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The military situation in Nishran Province escalates as Jon takes command of a troop of native dragoons and a familiar messenger brings word from their southern enemies, leaving both armies on the eve of battle.

Things finally start happening? Maybe? I guess? We set up the upcoming conflict between Dr. Carregan's Iron Corps and the dragoons of the RFC. Kajrazi Kasharman gets a collar and settles into a routine. More smut. Some magic appears! Fancy that! Thanks to the inimitable Spudz and Max Coyote for feedback and creative guidance!

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 6, "This is cactus land"

---

Previously, on _the Road to Mandalay:_

After a military coup forces him to leave Jaikot, Jonham establishes himself at Fort Shandur, northern headquarters of the Royal Frontier Corps. Major Atta-Farash, a Dhamishi native, gives him command of a troop of dragoons, and over the course of a patrol he finds life from horseback rather palatable indeed.

This leaves only the brewing storm to the east. During a stop in an old temple, the priest offers his prophecy: that a great game is being set in motion, and that somehow Jon -- and his servant, the mountain girl Kajrazi -- will have a role to play in it.

And so Jon sets to gathering allies. At Fort Shandur, Major Atta-Farash commands two hundred and fifty dragoons. Another five hundred guard Fort Vindari to the south. And a chance encounter with a family of wandering Bayeh_, the firefoxes of the Vigarkha Mountains, leads him to enlist their support in helping to keep the peace... against the advice of his fellow soldiers._

And now...

I had no idea when Major Atta-Farash slept. Perhaps he never did: he had been awake when I returned from my patrol, and he was in his office when I rose the following morning. The panther nodded his head when I tapped my paw against the frame of his open door. "Come in."

"News from the pickets?"

"Nothing so far." The sympathetic aetherscope was set up on his desk, but not in use. "It seems that things are quieting down here -- either there are fewer of the mountaineers leaving, or they're getting better about sneaking past us."

"What is the RFC's policy towards them, anyway?"

The panther looked at me strangely. "You mean, do we regularly make a habit out of hiring their clans as mercenaries? No, that we do not."

"But you don't shoot them on sight, either."

He shrugged. "I wouldn't mind it. But it's not worth the lead, and we never received new orders from Jaikot, so our mandate is the same as it was from your predecessor. We try to keep armed parties from entering the plains. The wandering families? Individual stragglers? We book them sometimes, but being araimuri is not yet an official crime."

"You can tell when they mean ill, though."

"Six men armed with rifles and fast horses? It's not so difficult to tell that, kajja," Atta-Farash said, and bared his fangs in an eerie sort of grin. "And I think that sometimes the wandering ones may wind up encountering... unfortunate accidents at the hands of the Corps. It is not so great a loss."

Nodding, I recalled the coldness with which Bitkeshi Tejman had said he 'knew our patrols' -- and, for that matter, Kajrazi's blithe assumption that I had caused the mountaineers to find some less than ideal end. "How much of that is required for the safety of the fort itself?"

The panther laughed, and looked out the window to the sturdy palisade. "Ah, kajja. As much as they'd like to, a handful of raiders with stolen muskets are not going to do much to Shandur. Now, when they start stealing cannon as well... then perhaps we shall talk again. We chase the sky folk because they prey on the caravans -- they cannot prey on the fort."

Again I nodded. "In that case, then, I'm issuing new civil guidance from the governor's office. Until this crisis is over, the Corps is to prioritize defending the fort and the bridge, not the passes and not the caravan tracks. I'll send word to Lord Coltharden communicating the same."

"You won't have to," the major said. "He's on his way here -- you can tell him yourself. But you don't want the caravans protected?"

"I want the forts protected more," I explained. "Besides which, the caravans -- all the trade, really -- is the responsibility of the Merchant's Guild. If the Guild wanted Jaikot to protect its caravans, perhaps they should not have attempted to depose me."

"They may take matters into their own hands." Slowly, he let his gaze wander over the outlying markers on his map. "If word gets out that we're not manning the passes, it will be a bloodbath..."

"And hopefully the viceroy will be more inclined to dispatch a proper force to deal with all of our problems," I suggested. "But until then, the uprising in Jaikot is a greater threat to the realm than a few mangled caravans. Your squadron is supposed to have two hundred and fifty men. Could you man all eight pickets with one troop?"

Atta-Farash stared at the map for a long time before answering. "No," he finally decided, not looking to me. "I cannot, kajja. I could post a handful of men to each -- enough to report to me if they were being overrun, but not enough to prevent it. It would be... irresponsible."

"Then what would you suggest?"

His tail lashed, and whiskers twitched against his shadow-black muzzle as he continued staring. "We could maintain the outposts at Ka Kelda, Srada Indesh and..." His eyes flicked between two of the little wooden figures. "Ka Atik. I don't like leaving Ka Kelda so exposed, but perhaps with half a troop there..."

"Still not ideal, I take it."

The panther's claws, as they glided over the map, were sharp indeed. "You're asking me to surrender, kajja gavanar. It is not an easy thing to do."

I could understand what he meant. "I know it's not. Temporary measures only -- I'm not asking you to surrender, I'm asking the Corps to consider its priorities. Unless you think that Carregan and Reth Kanda would be better masters."

Finally the major looked back at me, and smiled. "They might give us more funding for the patrols, at least. They like the caravans as much as you like the araimuri."

"I don't like them," I attempted to clarify. "I just don't reflexively despise them."

His smile widened into a grin, and he seemed to have recovered some of his good nature. "You like some of them," he said. "Or should I say that you like parts of them? My Aernian grammar is..."

"Fine," I finished. "It's fine."

"Well, don't let me keep you from enjoying your pet," he teased. "Somebody has to get some use out of them."

"You know, major, you did as well."

"Mm..." He purred deeply, his tail curling into a pleased swoop. "Yes, so I did. You have the most intriguing companions, kajja. That Akali you brought with you. Shanwir?"

"Yes. The, ah... the finest marksman in Nishran, I'm told. He put four bullets into a tree at thirty paces, in about a second and a half."

"I know," Major Atta-Farash told me. "He also put four bullets into Neen Parmusha, the owner of the second largest bank in Marigar. The Corps chased his band across half of Sura after that -- we got him and a few of his confederates, but none of the gold."

"Recently?"

"Fifteen years ago. But it seems he is equally at home on the side of the authorities. Joining the guard was one of the conditions of his early release."

I didn't get the sense that he was about to change sides again. But I thought of Pad Kaliri's mayor, mourning: everything is desperate now. "You trust him?"

"Of course. It's an interesting story, kajja, nothing more. Besides, we ask no such questions in the Corps. Everyone who can serve is welcome here."

Such was what, in any case, I was left with: the castaways of the shishi's stratified culture -- those who did not fit in, or had transgressed, or had some other reason to seek shelter outside its bounds.

As I was a castaway from my own people, after a fashion. Perhaps I had been a little flippant in describing my participation to Locke, but Clan K'nCarryn and I -- and everyone who had joined in the Harvest Rising --were well outside the mainstream of Aernian society.

Why else had I been given the opportunity to live in scenic, friendly, thriving Jaikot? I had not exactly had to compete for the posting. But, over the next few days -- as I came to know the men of my troop -- I started to appreciate that I was as welcomed as anyone else. It was some comfort, at least.

And when a lean young corporal brought word that Lord Coltharden was due, I decided that I would make the best of it. I told Kajrazi to wake me early in the morning and dropped into my bunk, staring at the ceiling in the darkness.

Because the truth was that I still felt out of place. I should've been back in Dalchauser, serving in the militia or administering my father's lands. Should've been ending my evenings standing atop Starnhavel -- between the glowing torches of the pale and the sun setting over gently rolling heath. Should've been knocking back a pint in the Second Thorn, and tapping my foot to a Marcher reel...

I began to visit it in dreams. I saw myself drawing up on horseback to the gate at Castle Blenharrow, commanding the river that fed the farms and pastures of Gyldraneshire. Sometimes I would awake thinking I could smell the fresh bread baking in the castle ovens, to be sold at market in Gildern Town. I felt myself overhearing animated conversations in a language I spoke and understood. Visiting with old friends.

Lady Miaren K'nArvey and I had grown up together, tearing through the bracken on the edges of the river Abyrcarl, searching for crawdads and mussels. Now, the eldest daughter of Lord Chenwyck -- earl of the neighboring county -- she had grown up into something... well. Something more interesting than the Abyrcarl, anyway.

Word was, she was a terror on horseback. That she could ride from Chenwyckshire to Stanlira in less than a day. That if she leapt the Bridge of the Seven Founders, the horse would only touch down once at the midpoint. That she could take down a hart from a full gallop, with that carved and lacquered bow of hers -- the one I'd put down four pounds to help buy as a gift for her coming-of-age ceremony.

We were not_pledged_ to one another, exactly, but all either of us had to do was ask. We'd always been good about that. Catching the collie lady's warm paw as she alighted from her horse, grinning to meet her smile. "It's been too long, Mia..."

And in my dreams, she didn't hesitate. Her arms wrapped around me when I tugged her into a hug -- my nose catching the scent of fresh exertion and young energy. "Oh, don't tell me, Jon, I know..."

No Viscount Gyldrane or Lady Miaren K'nArvey. Just that close, tight embrace -- and, before I even knew what was happening, the warmth of her lips as my muzzle sought hers for a kiss. Where had she been? Away at school? Off on the hunt? Did it even matter? I didn't pull away until we were both out of breath.

And when I opened my mouth to speak again she cut me off with another fiery kiss, and I abandoned any pretense -- nudging her back against the sun-warmed wood of the castle gate. Completely unconcerned that we might be discovered -- whose business was it? The riding skirt was loose enough to bunch easily in my fingers as I slipped between the horsewoman's strongly muscled thighs.

Somehow my pants were already gone, fallen heavily about my ankles. Mia groaned and grabbed my sides to pull me closer when I entered her, nudging my hips into hers until I was buried to the hilt in the slim black and white collie. I took another thrust, and another, curiously heedless of the fact that we were in public. That it was broad daylight.

That, for some reason, I couldn't move my feet.

I opened my eyes slowly to discover that it was morning. Further, that I was no longer beneath the blanket, but something heavy had my legs pinned. And that I was completely hard. And that a pleasant, warm pressure was wrapped wetly about my manhood.

I looked down to find Kajrazi blinking at me, her eyes bright. Her ringed tail was curled forward, laying like a third partner atop the bed. "What," I asked, aware that my breathing was already becoming ragged, "are you doing?"

She wrapped one of her small paws about my shaft to keep in place when she lifted her muzzle away, licking her lips before answering. "I... thought you asked me to wake you, kajja?"

That was true. And it did play to her skills. All the same, there was some impropriety to her taking such initiative on her own. "Yes -- but not like this."

"Forgive me, kajja," she murmured, and the apology blew warm air against the saliva-wet tip of my cock. "Shall I stop?"

The little minx. I flicked an ear. "I didn't say that."

Not that I thought of myself as particularly carnal, but if she had stopped, I would've needed to take matters into my own paws, and what's the point of that if you have a willing pet? I hooked my finger around her collar and tugged her downward, and she opened her muzzle obligingly to let the tapered point of my cock slip back between her lips.

With a grunt of approval, I closed my eyes again as she resumed her work with focused diligence. Wet slurps met every jolt of pleasure as her velvet-soft tongue traced the veiny contours of my shaft, bathing me in earnest, hungry laps.

My little pet, I decided with a groan, had a natural aptitude. By now I didn't even need to tell her when to suck, when to stroke the fur of my hip with her dextrous paws, when to kiss and lick her way with a kittenish mewl up along the side of my cock. My hips jerked and she used a paw to steady me. "It is good, kajja?"

No answer. With my mouth closed, my breath hissed in heavier and heavier gasps through my nose, and I was too close to the edge to answer. Her tongue caressed me, wet and hot, sliding and curling to guide me deeper into her muzzle, encouraging me to hump against her in quick little thrusts she controlled as skillfully as a jockey, with a light touch pushing back on my hips.

I threaded my fingers through her collar, feeling the fur beneath warmed by contact with the soft leather. I'd had it made only the day before, but it fit her rather appropriately I thought. And when I gave it a possessive tug she chittered gratefully, gasping over my length. I groaned, and stiffened, bucking against the firefox's cute little face.

... And it was cute. Even with my eyes closed, I wasn't imagining Mia in the same position -- ears perked, long hair swept back to reveal her black and white markings, so close to my own, feathery tail wagging. It was more than enough to see Kajrazi at it -- the firefox's dark, warm paws clasping me firmly, wrapped about my girth as she eagerly stuffed it into her muzzle.

When I opened my eyes, I found her looking hopefully up at me, her ringed tail waving like a housepet's. So open. Inviting. Needy. I couldn't hold back any longer -- I let my climax seize me, and I bucked sharply as my seed jetted against her palate. I heard Kajrazi give a little choking grunt beneath my own stifled, unsteady growl -- and the second jerk of my hips tugged me from her muzzle, leaving my cum to spatter the firefox's face in hot pulses.

I held her by the collar at a distance until the throbbing bliss of release had started to fade and the tip of my cock was not so hypersensitive. Then I collapsed into the bed, letting her go, and she settled back to work, catching the last few spurts against her tongue and then suckling me ever so gently...

From her collar, I let my paw wander upwards to cup her cheek, and feel over the short curve of her ear. She tilted it against me; her head was canted, and I rewarded her with the sort of grin an appropriately enthusiastic pet deserves. "Not a bad look for you," I told her; the way that the pearly ropes of my seed streaked her black mask did not exactly make for formal attire... but it made it pretty clear who she belonged to, and I'd take that. "That was a good girl."

Judging by her shy nod and shyer smile, she was willing to accept this as well. Nor did she protest when I hauled her up by the collar to drop the firefox warmly on my chest, leaving her to curl up with a comforted sigh. "Thank you, kajja."

Mm. "Of course." She snuggled closer and I grunted warningly. "Don't get any of it on me. Lick yourself clean if you need to." Again, that hesitant nod.

In the end she did need to, and I had things of my own to accomplish -- pulling on my pants and buttoning up the khaki jacket that didn't do much to abate the blazing sun but did mostly keep the dust from my fur. By the time I heard the shout of men at the gates, I was ready to face the morning.

Kajrazi was smoothing the fur of her face back down with her paws, rather like a cat, and I left her to finish that up. The courtyard outside was abuzz. I joined Major Atta-Farash, and snapped to attention with him at the horse that trotted up to us on sure, heavy feet. Its rider saluted sharply, and then swung himself down from his steed.

Etani Æmerlas, the Marquess of Coltharden, was the same age as me and had reached that age with much more confidence. I remembered what the lion had looked like as a boy, gangling legs and twitching tail and short-cropped hair. Now he looked every bit as striking as his father, hero of a dozen border skirmishes.

He looked almost mythical in his build: fifteen kilos of pure muscle heavier than the already stocky panther he faced. "At ease. And you..." He turned to me, and shook his head, ruffling his regal mane. "Ah, Jon! Jon, I must admit I was overjoyed to hear of your escape. The Jaikot situation is... very tricky. But you're here, and safe..."

It would not do for us to embrace, which is what we clearly wanted; instead, I dipped my head in a demure nod to my old friend. "It's good to see you, too, Coltha. As for the situation, well... we can hopefully resolve it soon enough."

"Yes, of course. The Corps is here to serve that end, governor." He said the last word with a lilt in his voice, for he really still meant Jon. "The whole of the second squadron and a goodly part of the third is camped on the far side of the bridge. But we should talk, first, before we get too carried away by such affairs. I have news."

"Word from Surowa?" Major Atta-Farash guessed. "It must be serious, to have assembled the regiment."

"Right so," Lord Coltharden said. "Would you mind if I spoke to Lord Gyldrane in private, major?"

"Sir?" A second later, the panther stilled his surprise enough to catch himself. "Of course not, sir." He stiffened back to attention, and strode crisply from the room.

That had to mean that the news was not particularly good. I had a moment, as Atta-Farash left, to brace myself for just how bad it might be. "I take it the viceroy has elected not to send aid? Or have you not been able to reach him?"

"Not I, Jon, nor anyone on this earth. Lord Sidley is dead."

"Seolva's teeth," I swore, though of course she could not hear me. The nearest temple to the goddess was, for all I knew, all the way back in Chauserlin. "Natural causes?"

"Natural consequences, at least," the lion said, "for he inhaled a great deal of water. How the water got there is a matter of some debate, at present. Those partial to tragic accidents claim that he suffered a fit in his bath and struck his head. Those fond of happier accidents suggest his servant may have held him underwater until he drowned -- Lord Sidley was, gods rest him, somewhat frail, and his servant was a strong young lad."

Næten Alenor Temisia, Duke of Sidley, had been a man marked more by indifference than incompetence; I didn't think him the kind that was likely to acquire enemies. "Who is under detention, I presume."

Coltha shook his head, the way one does when delivering news that will not be well-received. "It was Caryl Wodrief, son of Bran Wodrief. They're an up and coming family in Marrahurst -- I believe Bran even has a minor baronetcy. Unlanded, naturally."

Naturally; Marrahurst was in the east, and not the kind of place to be concerned with such things. All it meant was that Bran had the favor of the king, and this favor probably extended to his son. "Untouchable, in other words."

"I'd like to try, Jon, but that's going to be a problem all on its own. He left Surowa the day after Lord Sidley died -- passage on the Baysrunner Falzan, which sailed under cover of darkness. A fast barque, apparently."

Baysryn was another eastern town, if I remembered my geography. But Falzan -- the Anvil -- was a constellation, and these days only one family so conspicuously named their ships after those. "And a barque, no doubt, whose sails have a Carregan coat of arms?"

"You see the problem..."

"I see many. Lord Sidley was a friend of your father's, wasn't he?"

The lion nodded, although the Duke of Rudkirk was a genial man and: "my father has many friends. Lord Sidley was mostly around to keep the peace -- uncontroversial, old, and slow. Now that he's gone, the peace is threatening to go with it. Surowa is in complete disarray, and the King's Own Army is just barely holding it."

So much for expecting the help of regular troops for my own uprising. "Just barely holding it with the entire battalion at Fort Marskirk?"

"The whole river valley is a tinderbox, Jon. After what happened in Jaikot, nobody seems to know who to trust. The governors are mostly men of the Aultlands, like us; they'll follow the right man's lead."

"Pray tell, Coltha -- who's the right man?"

"Good question. I rode for Shandur on the last message from my father -- which came before we heard of Lord Sidley's death. The Gelandermote is in a crisis meeting, from what he said. They've no intention to let the Carregans get away with this."

"They're moving slow enough it won't matter what their bloody intentions are," I muttered, happy enough that I had been able to restrain myself from using a coarser oath. "She's been outmaneuvering us at every bloody step. What do they mean to do?"

"They'll demand the railroad's permit to operate in the province. And they'll order for Dr. Carregan's recall. But the king will have to agree to that, and it may take some trading of favors... I thought you were supposed to have King Chatherral's fancy?"

"Supposedly," I said. "Vague rumors that if I did my job here, I'd be welcomed back in the north. I had kept the province from revolting. Better than my predecessor, at least. Gods damn it, Coltha." I sighed, and rubbed at one of my ears. "I told Major Atta-Farash I was changing the provincial policy towards the frontier."

"Eh?"

"There are more important things than guarding the caravans right now. I think it would be good to have as much of the RFC at close hand as possible. I know you're supposed to keep the trade routes safe, but..."

Etani only laughed. "Why do you think I brought four hundred men here? To hell with the mud-lover's caravans. We're here to take back Jaikot -- aren't we?"

"Good. I'm glad you agree."

"Of course I do." He opened the door, and summoned Major Atta-Farash back inside. "Major, I was telling the governor that we've had ill news from Surowa. Suffice it to say, we're on our own for awhile. Our priority has to be securing the bridge -- from the south, not the wildlands."

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to recall the frontier pickets. Post a dozen men at Atik, and pull everyone else back. I want Shandur Squadron ready to ride in force at two days' notice."

This was even more extreme than I had suggested, and the panther blinked several times before answering. "Ah -- but -- sir. What of the gate at Ka Kelda? O-or the Serhai oasis? Sir?"

"What of them? We can't hold the border line against more than bandits, major. Every section you have sitting on its ass at an outpost is one that's not scouting for our enemies, or reinforcing the defenses here. Both of those are more important to me right now."

"Yes, sir."

"Regular patrols, major. We need to be able to anticipate their movements far better than we are now. As far west as Malak-Choti and as far north as the cliffs -- until we know what they're planning. You should have the men for that."

"Yes, sir, I do." Atta-Farash seemed no happier about it than he had to me.

"And Jon can fight. His clan was born on horseback, and he doesn't have any papers to sign here..."

The panther looked between Coltha and I. "Yes, sir. I've given him command of Captain Sinla's troop. Half of them are at Ka Kelda, though."

"Then recall them. Not with a runner -- use that magic device you didn't want me to find out about. What -- do you think I'm blind to what the men in my command are doing? It's a good tool to have on hand." Without waiting for a response, my old friend turned to me. "Jon, do you mind if I give you an order?"

I shook my head. "No. Sir," I added, on second thought.

"You know the lands downriver better than me. Take your troop and ride south. To Jin-Giri's Ferry, at least, and maybe a few miles beyond. Make sure our maps are up to date, and keep an eye for..."

"Coltha?"

I remembered what he had looked like, in the flush of youth, when we'd hunted together out on the Marches. Now, even with the mane, he still seemed too young for the uniform -- a momentary wavering in his bluster. "Keep an eye for a good plain to have a battle on."

"Aye, sir."

This time, when I rounded up the men from the barracks, they were quick to assemble and answer to me. And at the stables, Lieutenant Karsi led me to a stall, and a horse of the eastern style.

The mountaineers rode horses -- stocky, short-legged creatures with shaggy coats. These were not quite as suitable for the taller Dhamishi, but the eastern horses used by the dragoons of the Royal Frontier Corps were clearly related: heavy, sure-footed things, regarding the world through patient eyes.

"Muresha," Karsi introduced me. Muresha was a bay roan, with light dapples along her back. These creatures, bred for hardiness and stamina, were nothing like the hot-blooded mounts of Marcher cavalry, but they had a certain friendly calm to them. When the mare turned to nuzzle at me, I rubbed her nose affectionately.

It's not a thing you can do with a steam locomotive.

Aernians, including myself, had the impression that eastern horses were strong but slow learners. According to Karsi, this one was well trained, and I was happy to see that he was right. A light touch on the bearing rein and a slight shifting of my body was all I needed to guide her, and she seemed to intuit quickly where I intended to go.

Of course it was possible that she would crack under the pressure of a battle, or prove to be uncooperative later, but as the hours passed I came to appreciate her steady gait. Locke drew his own massive horse -- of the eastern type, but larger than any easterner could ride -- alongside me, and grinned.

"You're happy with 'er, sir?"

"Quite, sergeant-major. Karsi chose well."

"It were Karsi's 'orse. Guess 'e trusts ye." I grinned -- that pleased me, though I'd have to make sure the trust was well-placed. "Looks like the two you could get all the way down to the coast by yourself without stopping. See what 'appened to the Good Duke."

"Did you know Lord Sidley?"

"No. I don't really follow the lords and ladies an' all that, I'm afraid. In me 'omeland it were good enough to know Eogen, Lord Rosskarthern. Great man, that one. Beyond 'im, well... no offense, Haitch, but I've not 'ad much use for lords."

"We are a bit... useless," I admitted. "Are you from the valley, then? Roosketter's one big valley, if I recall correctly..." My knowledge of the island was rather scanty, but I wanted to give some semblance of kinship to the big sergeant.

"Is that 'ow you call it in the 'ighlands?"

He didn't seem to be truly chiding me, so I shrugged. "Don't speak Raghish."

"Really?" It seemed to surprise the big sergeant-major, but the people of Ailaragh were their own rather insular culture, with their own rather insular language. "Raghish is close to Old West Aernian, you know. You'd call that... proper Aernian, wouldn't you?"

"I wouldn't. Maybe in Tabisthalia they'd say that."

"Not in the Marches?"

"In Dalchauser, they taught us the old books in the Low Aernian they used to speak in the southern Aultlands. Closer to Ellagdran, I think -- at least, they say so. I've forgotten almost all of it, truth to tell. Just a tongue for prayers and poems and songs. Ver ons Gelandermote an ver ons Vatishlan'; tol Jar'n an Tavistal varsprakket na eiyan..."

"Fram kirk an 'eimstadar; fram ferm an fiskerha'n..." he continued for me, in his thick accent.

We finished the verse together. "Tol Jar'n an Tavistal, varsprakket na eiyan." A few of the men in the troop had turned to look, but neither of us saw fit to apologize. "Where did you learn the K'nShaffer Marching Song?"

"From a Ken-Shaffer," he grinned. "There's quite a few of them in... 'ow did ya call it? Roosketter? Bloody inlanders. 'Ere an' all I try to speak your language..."

"Fine. How do you say it, Locke?"

"Rosskarthern is the common tongue, but it's closer. In Raghish, if that's what yer askin', it's Hruss Keirthreagn. The land of the horses."

"My kind of place," I said, and patted my mare's side happily. "The Duke is supposed to be a decent man. I've heard that he turned a tenth of his estate over to barley to feed the island, in the last famine. Before I was born."

"Aye, that he did. I were leavin' the Scarplands then, though. No use for corn nor charity. Just adventurin', for me. Adventurin' and the Shrouded Rocks. Gods, I can still remember the first time we came up on those fjords. Thought we were sailin' right onto the cliffs."

"For coal."

"Coal an' whatever else they could pry out of the stone with a pickaxe. Ain't meant for us, those lands. Bitter cold an' everything wants to kill ye."

I had never been north of Tabisthalia. Some leagues further on, beyond the White Waters, the cold currents that swept east from the Meteor Isles crashed against the craggy beaches of the Shrouded Rocks. It was not until only a few decades before my birth that landing spots had even been sighted there.

I knew this from school, and from the novels I'd read as a young boy, about the early explorers. My family was not the adventuring kind -- certainly not the sort of adventuring where you need to wear a parka. "They have natives, don't they?"

"Had," Locke corrected. "Maybe still, on some of the smaller islands, but not where I was. That were why the Carregans 'ired us."

The last time I'd brought it up, Locke hadn't wanted to speak about it. But now, staring ahead at miles and miles of barren plains, I had nothing better to do than ask. "Much fighting?"

"Before me. When they first landed, they met some of the natives -- short, strange little things. Proper spell-crafters. Get enough of 'em together an' they could set a ship on fire. An' they did, to hear tell, after the talkin' stopped."

Once again he fell silent, and I had to prod. "But the Iron Corps took care of them? At least, eventually...."

"Killed the 'erds they followed. And the big seals they 'unted. Pulled up the berries. Poisoned the springs. Got to be there wasn't such big groups anymore, an' then carcass an' grapeshot'll do well enough for a camp. You seen what carcass does, Haitch?"

"No. Never." My family had no familiarity with artillery, and certainly not with the incendiary they called carcass, which could burn a soldier or a city to ashes.

"In the south they mix it thick, so it sticks to the walls when it burns. Up there they made it thinner -- one shell hits and it spreads out over 'alf the damn camp. First time I saw that..." He shuddered. "Ain't a way to kill a man. Guess you get used to it. Pale orange flames below and the green skyfire up above it... that's 'ow I'll remember the Rocks 'til my dying day."

My family had guarded the Pale for many generations. I knew that you had to be willing to take measures against the less-than-civilized. Else the desert raiders would sweep in to prey on wandering shepherds, or the mysterious forest creatures would slink from their dark woods and swallow a farm or two.

Against this we rode on our patrols, and killed them where we had to, and chased them out and back into the wastelands. And we raised the great Iron Pale, with its line of barricades and forts, that had kept Aernia safe for centuries.

It was different from the kind of slaughter I'd heard ascribed to the Railroad, the kind that Locke now described. He went on. "But really, by the time I was there, they were almost all gone. Just 'eard the stories -- soldiers do like to talk, when it gets to winter an' the sun don't come out for weeks."

"Doesn't sound that pleasant."

"Like I said, Haitch, weren't meant for us. An' when they'd killed the last o' the islanders and they didn't have anybody to work their mines, they brought over the things they'd captured in the desert. Jackals mainly. Weren't meant for them, neither. They die quick -- if it ain't the snow that gets 'em, they get it into their 'eads to try an' escape..."

And that, I guessed, was what the Iron Corps was really for. "Where is there to go? You can't very well swim the bloody ocean..."

"No," Locke agreed. "But I guess they figured it was better than living in the mines. An' I guess I couldn't really blame 'em."

"And you left."

Bealde, the big bear with his husky voice and his bawdy grin, slumped down in his saddle. "Shoulda done sooner, but... it's 'ard to get out, once you're in," he muttered softly. "Got cold one week -- real cold, biting cold. Cold like you'd spit and it'd be frozen when it hit the ground. They raised a commotion in the camp. Demanded firewood and shelter. An' when mornin' came, they wouldn't work. Said they refused, 'til they got their demands answered."

"So you... beat them, I presume."

"Shanyl Carregan is an odd one. Meet 'im in a bar an' he's right pleasant. Once, I came back through a blizzard to deliver a report from the pickets. He tipped me four crowns an' gave me a nice flask o' southern whiskey for me troubles. But with the mines..."

"I never got the impression that Rescat Carregan would put up with much opposition on her railroad," I said, and thought of the two jackals she kept as bodyguards. I have lifted from them the burden of free will. "It wouldn't surprise me if Shanyl would be the same. Same family..."

"Rescat's uncle," Locke nodded.

"What did he do?"

"'E said 'e'd listen. Got 'em all together. 'You're cold an' 'ungry?' he asks, and one of the jackals steps up. 'Desperate cold and desperate starved,' says 'e. And Shanyl nods. 'E were ice in 'is bones, anyway; never wore a coat up there. 'Captain Merrish!' he barks, for Merrish were our commander. 'Shoot every other one of them. 'Ave 'em butcher and skin the bodies. There's yer food an' there's your warmth,' 'e tells the jackal standin' there."

"And you did."

Bealde couldn't even manage a nod of admission. "If 'e caught one not wearin' the pelts, later, 'e'd have their throat cut on the spot. That were when I started drinking. Didn't 'elp. Didn't 'elp Merrish either, poor bastard. Threw 'imself off a cliff..."

I didn't want to hear any more of the story, and Locke didn't want to volunteer it. We rode on in silence, adventuring and the K'nShaffer Marching Song forgotten. Despite my antipathy towards the shishis as a people, and my resentment for what had happened in Jaikot, I hoped that nothing so severe was taking place in the capital.

I wouldn't go so far as to say that I thought Raiza Serapuri was a friend, but for all his blithe corruption he had done better for the city than another might've. Certainly, it seemed clear enough to me, than Dr. Carregan would.

We stopped to make camp, and I unfolded my map. The second night's travel had brought us most of the way to Jin-Giri's Ferry, where a widening of the River Ajirandigarh permitted the lazy transit of a few flat-bottomed boats. It was not enough for an army, although I reckoned that we'd have to close the crossing on a southward march of the RFC -- just to prevent any unpleasant surprises.

I had half a mind to gain the ferry before dawn came in earnest, but Locke argued me from it: the horses were weary, and we'd made good time already that night. Fortunately Lieutenant Karsi was as eager to press on as I: he volunteered to hike south with me, to a sharp-walled hill that seemed to provide the best vantage point in our area.

"Liking the north, Captain Jonham?"

"It's better from horseback than from inside an office," I told the dog. He looked a little like Akal Shanwir, if Shanwir had engaged himself in fewer barfights. "Is this your home?"

"No, sir." He pushed himself up onto a ledge, and turned to offer me a paw. "Karsiri are townspeople. I couldn't be a tailor like my father. Town is..." He brought his dusty paws together in a ball. "Tight. Too tight."

"Too bloody tight, indeed," I agreed with him. From the top of the hill, looking around scrubland tinted crimson by the sunrise, I could do nothing but agree. At least he did not say anything that would force me to admit that the land itself was growing on me.

Once again I pulled out the map, matching it against the landmarks I could see. Looking for places where the Corps could make its stand -- or where Carregan might be checked, if she chose to make her way north.

In actuality, I didn't think that this was all that likely. Having ejected me from Jaikot, Dr. Carregan could work at her leisure. The railroad was probably mostly finished, and when I reappeared with the Royal Frontier Corps she and her minions could make their way south with impunity.

Particularly if there was nobody inclined to stop them in Surowa.

The death of the viceroy was troubling, and I had not yet had time to factor it into my calculations. It removed the possibility of immediate aid from the King's Own Army, yes. But at the same time, since I wasn't really certain of that august body's loyalty, it also made it less likely that they might choose to support the Carregans.

And, if what Coltha said was true and the Gelandermote was in a crisis meeting, then it meant the ripples of what was happening in Dhamishaya were being felt all the way back in the Aultlands.

I wondered what my family was thinking. The sister to whom I was closest, Anira, was in school. No doubt she already bore the jeers of her fellow students, mocking the customs we had on the Marches -- I certainly had, even at the military academy. This would be one more injury.

And my father, the Marquess of Dalchauser, must have been even at that moment arguing his case before the Gelandermote -- a call for action, against the upstart families of the east and their lowborn ways. But did he judge me, as well, for having put him in such a position?

I didn't know exactly what I could really have done in Jaikot. Come down harder on the Rethaya, mostly, but it wasn't as though Rescat Carregan was stupid enough to have had no other allies. She would've found one easily enough, and I had never been empowered to deal with the root of the problem, which was her existence in the first place.

Now all I could do was try to keep things as smooth as possible, and I had to do this from far away. Karsi Jahan, noting my grimace, passed me his canteen. I took a grateful drink -- then wrinkled my nose. "Rum?"

"From Maddurai," he nodded. "It keeps the water from spoiling."

Was water something that really spoiled? Maybe in Dhamishaya. I forced myself to return to my work, handing the canteen back to the dog. "If you were going to move an army north, how would you do it? Along the river?"

"Yes. I think. The land is soft... there's water for the men, and barges for the supplies. You don't think so, sir?"

I let my claws skim the heavy paper of the map, tilting my head at the contours and markings. "No, I agree... the river secures your flank, too. This is probably the best track -- but it also limits your maneuverability." Less of a problem with horses, naturally -- faster and more nimble, we could pin an adversary against the water and simply run them down. "If we had to hold them, I think... maybe south of the ferry. Where the river bends west, towards the town of Gur."

"Ah, Gur... perhaps you could let them have that."

"Not a fan of the town, lieutenant?"

"It is not a fan of me. Gur!" Snorting, the mutt pulled from his canteen, and then tilted it towards me in offering. When I declined it, he shrugged, and took another drink. "Gur is shekh Uchorita's town. Not a good place."

So it was that nonsense again. "You know, half the problems in your damned country are because you can't get past the shekhs. When I was sitting in Jaikot, every bloody day I heard about some caste being slighted by another, or some other caste jockeying for political favor with an allied family... I never did get it."

Lieutenant Karsi briefly gave me the weary expression Raiza used when I was being obtuse. He fidgeted with the stopper of his canteen. "If we needed to cook breakfast... will you start a fire with your saber, captain?"

"What?"

"Can you light a fire with that sword of yours?"

"No."

"Indeed, sir. You would use a flint and steel for that. But you could not catch a fish with a piece of flint. You could not cook soup in a fishing net. You could not mend a torn garment with a cookpot. Everything has its place. Every shekh has its place. It came from the gods, originally, and who am I to argue?"

"I don't know."

"Nor do I, sir," Karsi smiled. "Before your people came, the shekhi understood their places. Afterwards you began to meddle with the order of things. Now an Uchorita is not always happy being a butcher. He feels that he perhaps could do something else, if he knew the right person or paid the right bribe. Some shekhi grow more powerful... greedier..."

"Like the Rethaya."

"Oh, to hell with them," he snorted again. "They were always fools, putting on airs and thinking they were blessed by the moons themselves."

The complicated hierarchical web that bound the shekhs -- and which even I knew the Aernians had upset -- was almost a complete mystery to me. But I did know that the Rethaya outranked the Karsiri, and I suspected the Karsiri outranked the Uchoritaya. This was, perhaps, why he was so aggravated by the nerve of the latter.

"You could almost see Gur from here," the lieutenant added, at my silence. "Or smell it, at least."

I took him up on the suggestion. The morning air carried nothing but the faintest scent of wildflowers from the sheltered slope below our perch. And a sweep of my spyglass showed only barren rocks, and scrubby bushes. On the second pass, though, something caught my eye -- I narrowed it, trying to make out what I was seeing better. Clear enough: a blurry line of smoke nudged the horizon. "Lieutenant..."

"Sir?"

I handed him the scope, and pointed. "Smoke."

"Someone's making breakfast," he decided, at length. "It's about that time."

"Do you suppose they started that fire with flint alone," I asked, "or do you suppose they have sabers?"

"I suppose..." He bit his lip, and his short ears flicked curiously -- his eye still locked to the glass. "That we should be certain either way."

There was no higher viewpoint, but the obvious paths from where the smoke curled were all visible from our position. "Lieutenant, head back to camp. Make sure they douse their own fire, if they have one. Just in case..."

"Yes, sir."

Now I had cause to be grateful that we'd stopped when we did. I was certain the men were resting, but they were unlikely to be exhausted, and could spare an hour or two of sleep. As Lieutenant Karsi scrambled down the rocks back along the way we'd come, I took my spyglass back and watched the horizon.

The smoke dwindled, and presently it vanished completely. I glanced around, chose a suitable twig, and stuck it in the ground, using my claw to mark the extent of its shadow. The shadow shrunk, further and further -- the sun was a quarter of the way up into the sky when my eye caught movement.

At first I wasn't certain what I was seeing -- and my eyes had been straining so long I dismissed it as a fluke. But no -- little dots, a dozen or so, moving in an orderly line along the caravan track. They moved too steadily to be animals: they had to be men, too widely spaced to be pilgrims or merchants, and I did not feel like waiting around to see what they intended.

Hopping lightly from rock to rock I came down from the ledge, glanced around a final time, and jogged briskly back to where we had made camp. Sergeant-Major Bealde and Lieutenant Karsi were waiting; the rest of the troop dozed lightly -- in uniform, rifles at hand.

"Captain?" Locke looked at me expectantly.

"Ten or twelve people, marching along the track. I don't know what they're up to, but I think it would be best if we weren't caught unprepared." Karsi dipped his head briskly, and left me with Locke while he went to rouse the men. "There's not much cover, unfortunately."

"Not much?" the bear asked drily.

"None."

"Rocks," he growled.

"Yes. A half-mile before the hill Karsi and I were on, the terrain is rather broken north of the road. It's not perfect, but we could use that, I think." Lieutenant Karsi rejoined us, and I repeated myself.

"It's why our uniforms have this color," the dog grinned. "We can do it, sir."

"Have the quartermaster take his men and move the horses as far back as he can -- out of sight and hearing. Quickly. The rest of your section is with me."

Eighteen of us, without the quartermaster's group; we had the advantage of numbers and surprise. I led us at speed back up, and into the rocks that overlooked the caravan road a hundred and fifty yards to our south. Sure enough, Karsi was right: against the rocks and clumps of dusty vegetation the dragoons very nearly disappeared.

And once we were in position, I had a better sense of timing. We would definitely see the approaching travelers first. I gave it at least ten minutes before they would even be able to spot us, and that presumed that they were looking. Based on the prudence they'd shown so far, with the campfire, I had my doubts.

"Hold your fire unless and until I give the order," I commanded Karsi; in whispers, they passed the order down the line. Then there was only the waiting. I split my gaze between the rocks and the horizon -- just in case they had chosen a more difficult approach.

But my worries turned out to be misplaced. A flicker of movement turned into the first of the strangers, and I brought my spyglass up, mindful of any reflection from the sunlight on its brass fittings or polished lens. The man, who was moving at a steady pace, had a musket shouldered. So did the one following him. They were identically clad, in dark green jackets and trousers.

"Not the town guard, nor the RFC..." I said to Bealde.

Locke shook his head. "Not the Iron Corps, either."

The lead figure was a dark feline, probably a panther. I rolled myself carefully over to Lieutenant Karsi. "Do you recognize them?"

"He's Atta-Farashi," the dog whispered back. "The one behind him has the insignia of shekh Reth on his wrist."

"How can you tell from here?"

"It's a silver bracelet. Who else but the Rethaya would be so ostentatious?"

I caught Locke's eye; the bear shrugged. A glance up and down the line showed sixteen rifles at the ready. There were a dozen men on the road, in all, and they had not yet noticed our presence. I fidgeted, tapping my claw against the ground. Once. Twice. My eyes narrowed as I tried to force myself to a decision. Three times. Four. "Do it, Karsi."

The Royal Frontier Corps trained its men to pair off. One fired, and then the other covered him as he went through the tedious process of reloading. On my first visit to Shandur, years before, I'd been given a demonstration by a full company of dragoons, working in concert.

It had all seemed, if dramatic, quite choreographed. The powder, carefully poured into place. The wadding arranged just so. The stern thrust of the ramrod down the too-small barrel. Very time-consuming, I thought: my saber could dispense with a man before he'd even torn his cartridge open. I'd said that, at the time, and Major Atta-Farash had bragged that one of his troops could put two dozen well-aimed shots downrange every minute.

Now I was seeing them at their deadly finest. Karsi turned to the signalman, and nodded once. The sound of the bugle was sharp and piercing. Before us I saw the men freeze -- then the rippling crack of the rifles from either side of me.

Half of the men dropped before any of them could even unsling their muskets. The others were looking around in a panic. We had lost the element of surprise or concealment, with the smoke rising from where we lay in the rocks. But even as I watched, another volley rang out.

Two or three shots came in answer. None of them were close, though I heard the rustle of shattered rocks clattering down the hillside above us. Locke, leading the tempo of the first group of dragoons, was barking out in crisp orders the sharp cadence of reloading -- then came again the angry reports of our rifled muskets, and now I saw no more movement from the road.

In less than two minutes, the whole thing had ended. With their older weapons, the Corps was not nearly as fast as Kajrazi to reload, nor perhaps as accurate, but they'd done their job as well as I could've hoped. When I was certain we were no longer in any danger, I signaled to Karsi again, and again the bugle sounded.

Three of the men were still alive when Locke and I, having ordered Karsi to keep watch, gained the road. The one who had been leading had dragged himself from the rocky track towards the riverbank, twenty yards or so, before abandoning the effort to lie sprawled on his back, staring blankly upwards.

He was definitely a panther, and he looked older; a few white hairs had started to show in his muzzle. His whiskers twitched with labored breaths. When I knelt next to him he turned his head to me; his lips moved, but the only sound was a faint groan.

"Who are you?" I growled. This time the groan was louder. I was not inclined to be charitable: I recognized the short musket he'd let fall to the ground as one of the guns I had asked Vanao Barut to buy, and it had Jaikot's seal imprinted on the stock. "You sodding, worthless thief. Who the hell are you?"

"Carregan's auxiliaries," Locke said. I turned and found that the bear had joined me. "Railroad scrip in their pocket -- I'd recognize the jingle of that useless tin anywhere." He tilted his head to the side abruptly, and I followed his gaze down to the panther's breast pocket, where a flash of white marked a small piece of paper protruding from it.

When Locke reached down to retrieve it, the man weakly tried to bat his hand away. I grasped his wrist firmly, and he muttered a bubbling curse at me. "The same," I growled, "to you. What is that, sergeant-major?"

He unfolded the paper, and as he read it he bared his teeth, turning it around so that I could see the Dhamishi script. "Orders," he grunted. "A.F. Marig Prakan to advance north to Suthwanda ridge by main road and probe for enemy readiness. R. Hanu Balar to advance north to Ka Yanir by the Bosma gap. Rendezvous at Ka Yanir no later than noon, 15th Tess-ma-kar, and return immediately to the railhead." He rolled his eyes. "Following that is a prayer, and a reminder to burn the paper."

Before I could answer, the panther coughed wetly. His leg jerked, scrabbling at the dirt. "Can any of them be saved?"

"No, sir. Best... end it quick-like." He leaned down to eye the dying Dhamishi. "Guess you were the Atta-Farashi. Prakan?"

The man's muzzle moved in a nod that was just barely perceptible. I got back to my feet, and bent to pick up the musket he'd left behind. It was still loaded, and unfired. I checked the detonator cap to make sure it was in place, and thumbed the hammer. "You chose the wrong side," I told him. It sounded colder than I meant, but there was no guilt in my voice. Vanao Barut, I had sympathy for. These traitors...

I pulled the trigger. He shuddered, and seemed to cough, but before the report of the musket had faded it was clear the life was gone from him.

"How far north is Ka Yanir?"

"Fifty miles, sir, or thereabouts. It's 'alfway between Malak Choti and the river."

Locke, I discovered, had already dispatched the other two auxiliaries with his bayonet. I trudged back up the hill to meet Karsi and, together with the troop, we started to make our way back to the camp. "Who were they?" the lieutenant wanted to know.

"The orders were signed by an R. Charik Seyura." Locke handed Karsi the handwritten note so that he could examine it himself. "You don't know 'im, do you?"

"The name sounds familiar, Mr. Locke, but... not so familiar I could place it. I don't really know shekh Reth well enough to judge their lineage."

And of course I was no help. But there were other things to do, now: "Lieutenant, can you make Yanir by tomorrow morning? Sergeant-major?"

Karsi Jahan nodded -- the eagerness that was the child of equal parts conviction and desire. "Of course, sir. By midnight, if we hurry."

"Aye, but it'll wear the mounts -- and the men," Locke tempered the younger man's enthusiasm with a bit of practical advice.

"Don't kill the horses. Lieutenant Karsi, get to Yanir and wait. If they're as few as those back here were, deal with them. If you can't take them safely, get away without being seen -- but I want them dead or captured."

"Yes, sir."

"Coming with, Haitch?"

We were back amongst the horses now, and I untied my own. Though I smelled of powder, Muresha gave my hand a warm nuzzle. "No. I'm headed back to the fort. If you don't see their patrol by the deadline, come back, too -- don't venture further south, and don't take any unnecessary risks."

I would not have turned down the chance to join them. The ambush, simple as it was, had been exciting enough. But my responsibilities suggested that I could not tarry; taking the note from Karsi, I pulled myself onto Muresha's back and struck out for Shandur as quickly as I dared push the dappled mare.

I had by now committed most of the map to memory. If Carregan was sending scouting parties out, then she was interested in leaving the city. Indeed, the "railhead" mentioned in the order must not have been in Jaikot, or they would've simply used the town's name. So she was extending the line upriver -- for purposes I could not fathom -- and doing so at speed.

I rode until my exhausted horse and I could go no further and the sun was only a fading purple memory on the western horizon. We found a shallow ditch, and there I slept fitfully -- awakening twice, having convinced myself of the sound of distant rifle fire.

It was dawn when I reached the palisade of Fort Shandur. Inside, the colonel was at breakfast with Major Atta-Farash, but when I appeared both turned and stood quickly. "What's happened, Jon?"

"We ambushed a scouting party. Carregan's raised native auxiliaries, and they're being ordered as far north as the edge of the wastelands." The order was folded and warm against my breast; I retrieved it, and handed it to the pair. "Prakan and his men are dead. I ordered Troop Black to the hill to dispense with the others..."

"Marig Prakan," Major Atta-Farash muttered, presumably reading the note -- for I could not, and was trusting Locke's translation. "I knew him. He worked at a smithy in Aloro. The husband of my cousin Rundus. You're certain he's dead?"

I nodded. "Yes." I did not feel that he would benefit from knowing the circumstances.

"Atta-Farash Prakan was a traitor," the panther finally decided, and mostly sounded as though he had managed to convince himself. "And his fate is no concern of mine."

"Except," Lord Coltharden pointed out, "that there will be others like him. My Dhamishi is not good, Major Atta-Farash -- what is this word here?"

He still seemed slightly distracted, and his eyes flicked from the paper once or twice before he answered. "It's... ah. A port? The port for the steamroad. Ah... I'm not sure what it is..."

"Railhead," I clarified. "They mean the railhead."

"Bloody hell," the colonel sighed. "If they're staging from Jaikot, why not just say 'return to Jaikot'? They have to be pushing north... the railhead must lie beyond the city now."

"That's why I returned, Coltha. I don't like the implications."

"Do that... thing... major..." Lord Coltharden ordered, and the lion pointed to the wall of their room, where a large tapestry hung -- decorated with gaudy colors, and the emblem of the Royal Frontier Corps' native auxiliary with which Atta-Farash Irzim served.

The panther placed his paw against the fabric, and murmured beneath his breath. As I watched, the color faded -- then, the image began to shift, pulsing in rippling waves from the feline's dark fingers.

When it had settled, I perceived something I had long been lead to believe was mythical. Before me, worked into the threads of the tapestry, was a map of Dhamishaya and the surrounding lands in exquisite detail. "Gods above..."

"I know," Coltha growled flatly. "They surprised me with it, too."

"It was a gift," Atta-Farash said. "Meant for caravaners."

"It'll serve now," Lord Coltharden stepped towards the tapestry, and I joined his side. "Where will the railroad run, Jon?"

"Officially, from Jaikot to Surowa. Aloro, Turthen-Kaya..." I traced the path Dr. Carregan had described, along the winding banks of the river Ajirandigarh. As my claw brushed the fabric, it seemed to ripple and dance, as wheat fields beneath a summer breeze. "Cotton and grain from Nishran down to the harbor."

Pushing the line to the bridge at Shandur only added a hundred and fifty miles or so, if the river was followed. But: "They wouldn't get anything from moving further north. All we have here is trade from the Confederacy."

Which was mostly baubles and trinkets, at that. We only saw whatever caravans bothered to venture through the mountain passes: serious Ellagdran trade went by wagon to Aldimarek, beyond the northern mountains, and then by barge to Issenrik. The city itself was not a part of the Confederacy, but Issenrikers were Ellagdran by heritage. "What about the lake?"

"Lake Aji is flat on the far shore, but mountains quickly beyond that," Atta-Farash Irzim waved his paw over that part of the map, and it swelled beneath his grasp, magnifying, the mountains gaining craggy form. "The Ellagdrans would love to cross that -- the passes are hard work, so I'm sure they'd tunnel instead -- but..."

"But they don't know railroads," I nodded. They were superlative miners, and I trusted them to be able to manage the drilling, but they'd never been much for steam engines and had almost no iron. "On the other hand, I'll bet Dr. Carregan could help. Tunnels and passes... then it's a straight shot across the desert to Sedreth."

"The araimuri wouldn't stand for that. You know this, sir," he turned to Lord Coltharden, and with his paw gone the map returned to normal. "We've tried to force the lake before. We've never succeeded."

"You've never had her weapons," I countered. "Or her attitude."

Coltharden worked his fingers along the map from Shandur to Jaikot, then paused. "I've seen the mandate she was given -- or a copy of it. From Arlen Couthragn, an old friend of my father's in the Artem-Jana Guild. I trust him."

I had met Arlen -- though at the time, not with knowledge of his affiliation. "Jaikot to Surowa, right?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand why she'd want to exceed it. Not with everything that's come with it -- deposing the government in Jaikot, killing the viceroy..."

"There's something else," I realized, watching my old friend's hands on the map. "Reth Kanda told me she was going to run a line to Issenrik."

"To Issenrik?"

"When I mentioned that to her, she denied it -- but I got the hint that... maybe... there was a kernel of truth hidden somewhere."

"That's bizarre," muttered Major Atta-Farash. He did not have to look at the map to offer his opinion. "The people of Issenrik are fools. And they have a deep-water harbor already. They trade by boat to Surowa. For that matter, they trade by boat to your homeland, don't they?"

"Yes." I'd stopped over in Issenrik on the royal frigate that carried me south from Aernia, and seen the harbor thick with sails.

The panther seemed as puzzled as any of us. "What do they have in Issenrik? Goods from the Ishenri inlands, and the jungles of the Pala."

"And iron," Coltharden said the obvious, for that was where the city had gotten its name. "From the city, and the new mines at Karpasberg. But what do the Carregans care? They hail from the Iron Kingdom."

He went back to staring at the tapestry, and I found suddenly that I could not move, or speak, for the cold that froze my veins. I had to force each word: "Unless... they didn't anymore."

Atta-Farash and Coltharden both turned to me. "What?"

"The Iron Kingdom was founded in the west. Arrengate and Inverbar are old noble lands, not the King's domain -- if the Landsmoot and the Old Council censured the Railroad, together they could strangle the Carregans. But what if they had an independent supply from the second-richest mines on the continent?"

"You're talking treason," Lord Coltharden breathed.

"Didn't you just accuse her of murdering Lord Sidley, Coltha? And Dhamishaya is a long way from our homeland -- do you think the Landsmoot would prosecute a war here?"

"Perhaps not. But she has no other allies; Issenrik and Ellagdra are neutral in Aernian affairs."

I had made the same protest myself, and now I understood the underlying problem: "All they have for motivation is faith in the Iron Throne. But they've been wanting a proper railroad for decades. They're alone on the plains, remember? And the world beyond is wild. They need allies. Strong allies, not the muddling incompetency of the Landsmoot -- they have enough of that themselves."

Indeed, the infighting in the capital of Randürshohn was legendary. I'd heard it said that Ellagdran margraves came in pairs -- at each other's throats. They only banded together when under mutual threat. "So they'd stay out of it."

"I think so."

Now when Coltharden looked at the map he was seeing the same thing I was: Issenrik was not all that far from Surowa, in the grand scale of things; certainly, it was far closer than Inverbar, and a railroad could not be blockaded by the King's Own Navy. "Well -- but wait, Jon."

"Yes?"

The map gave a poor sense of scale, for it only covered Dhamishaya and the countries around it: our home, by the tapestry's reckoning, was somewhere in the ceiling. "Iron from Issenrik, I'll grant you the strategic value. And I'm sure the smithies in Surowa or Turthen-Kaya or Jaikot could forge rails. But what about the coal? Without fuel a locomotive is just an inconveniently shaped anchor."

That was true. So maybe I was being paranoid. "Good point. They have mines in the Shrouded Rocks, but... no way to get that south if the navy doesn't want to let them."

"Then it's --"

"No." I cut the Marquess of Coltharden off, as snippets of conversations I had dismissed or forgotten came back to me. "No. It would be true if they only burned high-quality fuel. But they enchant it..."

"Symbiotic coal?"

"Or anything. They can burn anything. I remember I asked Dr. Carregan about it. She said... she said they could burn scrap like it was anthracite. They wouldn't need anything but wood in their trains. It must've been controversial -- she described it as one of her mother's great accomplishments."

No doubt it was controversial; as skeptical as I was of thaumaturgy, most of my people were not much more fond of it. It was one of many ways in which the Carregans were hellbent on upsetting the social order. Trade in horses for steam locomotives. Defy the ancient proscriptions on using magic and engineering together.

Revolt against the colonial government and establish a new nation-state beyond the reach of King Chatherral. Or were they doing it with his blessing? If I paid attention to the rumors that circulated in Tabisthalia, after all, Tokeli Carregan and the king were supposed to be very close, indeed.

Which meant that he was, to be perfectly honest, untrustworthy, and the Landsmoot needed to be informed. Together, Lord Coltharden and I drafted a letter outlining our theory. Once, I would've entrusted it to a raven, and the bird's owner in Jaikot or Surowa. Now there was no-one to be trusted; we chose one of the RFC, and sent him south on the fleetest horse at the fort.

Lieutenant Karsi returned four days after I did, and when I asked him if they'd seen the other patrol his first answer was a grin, and second answer was a Dhamishi oath. Sergeant-Major Bealde clarified that they had ambushed that group as well -- and taken a handful of prisoners.

They had little useful information, except to report that the city was still simmering. And that the Colonial Office was still functioning, nominally, under the command of one of Carregan's men. Coltharden had them thrown into a cell, and while the rest of the outlying troops filtered back to Shandur we waited for word from the meeting of the Landsmoot.

A week or so had gone by when the clang of an alarm sounding startled me from my studies; I had been going over such material as Coltharden had on the history of the railroad. It was not so uncommon for the alarm bell to be set ringing at the fort. Before, it had signaled the approach of unknown men, and that had always turned out to be an unannounced caravan, or a few wandering shepherds making use of the great bridge. This time, the tenor of the alarm was different, and when I stepped from my barracks into the yard I could hear the commotion of soldiers shouting, and arguing, and pointing.

I climbed the steps up to walkway that ringed the fort's solid walls, and found that everyone was looking not to the mountains but to the river, which seemed to be generating a great deal of smoke. When I brought my spyglass up, I discovered the source: a dark-hulled vessel, making its way against the current towards the fort and the locks of the River Aji.

"What is it?" Coltha was standing next to me, but without a telescope he could only see the trail of smoke that gave one the unpleasant sense that the river was afire.

"It's a steamship."

Lord Coltharden ordered the cannons to be readied. But the ship was flying a white flag, and soon it disappeared behind the bluffs that shielded a bend in the river. I waited impatiently, until I caught sight of a carriage moving towards us, with another white flag tacked to its front.

The driver brought the horses to a halt just in front of the gate. Exchanging a look, Coltharden and I made our way to the edge of the palisade, peering down as the carriage door opened.

And Carregan alighted.

When she saw us, the vixen smiled -- it was a cheery smile, and deeply unsettling. "Good morning, you two. Jon I recognize -- and I think you must be Etani Æmerlas, Lord Coltharden?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm Dr. Rescat Carregan." She waved her two bodyguards down, and gestured expectantly at the gate. "You'll be opening this, please."

Besides the driver and her guards, Carregan was alone. Coltha ordered the heavy doors to be opened, and she stepped through briskly, rather as though she owned the place. She was waiting for us at the steps down from the catwalks; the smile remained, but thinner.

"You have a lot of nerve, showing your face here," I told her. "I could have you shot."

"Yes, yes." The vixen waved her black paw dismissively. "I'm quite cowed. But I came all this way to talk to you, Lord Gyldrane. Not you, Lord Coltharden -- no offense, but the matters we have to discuss don't really concern you or your..." She looked towards the courtyard, and the RFC soldiers watching us. "Youth group."

"What, then?"

"Let's find a private room." Major Atta-Farash's office was nearby, but at the last moment I recalled that it was also full of our maps. I settled for Shandur's little temple, which was also unoccupied. At the door, Rescat nodded to Lord Coltharden, and then to her two companions, by way of mute introduction. "My bodyguards will keep you company, Etan. They're not much for conversation, but..."

As soon as the door closed, I turned on her. "What the hell do you want, Carregan?"

"Calm down, Jon," she said. She looked at the shishi shrine, picking up one of the figurines and examining it. "You know, you Marchers do pick odd vacation spots."

"It wasn't exactly my choice."

She replaced the statue, exactly where she'd taken it from; everything she did was carried out with an engineer's precision. "You could've gone to the coast. I hear it's lovely -- though... I suppose the nicest resorts don't allow pets."

Part of me knew that what she said was every bit as deliberately chosen as her movements, and that I was letting her wind me up. It was hard to resist: I gritted my teeth, and bit back a growl. "I ought to have you put in irons right now. I don't even understand why you'd come."

Rescat flexed her paw, and a thin silver bracelet on her wrist caught the light. As though I bored her, she raised her muzzle to look at me. "Really? Do you think I'm taking a risk, Jon? Do you think I would've come here if there was the slightest chance at all of you harming me? Please. I think your men would kill me, in the end -- but not before I got you, and Etan, and enough of your soldiers to cripple this fort."

"Bold words."

"The steamship Prince Adan is anchored in the river. If I don't return in two hours, she's to begin shelling every farm and ferry from here to the ocean. And when word reaches Jaikot, well... the Iron Corps does not take kindly to an attack on their leader. Should I go on?"

The vixen's smirk hinted at dark consequences, and I decided to abandon the tactic. "Then what do you want? Why are you here?"

"That should've been obvious, I thought? I'm here to discuss the terms of your surrender, Jon. You and the Frontier Corps, both -- it hardly seems productive, and I have better uses for them..."

"You can't be serious."

"Did it sound like I was joking? I'll tell you if I'm joking, Jon. I need to at least reduce Nishran to a... low simmer. And the men of the Frontier Corps would help me with that -- to say nothing of guarding the caravans from the north, which is a task you no longer seem particularly interested in."

"Why would I possibly do anything you wanted?" I asked her. "I know what you're planning, Carregan."

The vixen lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, I doubt that."

"Why?"

Another smile. Not for the first time I was reminded why I disliked it so much. Her immaculate teeth were razor-sharp, as white as the polished marble of the finest palace in Tabisthalia. "Because, Jon. You're friendly enough, but you are rather stupid. Now, tell me; I'm interested to hear this -- what am I planning?"

The slight knocked a bit of the wind from my sails, and I growled: "You're planning on seceding -- bringing together an axis with Issenrik and the Confederacy and declaring independence from the crown and the Landsmoot. You didn't want me to know it, but you're extending your railroad to Shandur in the north and Issenrik in the west."

Once more she cocked her brow. "Is that so..."

"Do you deny it?"

An amused light danced in the amber of the vixen's eyes. "How could I? You have me figured out so well. Did your brilliant powers of deduction end there, or did you also guess the real prize?" My puzzled look was enough for her. "I suppose I could give you a few weeks to ferret that out, too, Inspector Cuffix, but I'm growing bored. It's the mountains."

"What?"

"Nobody's been able to exploit them, but even a cursory survey suggests there's probably a great deal of wealth in the Vigarkha Range. Think of it, Jon! Every generation of my family has increased the capital value of the railroad -- but adding a whole country? I like to think I was given control of the Iron Corps for a reason."

I bristled. "But you're not going to get away with it. That's not going to happen. You don't get to... up and declare yourself feudal lord of the mountains."

The vixen regarded me with an expression of puzzlement -- which, after a moment, I realized was unfeigned. "Don't I? I just did. And we were talking about your surrender, I believe."

"That's also not going to happen."

"Jon. What do you have beyond this fort and a few ragged dragoons? I finally got the budget out of the native liaison. I know there's only two hundred and fifty men on the payroll for the entire province -- and if Mr. Æmerlas is here, that means you've mustered all of them at the fort. I have twice that in blooded Iron Corps soldiers and a thousand natives on my side."

Here, at least, I felt that I was on more solid ground, for the boast was not terribly impressive, and for once I seemed to have more information than her. "Yes. I've... seen the performance of those natives. And the Corps, well... I suppose we'd both be interested in seeing how your men fight against armed opponents." Particularly now that I knew Raiza was misleading her.

Rescat's smile dropped, and she bared her teeth. "You're being more of an idiot than usual. I held off the whole of Shah Janesha's army with two companies of the Iron Corps in the Battle of the Kamir Valley. Two months later I was razing Castle Kamir to the ground. I've been on both sides of your situation, Jon -- don't take me for some novice playing at soldier. Now be sensible and we can avoid bloodshed."

"Or I could put you and your men to death for treason, if we're going to talk about being sensible. I don't have any reason to listen to you -- nor your damned Iron Corps and your fucking_thousand natives on your side_. Gods, Carregan," I growled, and when I said her name the tone added you bitch to the end of it. "Why shouldn't I have you chained up right now?"

"And leave Jaikot in the hands of Kanda Reth? You were better when you weren't bluffing, Jon; you don't bluff well. Now, if you yield the RFC to me, I'll let you and Mr. Æmerlas depart unharmed. You can go back to Chauserlin. Or Tabisthalia; damn me to all five hells in the Great Hall if you feel the need. You can even go back to Jaikot, if you want; I'm sure the native liaison would enjoy the company..."

Reminded of his existence, I flattened my ears; I'd hoped Carregan might've ignored Mr. Raiza. "He should not face any reprisals on my account."

"What? Oh good god, are you serious? I'm not the villain in some..." she trailed off, tilting her head to examine my face.

"Some what?"

"Ah, it's just that the metaphor would be more powerful if you could read, that's all. I'm not the villain in one of your pornographic storybooks, how's that? Do those have villains? I'm a reasonable woman, Jon; Sera is good at his job. Besides, I appreciate his faculty with money -- better than one of you March folk with your tedious... gold and godly deeds can never be as one nonsense. He'll be fine. He's happy to be working for someone competent."

"Rescat, you are incredibly --"

"Powerful," she cut me off. "The word you are looking for is powerful. I have power, Jon. You can't order me away, or have me locked up in a dungeon and whipped, or demand that I get on my knees and service you. I'm sure it's very difficult, Jon; I'm not certain how you even deal with me."

"That makes two of us."

"Oh!" The vixen clapped her paws. "Bravo, Jon; you've discovered wordplay. Now, why don't you see your way to offering me your surrender?"

I grasped the hilt of my saber until I could feel my knuckles whiten beneath the fur. "Not a chance, you miserable, self-satisfied bitch. Not by the names of every god at every temple for every religion on this whole bloody continent. If I was the least thrall in all of the Iron Kingdom I would not yield one word or breath to you in all the time from the end of the World Before to the dawn of the world to come. Do you understand me?"

"Well enough. I think you're making a mistake."

"And I think you should get the hell out," I finally snapped. "While you still can. And if you have any bloody sense about you, you'll be gone from Jaikot, too, when I come for you."

This did not impress her. "Jon, do you ever think of just how stupid you sound? Or do you imagine that I have some regard for your theatrics? Does it make you feel good to shout like that? Does it --"

The last of my patience was gone. I snarled, teeth bared, and sprung for the vixen, drawing the saber from its sheath. And then, before my pounce could finish, I was on the ground, with a sharp pain in my spine marking where I'd hit the floor.

Rescat was staring fiercely at me. The bracelet at her wrist glowed an ominous purple, and her eyes flared with the same dark fire. I grunted, and tried to get up -- then her paw flicked, and a heavy something slammed into me with the force of a blacksmith's hammer.

Now I couldn't rise. That invisible weight had me pinned to the cold stone floor of the temple. It was getting harder to breathe. She took one step closer. Two. Her boot nudged my side, just light enough to feel the touch. "You were saying, Jon?"

Gritting my teeth, I tried to match her stare for burning stare. "Go. Fuck. Yourself."

"So predictable..." The pressure on my chest vanished. She flexed her paw once again; the light in her eyes and the aura of the bracelet died. "One more chance to surrender."

Very slowly, careful not to let her see me wince, I rose. "No."

Her muzzle turned up slightly. Really, her smile was insufferable. "Very well, then, Jon." With a parting glance to the shrine, she shrugged her shoulders lightly, and pushed the door open. I didn't follow; without understanding the conversation, I heard her exchange brief words with Lord Coltharden, and then the sound of the great gate opening once more.

My old friend stepped into the shrine, and when he saw that my saber was half-drawn he seemed to know how the meeting had gone. "She wanted a surrender," I told him. No point in explaining the rest.

The lion did not seem surprised. "A battle, then."

"They've reinforced their position. She threatened me with four companies of the Iron Corps, and more than twice that in support from a native militia." Which, even by my quick accounting, meant that we were outnumbered by three to one.

"Divided, no doubt. Some to protect the town... some to guard the roads, some to protect the railhead. We have many advantages, my friend. Focus, and speed, and ability -- her militia won't be worth a damn."

"No," I agreed, quietly. "Probably not. And for what it's worth, she has the RFC's strength underestimated by half."

"We can be ready to march in a day, if it comes to it. Let's figure out our plan..."

That meant looking once more at the maps. Atta-Farash's office was not so far away, but it took an effort to make myself move. My outburst had drained me; now that the anger had ebbed I was left only with a dark question. How in the name of the gods had it all gone so wrong?

Coltha took my hand; removed it from the hilt of my sword. And together we stepped into a morning that suddenly seemed to betoken the harsh, baking glare that would come. The oppressive heat that withered the desert below it, and left us slumped and panting in the waning shadow of dying trees.

What were we supposed to do when there was no shelter left?