "

"Yes, sir."

"I believe that's you, captain. I need you here more than I need you on some routine patrol." The canine's ears flicked, but if he intended to raise a protest he did not choose that venue to do so. "I'm relieving you of command until further notice. You'll take over the training for all of our new soldiers. They've been serving with the city guard in Jaikot, so they're not exactly green."

"Yes, sir."

"Kajja Gyldrane -- Captain Gyldrane -- will take command of Troop Black. We need to change the guard for the outpost at Ka Kelda, captain." He was addressing me, and though he did so from a position of authority I found I rather liked the martial precision. "Troop Black's second section is currently holding the watch. Relieve them with your first section, and return here. It shouldn't take you more than a few days, and it'll give you a sense of the land. Besides, as Colonial Governor it's good for you to inspect the outposts... and good for the men to see you."

Now, it being my turn, I nodded curtly. "Yes, sir."

"Speak to Luck," Captain Sinla told me. "Luck will help you."

Not that I was particularly lucky. "Thank you for the advice, but..."

"That's Sergeant-Major Luck," Atta-Farash added. "You'll want to head out soon. We travel by night. It's much cooler, and it spares the horses. Ride well, captain. You're dismissed."

I nodded, and made my way back out and into the yard. The barracks was a rowdy mess of activity, as the men readied themselves for departure; I rapped heavily on the door to announce my presence. "I'm the new captain here. I'm looking for Luck?"

Quiet fell. Then a shaggy, thick-muscled bear stood; he had been checking his rifle, and the weapon looked as puny in his massive paws as it had ridiculously oversized in Kajrazi's. I am not a particularly short man, but he had at least a foot and a half on me, and if you'd told me he weighed twice as much I would not have argued the point.

"Sergeant-Major Luck?"

"Locke," he growled; his voice was muddy and thick. "Theolockenar Bealde."

I blinked at the beast. "You're Aernian."

"Aye," the sergeant grunted. "But not from the good parts."

"I'm from the Marches, myself."

The reward for my honesty was a gruff snort. "Well. Better than that, at least. What's yer name, captain?"

"Jonham. Jonham Hærex-Sutheray." I held out my hand for him to shake, slightly worried that he might break it.

Fortunately, he did not, and he grasped it with deceptive warmth. But he grunted again, after letting go. "Welcome on, captain. 'Ærex-Suth'ray, though, that won't do. Only lords and arseholes 'ave two names."

"It's shorter than the alternative," I pointed out. "But if you'd like, then I'm Jonham Becynari Hærex-Sutheray, Fourth Viscount Gyldrane. Eldest son of the Marquess of Dalchauser and of Lady Corys, heir to the Banner of the Amberclaw."

"Is a bit of a mouthful," Locke admitted, giving no indication that he was in any way chagrinned. Instead, his dark eyes alert and piercing, the bear looked me slowly up and down. "You led men before? In fighting?"

"I rode with K'nCarryn's Militia, in the Harvest Rising of '92."

"Esmon K'nCarryn, aye? I've 'eard the name. On which side did you two fight? On the side of the king, or the side of the farmers?"

"On the side of the just, sergeant-major."

Locke snorted. "No secrets 'ere, captain."

Well, and we'd have to get close, in the following days. "The king had no right to make those demands. He admitted as such in the treaty. None of us were tried for that rising. Although..." I grinned, to show the bear that I meant no harm. "Two months later they did order me down to Nishran."

"Hm. Another outcast. Well." Now he grinned, too. "You'll do. Ready to ride now, Captain Haitch?" When I looked at him curiously, the bear's grin only widened. "Shorter'n_'Is Royal 'Ighness_, ain't it? C'mon, let's find a horse to set yer lordly arse on..."

A troop of the Royal Frontier Corps consists, normally, of thirty-six men. Two fourteen-man sections, two saddlers, a wagoner, a quartermaster, a signalman, a clerk, the troop sergeant-major, and the commander. One of Troop Black's sections was already at the outpost, and we were leaving the quartermaster and his subordinates -- the wagoner and saddlers -- behind.

That left eighteen of us, and although it was a small command I was excited enough that I didn't feel the slightest bit tired as we left the palisade of Shandur behind and struck out for the north. Sergeant-Major Bealde caught my mood, looking to me with a smile. "Enjoying this, captain?"

"Gods, Locke, you've no idea. Been behind a desk too long..."

"Ye was 'ere working for King Chatherral, I presume? Clerkin'? Keepin' the peace?"

"Nothing so honorable. I was -- well, am... I_am_ the Royal Governor of Nishran."

"Takin' 'oliday?"

"Sort of."

I explained what had happened. But I left out the part about how powerless I had been as governor, and how trapped I felt, caught between the nagging currents of_shishi_ society. And how much more logical life seemed from horseback, at the head of a column of trained, dedicated soldiers who spent their days at something more meaningful than scheming for amra.

And how, though I missed the heath of my homeland, the stark beauty of the frontier captivated me. The pale, shy faces of the waxing moons cast the slopes and crags of the hills in silken light; it glittered on brass buttons, and wrung cold shadows from the rocks that bounded our path, and burned the stone of the wagon-ruts until the scarred track glowed.

We fell back into silence, and it held until dawn. A spring, still bubbling weakly, nurtured trees enough for shade, and the men made camp for the day there. I climbed the nearest hill, looking east to the fiery orange of the coming day. A minute or two later, Locke joined me. "Peaceful, ain't it?" he suggested. "Got its own kind of look..."

"You're from the Scarplands, aren't you?"

"Aye," Beald said. "Or I were, long ago."

"I've never been to Ailaragh. Is it like this?"

"Not 'ardly. Rollin' green fields an' quiet ponds with ferns an' frogs an' all that loveliness. Nothin' like this dry, hopeless mess... Not much like the moors, either, I imagine."

"No," I agreed. "Not much. You've been?"

"Nah. Don't know much about it, either. Not many people from Chauserlin or Balsilfer get out to the Western Isles -- guessin' y'don't much like boats."

"Hate the damn things," I had to admit. It was the fashion of some, particularly in Tabisthalia, to relax by sailing -- or, at least, to have their servants row them on the great river. It was not for me. "A horse throws you, well, maybe you can get up afterwards. A boat throws you? The White Waters are awfully cold..."

"Inlanders," he chuckled. "Scared of a bit of wet, an ye wouldn't know fresh fish if it bit ye. I've some fond memories, though. You know a, ah... gods, what were 'er name? Sidcah-Ralan of Tallmount, that's it. She were from Chauserlin. You know 'er?"

"Seamstress, right?"

The bear nodded his big, shaggy head. "Aye, wouldn't surprise me. 'Er ma were before 'er. I met 'er once, on Ailaragh; only other person from Dalchauser I know." The memory was apparently fond, for he acquired a momentarily distant look. "You know, I think... aye, she were the first girl I ever fucked, too."

I raised my eyebrow as far as it could possibly go. "You fucked Siddy O'Talmot?Why?"

"Well..." he said, and the quiet that followed gave me ample time to picture what the homely badger might look like naked -- her massive body clasping his; her rasping, sickly laugh urging his efforts on... I shuddered, and decided I didn't much need to imagine Locke like that either.

"Well,what, sergeant-major? Remember: 'no secrets here'..."

"She were twenty-five year younger, then," the bear muttered. "An inland-country girl visiting for the first time. And me, a strapping young lad of the Iron Corps, home on leave -- looking rather dashing in me starched uniform, if I do say so m'self."

I shook my head, and chalked it up to youthful indiscretion. Besides, he'd said something else that piqued my interest. "You were Iron Corps?"

"Aye. It was a way outta the Scarplands. And they wanted men with sea legs to serve in their marines. It were when they started up the mines in the Shrouded Rocks, up north." By this he meant the islands well to the north of Aernia, over which the Empire had begun to claim dominion in the decades before my birth. Supposedly they were as rich in coal as Tilladen was, and other minerals besides.

And I didn't want to be so damned suspicious and unfriendly, but just as it had with Modin, this revelation about Bealde's past rubbed my fur the wrong way -- particularly where it involved the islands, for I'd heard stories about what the Carregan Transcontinental Railroad did there. "Why did you leave? Word is, they're a pretty reliable organization. You work with Rescat?"

"No, no. She were after my time. Shanyl Carregan commanded the northern army when I served. For leavin'... well, not a good story, I'm afraid. Got to not likin' th'way they was runnin' things out in those cold islands. Couldn't change it, so I took to drinkin' instead. Soon it was they decided they, ah... didn't need me help no more. An' then I found, nobody where they had any influence needed help either."

"You came to Dhamishaya looking for work?"

The bear's laugh was bitter, and cold. "No. I came to Dhamishaya in chains. Before 'ere, I were living at the jail in Giral Moss. Four years an' transportation, that were my lot. Stole a man's coin when 'e didn't pay me for honest work." His lip curled, and his eyes flashed as the memory opened old wounds. "Bloody cunt was lucky I didn't steal more. But you know. I had three meals a day and a cot in Carregan's army, an' after what I saw in the islands... gods help me, Haitch, I'd take prison any day."

"It's true, then? What they say about what happens in the islands?"

"Oh, no."

That was actually sort of a relief. Stories abounded -- slavery, and dark magic, and prisoners worked to death in the coal mines of the Rocks. "Well... that's something..."

"It was worse." Bealde's voice was so flat that I could not imagine he was lying. "By a long shot. So if your reason for asking were to figure out if I were gonna up and betray ye to me old masters... no. Not a chance in any 'ell I'd do that." I hadn't meant to imply this; when I didn't answer, though, Locke smiled gently. "Anyway, best get some sleep while ye can, 'fore it gets too hot. I'll take this watch, lad."

I didn't think that I was particularly tired, over all. But once I was on my back, staring at the lightening sky, my body seemed to remember all at once that twenty hours of travel separated it from my last slumber. Twice I blinked; three times. By the fourth, my eyes did not bother to reopen, and I dreamt of an open plain, unrolling forever under a blood-red sun.

We started promptly in the evening. Five hours riding brought us into the foothills, and Bealde raised his paw to point out the stark lines of a steep-walled mountain. "That's Ka Kelda, there."

"Impressive."

"More impressive in the daytime. Or at sunrise. It's the tallest peak in the foothills, though; that's why we put the outpost there. An' it's bloody hard to get up the trail if someone don't want you to. Single-file with a horse.Kelda means 'knife' in their tongue, you know?"

"I didn't. But that's why it's called that?"

Bealde laughed. "No. They call it that 'cause there used to be a sacrificial altar at the top."

I chose to let Locke lead us, because his horse was larger by far than anyone else's, and it seemed to know the way. The path was narrow indeed: an attacker would not have been able to find any cover, for to either side the cliffs dropped away sharply, and the rocky bottom did not promise a comforting landing.

"Halt! Identify yourself!"

Closer to the gate, there was room to ride abreast, and when the outpost guard challenged us I brought my horse up next to Sergeant-Major Bealde. "Captain Jonham. Troop Black, Shandur Squadron."

"He's taken over for Captain Sinla, private," Locke added. I could not see the guard, but the bear evidently knew him by voice alone. And Locke's voice was enough to get the guard to pull the gates wide open, permitting us to enter.

"Welcome, sir."

The person who said this looked to be a bit of a mutt, and his clothes had clearly been pulled on hastily, from sleep. "At ease," I said, and worked myself down from my horse, testing the ability of my feet to carry me on solid ground. The ride up the narrow track had been harrowing, indeed.Captain Lord Gyldrane being, as Bealde might've said, a bit of a mouthful, I settled for what I'd told the guard: "Captain Jonham. I'm temporarily commanding the troop."

"From Jaikot, yes?" I nodded. "I'm Lieutenant Karsi Jahan; this here is..." a grand gesture pointed out the wooden palisade, and the guard towers, and the tents of worn barracks. "Outpost at Ka Kelda. You governor, yes, sir?"

"That's right."

He perked up at his perceptiveness. "I thought so, sir. My brother is in prison in Jaikot. Father wrote a letter to you asking you let him go. You granted it. It is good to meet you, sir."

"I'm sure the circumstances were appropriate for his release," I said, although truthfully I didn't really recall one particular_shishi_ petition for mercy over another.

"Or we paid bribing to your assistant. Lak is... an unworthy man," and with the self-deprecation that one adopts when apologizing for kin he smiled, softly. "I doubt that it was 'the circumstances' alone that freed him. But the bonds of family are... very important. It's an honor to meet you anyway,kajja governor."

"Well... I'm not visiting under the authority of the governor's office. Just with the Royal Frontier Corps. We're relieving your section."

"Yes, sir; we were expecting you," Karsi Jahan told me. "We're ready to ride out now. But perhaps I show you around? Sir?"

So it was that I was given a chance to inventory Ka Kelda. The sacrificial altar Bealde had mentioned now saw duty as a table in the commander's office, summited with maps and a sympathetic aetherscope. Beyond that were two wooden storehouses, a wooden mess, a wooden stable, and six tents made of thick fabric that nonetheless looked to be making out poorly in the weather of the mountains.

Two tall guard towers, at opposing corners of the square palisade, looked towards a mountain pass to our east, and the gentler plains to the west. I was not particularly inspired by either but, at Karsi's urging, agreed to check one out. The rickety ladder had, I discovered, been designed for the lighter-bodied_shishis_, and not for me -- but it held.

At top, I took a moment to catch my breath, and ease the burning in my arms. Then I straightened up, looked over the wall -- and gasped aloud.

I was raised in Dalchauser, on the eastern edge of the Empire: soft hills, and wildflowers, and burbling creeks suitable to throw a fishing line in -- and to wade across. Pillowy banks of fog wandering like lost herds over the boundless moors. Hedge-fenced rangeland, and farm fields tended by stout men offering a friendly "good day, m'lord" as they leaned against a fencepost to watch one's passage.

I loved the Marches, and rare was the day I did not long to return. But even I had to admit that what I now saw might have been the most staggering sight in my young life.

Beneath a glittering canvas, of frozen stars and both moons at full brightness, lay the full extent of the frontier. Ka Kelda was perhaps a thousand feet above the surrounding hills, and it made a magnificent perch indeed.

To the east, the red mountains rose to snowy peaks that glowed as though lit from within. The Spine of the World, we called it -- from where it started, south of my country, to where it ended in the uncharted desert wastelands beyond even Dhamishaya and Maddurai. There were precious few passes, and none without peril.

Fort Shandur guarded one. Ka Kelda, Karsi Lak told me, had once guarded another. His finger traced the edges, far below us, of a massive stone wall -- a hundred and fifty feet tall, at least -- that had once sealed that pass in a huge bronze gate, before the discovery of gentler valleys at Shandur had rendered the whole affair obsolete. Now the wall, crumbling and decrepit, stood in mute witness to the decline and fall of the Dhamishi Bhiranate.

Off to the west, we could see very nearly forever -- the curve of the earth itself shielded Jaikot from our watchful eyes, but if I squinted I could see the dull glow of Ka Malak-Choti, and a more skillful cartographer could probably have picked out the Temple of Mirim, as well.

We were between worlds -- soft, comforting grey to my left, and hard-edged canyon and mountain to my right. The mountains stretched onwards, as far as my eye could see, to where the snowcaps blended, in their eerie luminescence, into the low-hanging stars on the horizon. I brought my eyes back to closer focus -- a dirt road, winding through the gate below us, and off to the west -- long disused, but it had once been quite magnificent, and even centuries of erosion had not completely erased the scar it sliced through the scrublands.

"What's that?" Some distance north of the road, the stars above were joined on the ground by a pale orange counterpart.

Karsi Jahan brought a spyglass to his eye, resting it against his muzzle. "Not a caravan, sir, I think. Probably raiders. They come down from the mountains to forage, or to attack of the small towns. Further away from Shandur, they... become bolder."

"To have a fire lit, certainly, that's bold indeed. Will you go after them?"

"Officially, we're only supposed to guard the pass, sir. Further north is wilderness. The only civilized people in this area are prospectors. There are not so many of them. So we might leave those ones alone... but if you want to fight, my men are ready..."

And, after consultation with Bealde, I decided that we could spare the time to investigate, at least. Back at the foot of Ka Kelda, the campfires were no longer visible, but I had made a note of the bearing, and kept as careful a watch as I could on the map.

The camp, if I judged correctly, lay in a little valley, insulated from the winds. Bealde pointed out an oasis on the map that more or less matched my estimation. The ride was not long, but it gave me enough time to dredge what passed for an education from my brain. I explained myself to the sergeant-major, and he nodded his agreement.

"Lieutenant Karsi," I said. "Take your section and ride north. Keep yourself screened from the oasis, on the far side of the hill from them." Had they been proper cavalry, I would've called for an equally proper charge -- but the RFC was made up of dragoons, and not trained to fight from horseback. "Dismount, and take up position on the hilltops. We'll flush them towards you -- I don't think they're more than a dozen people at that camp."

"Yes, sir." He saluted, and then slowed his horse to drop back and consult with his men.

Without the quartermaster or his subordinates, this left four of us: myself, Sergeant-Major Bealde, the troop clerk, and the troop signalman. I decided that, given the size of the expected opposition, we would simply ride into the camp to startle them into retreat. By itself, Bealde's massive horse -- to say nothing of its rider -- was a monstrous sight to behold, and people have a way of fleeing from horsemen.

I gave Lieutenant Karsi an hour to get into position; Locke pointed out that this meant waiting for sunrise, which I saw as part of the plan anyway. "It puts the sun at their backs -- they'll be harder to see, but the raiders will cast nice shadows when they're running."

"Fair 'nough," he nodded, and we cantered slowly closer, until the last ridge before the camp itself came into view. Here, bidding the signaller and the clerk to wait behind, Locke and I dismounted, and crept forward slowly through the sage.

"Give me your spyglass," I ordered -- my voice a low whisper, although we were well too far away to be heard. Still, he was just as quiet and careful when he moved, handing it over to me -- a nice Tiurishk specimen, with very finely ground glass.

One tent had been pitched; beyond that, I mostly saw the lumps of filled sleeping bags. I counted fourteen of those, plus the tent, plus a half-dozen small animals huddled in a clump. One robed figure looked to be standing watch, and that was it.

"Not much, for raiders," I grunted, and passed the spyglass to Locke.

"Might could be off guard -- they know we don't go north of Ka Kelda often. Get lazy."

Something about it didn't seem quite right. "No horses, though. Only one watch..."

"Two. You missed the one on t'other side o' that boulder that looks like a big tit."

"Two, then. Still not much for raiders."

Locke wrinkled his muzzle, working it thoughtfully. Finally he spat, and shrugged those massive ursine shoulders of his. "Still think we could fuck 'em pretty easy. But you want to parley, captain?"

"From how I see it, we need information badly -- more than we need a body count. What are they doing out here? How many of them are there? Are they still fleeing the mountains?"

Locke waved his paw and grunted himself back to his feet. "Fine, fine. Yer a regular Inspector Cuffix, Haitch." By this he was referring to the protagonist of a popular book series in our homeland; to be honest, I hadn't taken him as much of a reader. "Let's go, then."

We left the other two behind, with orders to signal Lieutenant Karsi if anything went wrong. Locke Bealde and his horse were rather hard to miss; by the time we approached the camp the alarm had been raised, and they were stirring into activity. The hooded guard shouted a challenge in a language that I didn't understand.

But then, that was most languages. His was, I thought, not Dhamishi but the unrelated speech of the mountain people. I raised my own voice: "Do you speak Aernian?"

"Nakhti binabat?"

"Aernian. The Iron Tongue. Does anyone speak it?"

The guard brandished a musket and, to avoid gaining any new holes in me or my horse, I drew to a halt. A rustling noise from the ratty tent prefaced the emergence of a short, stout figure. Definitely one of Kajrazi's people -- though his white mask had lost much of its contrast, for his ruddy head was now predominantly grey. But his impressive tail, with its unmistakable rings, was giveaway enough. "I speak it. Who are you?"

"Captain Jonham, of the Royal Frontier Corps; this is Sergeant-Major Bealde. We're on patrol, in these parts, as you know..."

"Yes," the firefox said. "I know your_patrols_. I am Bitkeshi Tejman. What do you want with my clan?"

"To talk -- that's all. Just to talk."

His eyes, as bright as Kajrazi's, were very sharp as they looked over us. "Fine.Nurheza, tepabat jahad majsiliz." The guard lowered his musket, and I carefully got down from my horse. "Nurheza Tejman is my son," Bitkeshi said. "He never misses."

"At this distance? I should 'ope not," Locke snorted. "We don't either, and there's a company of dragoons what's watchin' you right now, ringtail."

I held up my paw. "Let's... try not to move to firearms quite so quickly. Mr. Tejman, do you mind if we talk?"

The stocky mountaineer's eyes held a keen fire that Kajrazi's had never quite approached, but he consented, leading us back towards his tent. Inside I found three more bedrolls, a few assorted bundles, and an offensive smell that led me to believe the mountaineer's food was not much more palatable than what the_shishis_ ate.

Also, when my vision cleared, another firefox, this one of my servant's age and build. This one's hair was longer, though, and her fur was a brighter red. And she sat, cross-legged, distracting me from her lack of clothes by way of the very sharp knife she cradled in her lap, black paw clasped tightly on the hilt.

"My daughter Isha," Bitkeshi explained. "She does not miss either." He sat, adopting a similar pose, and I tried to follow his lead. "Why you come to bother us?"

"Confused, mostly. Your people don't come down from the mountains often. What brings you this far west?"

"Safety. Look for new lands."

"Safety?" I repeated.

"You think we are highwaymen?"

Now I was forced to confront the fact that I didn't really know much about the sky folk, except that the Dhamishi didn't like them much. And that they were pretty good with their tongues. And now, this little bit of belligerence. "Well, you did introduce both your children by saying how good they would be at killing me."

"We protect our own," the old man said carefully. "But the Tejmabl are not robbers and thieves -- unlike some of_your_ people who come storming into our lands..."

Neither Locke or I, of course, had much to do with the storming. "So what do you do?"

"We're goatherds," Bitkeshi did me the favor of explaining the lingering smell. "And we cannot stay where we are. We've lived in the Maqbi Kejkat for generations, but it's too close to the coming storm. So we move to the Singing Mountains... eventually."

"The jungles to the north? I've heard that they're impassable."

"To you, maybe. And that is our hope. Maybe you and your Carregan clan will not follow."

I quirked up one of my floppy ears to show that I was listening, since it now seemed that we were worried about the same 'coming storm.' "What do you know about the Carregans?"

"I know that I will not let them kill me. We've all heard what they did in the desert, Captain Jonham. Now they have the blessing of the government. They'll come after us like your Corps never did. Well, we won't be here when they burn a-Maqbi Kejkat. They can find someone else for their pyres."

I exchanged a look with Sergeant-Major Bealde, and then tried to make my tone a bit sterner -- the stuff of command. "They do not have the blessing of the government."

"How do you know that, soldier?"

"Because I'm the Colonial Governor," I said. "They've staged an illegal insurrection. Right now I'm reviewing the frontier -- while we gather the RFC together to take back the capital."

I could see in the man's burning eyes all the questions Major Atta-Farash had wanted to ask, and Lieutenant Karsi, and even Bealde. How did I think I would do that? Me and what army? Wasn't that a little bit presumptuous? Shouldn't I write it all off as futile?

Instead, he asked only, "you're the governor?"

"Yes. Rescat Carregan is not. She has no lawful authority."

"Even still, she's one of your kind."

"Sort of, yes," I agreed. "But what she's done in the wildlands is inexcusable and barbaric. And her actions in Nishran are plainly illegal -- as illegal as any caravan raid. I intend to punish her, before she can cause any more suffering. To Jaikot, to you... to_any_ of my people."

Locke stirred, and looked at me strangely, although it was Bitkeshi who raised the obvious question. "We're your people?"

"If you were still up in the mountains, traipsing around those bridges of yours, it might be different. The mountains are far away, and Dhamishaya's borders are unclear. But inside the frontier? You're people, and you're here in Nishran. If there's another qualification to be 'my people,' I've not been informed."

More questions. Why should he believe me? What did I care about their land? What good was my word? Bitkeshi turned to his daughter, and they spoke briefly in their own language. Then: "You need help, I guess."

"No. The Royal Frontier Corps and I will manage. What about you?"

"None that you can provide. Even with no Carregans, a-Maqbi Kejkat was no longer a good place for us. We need to find a new home."

"How many people are there in your clan?"

"Eighteen here. My brother leads only another twenty. The years have not always been kind to the Tejmabl, nor to their flocks, or to their yurts, or to their offspring..."

Fewer than forty. And it was these people that had the Rethaya so worked up. Enough to badger me. Enough to trade favors with Carregan. Enough to buy the protection of... my train of thought halted, and clattered off on a different track. "You're not highwaymen, you said, I know that. But can you fight?"

"Of course," Bitkeshi said, his teeth baring. "Any one of us is a match for two of your dragoons."

Considering he was a third the size of the dragoon next to me, I found this a silly boast. But what did it matter? "All forty of you?"

"Even the six children." From the way his long white whiskers flicked, I think he took the suggestion otherwise as an insult. Not that Kajrazi had disappointed, with the rifle. "Why?"

"You need land for your flocks. And, since the 'flock' you have here doesn't look too healthy, I'd guess you need work until you can raise a proper replacement." The firefox frowned, but didn't correct me. "Could I hire you and your brother? Your clan?"

"As warriors?"

"As guards."

"Go on..."

"Captain..." Locke murmured, before I could reply. "Do you really think..."

In this case, however, I was back to being_kajja gavanar kuluniyan_. And kajja gavanar kuluniyan, having been run out of town by the shishis, was not in any particular mood to indulge their prejudices, even if Locke was. "Pad Kaliri is no more than four or five days west of here, at your pace. They've been having trouble with bandits, and they don't have the men to protect their town. I promised I'd see if I could find them help."

"Us?"

"Why not? I presume you're armed, and you know your way around these territories." I felt for my wallet, and counted out a handful of the_kep_ coins I'd acquired from Urja Harruk and the bank of Alan-Paivir. "This should pay for food, and some grazing land for a little while. Have the mayor send a trusted courier to Jaikot..." And to the Native Liaison there, I wrote a short note explaining what I intended to do.

Bitkeshi sniffed at the piece of paper, and then handed it to his daughter. They spoke again, as she read over it, and when they were both satisfied he took the note back, staring at the Aernian script on it as though the language of the civilized world was nothing but arcane, impenetrable glyphs. "Why you trust us?"

"Are you saying that I shouldn't?" Silence. "Trust is what makes us who we are, Mr. Tejman. Any old beast can squabble and fight for leadership of its herd. Steal from its packmates and slink away to bury its ill-gotten gains. Civilization takes trust. It takes being able to accept the covenant of a man's word. Now... my Dhamishi compatriots would say that you_are_ nothing but animals -- but I choose to disagree. I said you're my people. And I'm choosing to trust you."

Bitkeshi Tejman, his age-bleached brow furrowing, stared at me for a long time. Then he looked down at the letter I'd written. "This piece of paper. Tell that we protect your town?"

"Correct. It informs the Native Liaison in Jaikot of the agreement, and requests that he finance it from the province's coffers."

"More than paper," he said. "My word."

"Yes," I agreed. "And mine."

He frowned at it. Then he turned, and took the knife from his daughter. It was bone-handled, brutal in its simplicity, and the steel edge had been polished until it formed a silvery, feral threat of deadly harm.

Regarding it for a few moments longer, Bitkeshi drew it over his thumb, and a tiny bead of blood appeared on the slate-grey pad before he pressed the digit against the letter, leaving a crimson mark like the haunted echo of a noble's wax seal. Handing the knife back to its rightful owner, he showed me the paper one last time, then folded it away.

"We protect your town," he nodded.

Bealde, I learned as we rode back from their camp, was not impressed. "You shouldn't 'ave trusted them with your gold or your promises, sir. Wicked folk, the mountaineers. You don't know the 'alf of 'ow wild the frontier can be."

"Perhaps not. But my foes are not on the frontier right now, sergeant-major. They're back in the paved roads and marble towers of Jaikot." He didn't answer, and I turned away from him, to look at the scrubland drifting past. Inhospitable, unremarkable -- and gorgeous, for it marked the first taste of freedom I had had in years. "Do you believe in scrying, Locke?"

"Seen stranger things in my time," the bear demurred.

The line between spirituality and thaumaturgy was not always clear. The gods were certainly mysterious, and beyond the understanding of simple mortals. We in Aernia were devout, certainly. Magic, though -- magic was something to be suspicious of. "I don't know, for myself," I prompted. "The_shishis_ like it."

"They like a lot of things. Just don't feel right."

"Maybe. I visited the temple west of here -- the oasis temple." By his nod, he knew of Mirim, although it was well beyond the normal patrol tracks of the RFC. "A scryer there said that a game was being played, and that I didn't know yet who the players would be. Until I do, I don't want to make any more enemies."

He grunted, and shifted heavily in his saddle. The ride was not the only thing making him uncomfortable; he spat, and gave his head a jerking shake. "The sky folk, though..."

"They've come down from the mountains. And it's this or a two-front war..."

Nothing else disturbed us on the ride back to Shandur. When I debriefed him, adding in the explanation I'd given Locke, Major Atta-Farash was a little more understanding -- though he seemed to chalk up my decision to some sort of charming naïveté on my part. "And the rest of the patrol?"

"They're good soldiers. I appreciated the chance to ride with them."

"It may come again. Captain Sinla will be busy for a while..." He clasped his strong paws behind his back, and stared out the window of his office to the open yard, where some men were drilling in tight formation. "Thirty-three of your Jaikotan Guard have made it here -- enough for another troop, and to free up some of my men for patrols."

"Did they bring news from the capital?"

"Nothing from Surowa, I'm afraid,kajja. I worry that the messengers are being interdicted... but we can't know for certain unless we send our own." He turned away, and repositioned one of the markers on his map, bringing it closer to Shandur. "A detachment from Fort Vindari is headed our way. We should hear from Colonel Lord Coltharden soon."

"Good."

The panther remained staring at his map, and did not look at me. "Jaikot is under strict martial law. Rumors are that they shot a dozen looters, up against the wall of Temple Ziya ru-Mirzai. And Vanao Barut is dead."

"I'd heard that," I told him softly. "He was a good man."

"And you'll avenge him," Atta-Farash promised. "When Lord Coltharden comes, we'll discuss strategy. For now..." Past the men training in the yard, I could see a wagon being unloaded - barrels of food, and supplies for a long siege. "For now, at least we're safe. I'll let you know if we hear anything else. Thanks for the report, and for taking the troop out."

Rather chuffed, I set myself a handful of tasks. Eventually, I wanted to sleep. Before that, a warm meal. Between the two, well, I had not seen my_araimura_ for a several days, and I didn't want to get out of practice -- besides which, I was a little pent up. And when food turned out to be an mess of overly spiced potatoes, I decided to settle for other things.

Atta-Farash had put me and my documents up in a combined office and bedroom close to the magazine. It was not very big, and I could see someone bustling around inside before I had even opened the door.

Kajrazi held a broom with the same authority she'd held the rifle -- which was resting in the corner, and seemed more well-polished than before. At my appearance, she bowed deeply. "Welcome,kajja."

"You've been keeping busy?"

"Helping with laundry, and cleaning. This was a storeroom for potatoes. It smelled... rather musty. But I've got the worst out... I hope,kajja?" She looked up at me hopefully, and to demonstrate my concern for the whole situation I gave a few deep sniffs. If there had once been potatoes in the room, it held no trace of them any longer.

"Yes. Yes, it's fine. What about the bed?" Not that I was exhausted, but I fancied myself a bit of entertainment before sleeping, and the bed seemed as good a place as any to start. "It's ready?"

"Shishi, kajja," she said, and bowed again. "Would you like to wash first? I warmed up some water, when I heard you were returning..."

My paws_were_ rather less than white, and it seemed a shame to let the opportunity go to waste. "That's actually not a bad idea..."

In the adjoining room, which was presumably where she had been laundering, a washtub rested, still damp inside. Kajrazi indicated she would fetch the water, and left me to disrobe. I unbuttoned my tunic, tugging it off and deciding that it, too, was the worse for wear. My boots, well, they could've used some polishing, but my trousers also proved to be covered in dust and grime.

Indeed, I discovered a sharp contrast between the fur of my body that had been covered by khaki, and the fur that had not. Nobody ever claimed it was_clean_ work, bringing the frontier to heel. I set the clothes aside in a bundle for someone else, by which I meant Kajrazi, to deal with. Then I stepped into the tub, which was heavy, and more than sturdy enough to support my weight.

The firefox returned with a heavy pail of water, which she set on a stool next to the washtub along with the ladle she'd presumably used to fill it. It was not enough for a bath. Studying my available options, I furrowed my brow, flattened my ears, and dipped my paws into the pail before splashing the warm water on my face.

Kajrazi was staring at me with a look I generally reserved for idiot children and wayward pets. I glared back. "Yes?"

The firefox quickly reset her face. "Nothing,kajja. Ah. It's only. Have you not... done this before?"

"You're saying you could do better?"

"Er.... perhaps,kajja."

When I grunted my surrender to this suggestion, she padded closer and took up the ladle, filling it and then pouring it carefully onto the fur of my shoulder. Slowly, to let it sink in: long generations in the heath have given my family rather waterproof coats.

For control, if nothing else, the firefox's methods had its advantages. She ladled more water into my fur, and then began to make use of her fingers. Dragging them through my thick pelt, she worked the hot water down and to the roots; it was, I have to admit, a very pleasurable sensation.

"This is how your people clean themselves?"

"When we bathe," she nodded, and circled me to pour some water onto my back. It took a great effort to keep from shuddering as Kajrazi's fingers stroked along my shoulders and the curve of my spine. She had very keen,very sharp claws indeed. "Water's more precious in the mountains..."

"I can tell that. I met some of your people. We spotted their campfire, but... I'm sure I could've smelled them from not much closer..."

She came to a halt and, though she was behind me, I knew she was gathering her thoughts. "'Met some,'kajja? I... presume they did not enjoy the encounter much."

"It was relatively civil. We talked."

"Oh." My answer appeared to have surprised her, and when she started to bathe me again there was a deeper, kneading pressure to her paws. "What clan?"

I really had to suppress the urge to shake myself dry. "Tejman."

Kajrazi got down and set about cleaning the white fur of my belly next. "I'm sure they told you they were great and fearsome warriors,kajja? A bluff... the Tejmans are goatherds by nature, not fierce at all."

I glanced downwards momentarily, and my ears perked all on their own. I really should not have found the girl so enticing, but there was something about seeing her on her knees that nudged a little growl into my throat, and meant that I filed away Bitkeshi Tejman's honesty with some distraction. "I suppose..."

Warm water spilled from my belly down and into my crotch. Her paw brushed my sheath, half-wet with water, and I found it even harder to muse on_araimuri_ tribal politics. I had tensed up; she stopped moving and muttered something quietly.

"What?"

My servant-girl looked up, her round little ears perked in adorable attentiveness. "Sorry,kajja. I didn't mean to."

Says who? "Yes you did," I told her.

"Well, I..."

"Don't 'well, I' me, mountain girl," I chided, and slid a paw down to tug on one of her ears. Kajrazi had frozen, and I lifted an eyebrow at her. "Did someone tell you to stop?"

One paw was bunched in the fur of my hip; the other grasped the handle of her ladle. Her inquisitive brown eyes flicked between these two options, trying to decide which one I meant. Then, carefully, she abandoned the ladle, and gave focus to the other paw, brushing the soft, short fur of my sheath with the backs of her fingers.

Through some effort I was able to turn my groan into a light growl instead, and I grinned toothily down at her. "I_had_ meant the bath..."

Her ears went straight up, and then straight back. "Oh!"

"Eager little slut," I drawled, and relaxed my hold on her ear to rub at it gently. "Well, don't let me stop you."

"I..."

I cut her off by raising my eyebrow again. "Stop talking. Use your paws."

She had the presence of mind to keep her sharp claws hidden as she went back to brushing my sheath with her fingers -- stroking gently from the base towards the tip, petting it as though trying to sooth a small animal. I permitted myself a groan, and rocked my hips a little to show her she was on the right track.

With every passing second, my cock swelled further and further -- slipping from its fuzzy prison to jut stiffly into the warming air of the washroom. Kajrazi made a game effort at circling me in her little paw, and when this proved to be difficult settled for squeezing me with what she could, starting to pump my shaft slowly.

I grunted, shutting my eyes to savor the soft, furry heat of her paw circling me. Warmth at my inner thigh announced its partner, which paused only a moment before she lifted it to cup my heavy orbs, teasing their heft in her paw.

Then, wet warmth on the bare flesh of my half-erect cock; I gasped, and opened my eyes to find her lapping it lightly. I had half a mind to reward her for showing this initiative -- but orders are orders, and you can't let the natives get away with breaking them. So I tapped her diminutive muzzle with one finger. "Ha-ah-ah," I warned. "We'll see about getting you a snack later, little one.Paws."

"Shishi, kajja," she murmured, her breath warm on my member, slick and wet with her saliva. And she went back to teasing me with her paws alone, fondling my sac and rubbing soft fingers all over the glistening pink flesh of my cock.

I was achingly hard now, starting to buck into her grasp, beads of precum smearing into her fur as she worked at me. I sort of wanted to let her continue -- the mask of her face could've used a little more white, in my opinion. The decision point was rapidly approaching; my cock throbbed and twitched faster, and Kajrazi's paws bobbed quicker too, like she knew what was coming.

It took some willpower, but I forced myself to speak. "That's enough. Get up, girl." I gestured in the appropriate direction with my paw, and for once she didn't hesitate before standing. Guess she was learning. "Dress off. That's a good girl..."

I had only seen the firefox's body in parts, and chiefly from behind. The cinnamon fur of her back and sides stopped abruptly at her front -- a deep, coal black that wrapped about her shoulders almost as though she was wearing an apron. Her fur was thick and, when I ran my paws through it, very soft.

She looked at me expectantly, her head tilted, and I felt bad about making her wait so I took her stocky body by the hips in one paw, feeling up her side and groping her breast with the other. Here I found myself rewarded with warm, solid flesh yielding to my fingers -- and a quiet gasp from Kajrazi, whose eyes suddenly closed.

Growling, I did it again, and stepped from the washtub onto the bare floor, walking her back through the small room until she was pressed up against the wall. I lowered my paw, spreading my fingers and squeezing her plump rear -- another gasp, and she melted an inch or so into my fingers.

"Eager, eager little slut," I repeated, purring to her as I slid my fingers through her luxuriant pelt. I worked her legs further apart with my foot, and she let me do so without demur.

What I had planned would, for the moment at least, take both paws. She whined quietly when my paw left her breast, but when it seated with its partner at her rump she seemed to get the idea, and pushed away from the wall obligingly to let me haul her up to a more appropriate height.

Leaning in to pin her with my chest, I shifted my hips until I felt the searching tip of my cock settle against the hot, moist lips of her sex. Then, without pausing, I pushed up and into her, drawing a sigh from her that met with my groan of satisfaction as I felt myself sliding deeply into the firefox's heated folds.

Buried to the hilt in her enveloping pussy, I squeezed her rump with both paws, and was rewarded with a trembling arch to her back and a quivering, tighter grasp around my cock. My grunting chuckle came out harsh and husky, and I savored the look of tense pleasure on my servant girl's face as I smoothly pulled back, then pumped in again just as slowly.

I kept my pace even and fluid, fucking her in steady, rocking movements that worked the whole length of my cock through her sodden cunt, taking the little sounds she made as my reward -- the little hitching whimpers and cries, and the wet squelch as I plunged slowly into her, filling her with the girth of my shaft.

I'd been understandably pent up, and her paws had been very insistent, but I seemed to be doing better than Kajrazi: her ears were back, her short muzzle hung open, and her cute pink tongue lolled as her mewling body gave in to me. "Such a good slut," I panted hoarsely. "Aren't you?"

She nodded shakily, and rolled her hips into me like a feral dog in heat, grinding against my thrusts as I rutted into her with a building swiftness and a deepening need. Now, with her squirming helplessly in my paws, I could feel the insistent urgency burning a dull glow in my loins.

"Mine," I told her, accenting the words I growled into her ear with a sharper series of bucks. "My dirty little mountain bitch..."

"Yes," she agreed, her voice high, strained. I hilted myself in her again and she jerked in my grasp. "Kajja!"

Another smooth pump of my hips. "What?"

"Please,kajja, don't stop," she begged. Her voice was thin -- needy. "Please don't stop, I'm almost --"

It wasn't my intent to cut her off, but when I sank myself into her again I felt those needle-sharp claws dig into my shoulders, and she thrashed like a trapped animal between my body and the wooden wall. I forced her flat against it with my hips, holding myself all the way inside as she clenched around my rigid shaft, that adorable little mask she wore contorted with ecstasy.

And I could take little more myself. I tried to pull back and discovered that between her grasping cunny and my swollen knot that was not about to happen -- so I settled for strong, rocking grinds that gave my trapped cock as much play as I could get, grunting heavily as the warm sparks of animal pleasure caught, and flared up, and seized hold of me.

With a snarl I stiffened up, pushing deep, and came in a wash of white-hot feeling and the warm splashes of my cum as I filled the firefox with my seed -- spurt after strong, powerful spurt, biting down on her shoulder to muffle an oath that would've made the god in question blush fiercely.

For a few seconds I could neither think nor see straight; Kajrazi was mumbling incoherently or babbling in her barbarian tongue -- about the same thing. I supported her with one paw at her rump and one at her shoulder, staggering back and into the other room, and I just about made it before my knees gave out and we topped back to land in an awkward heap on the bed.

"Kajja," she whispered. She was clinging to me, and her tail curled around my leg.

"Yes, mountain girl?" I draped one arm heavily on her back, and used the other paw to toy with her neck, deciding in that moment that she probably needed a collar after all.

"I... can't move."

I shut my eyes, and slumped back on the bed. "I know."

"You want to sleep,kajja? But I... have to remain here for a... well... until..."

I grunted, and repeated myself. "I know."

"Then..."

"It's fine. You can sleep here."

I felt the twitch of her head as her ears perked. And then she snuggled closer. "Shishi, kajja." Her thick-furred tail entwined itself closer around my leg. And minute passed like this. Two. "Kajja?"

"Mm?" It had taken me a few seconds to rouse my brain back into functionality.

"May I speak... openly?"

"Mm."

"If someone is to... own me. I.... I suppose I am... fortunate it should be someone like you." She lifted herself away from me a little bit, and I gathered she was looking at my face. Opening one eye confirmed my suspicion. "It is not... perfect... but... you said that you would keep me safe, and..."

"And what?" I asked, in the long pause that followed.

She smiled hopefully. "And I... trust you."