Magistrate of the Dark Land

Part Ten

by G. Lawrence

A startling discovery

This is a fantasy novel providing high adventure and romance, but there are no dragons or wizards, but there is an unexplainable mystery. All characters are over 18 years old.

Recap; crippled for life at the Battle of Salisbury Cross, Owen now seeks a quiet life in the university town of Crowley.

* * * * * *

Chapter Eleven

A WINTER OF DISCONTENT

By the following afternoon our party was on the road to Crowley in good spirits. Even I was not in a terrible mood, only grumpy, but that is to be expected for someone being dragged behind a horse in a travois. When we reached Beggar's Crossing I would be able to find a flatboat or canoe, but that was a day away. At least I was able to spend an hour in prayer at the old church before leaving Trodden, which gave great comfort. Despite everything, there were many things to be thankful for.

The night before we left, I thanked Sir Philip for his welcomed intervention while making no effort to explain what really happened. Even Jalana and Kaska were convinced that my assault on the bounty hunters was a daring if uncharacteristic act of heroism. Rotanna alone knew the truth, but the mulish woman locked the secret in her stubborn heart.

After dragging the bodies into the cemetery and tending our wounded, we purchased a barrel of fine ale from the mercantile, prepared a sumptuous victory feast, and gathered around a bonfire at the edge of town. Jalana sat happily at my side while I lay propped against a log. The Farina healthy enough to indulge selected males for company, and Sir Philip made a point of dividing the freebooters' spoils, giving my party the lion's share. I would die a wealthy man if I lived long enough, and it was an extra blessing to have tents, food, and fresh clothing for the trail.

"I have composed a ballad," Rowena announced, standing at the campfire. She had changed from the sturdy uniform of the Yellow Banner to a lovely red and green dress with long white sleeves. An eagle feather adorned her jaunty trail hat as her long blonde hair flowed about her shoulders. Three of the Yellow Banner joined her with drum, flute, and mandolin. Impromptu songs of this sort were not unusual, so I leaned back to listen, soon to be startled. After a brief prelude, Rowena sang,

"Owen Vander, with his sword

Challenged there the grasping hordes

Fifty to one in grit and sand

Less than god but more than man

Slavers by the dozens fell

Evil souls cast into hell!

And courage now his lasting story

Of Salisbury Cross and glory!

From the west, in Arbor's name

The Magistrate of honest fame

Charging forth on noble steed

Invincible in thought and deed

And in their scores the slavers fell

Vile souls cast into hell!

We were there to tell his story

Of Salisbury Cross and glory!

Redeeming now his kingdom's woes

Standing tall as Satan's foe

Fearing not to make the fight

In God's faith to hold the right

And so a hundred slavers fell

Soulless scum cast into hell!

Forever they will tell his story

Of Salisbury Cross and glory!"

The audience clapped hands and banged cups in approval. Watered wine dribbled down my chin as I stared in disbelief.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," I instantly protested, struggling to sit up.

"There's nothing the least bit ridiculous about it. It's exactly as it happened," Rowena said, grinning imperiously. Her blue eyes shone attractively in the firelight. Admittedly, her singing voice was charming.

"The lass is right, Owen. We all saw it," Kaska said with a wink.

"And it has a nice melody," Jalana said, keeping me seated.

"You've got to change that song. What if someone repeats that nonsense?" I insisted.

They laughed and Rowena sang the ballad again. This time everyone joined in.

* * * * * *

Set on a large triangular island in Solith Bay, Crowley is not a well-fortified town, yet it holds a sacred status in the kingdom. Every faith maintains councils and archives there. It's the home of King's College and the Queen's Academy for Young Ladies. The best doctors and our finest medical schools call Crowley home, and by oath, every nobleman is bound to uphold the town's honors or forfeit their titles. There is the story of Sir Matthew of Riverdale who violated Crowley's covenants and died a fortnight later in ghastly, gut-wrenching pain. All believe it divine justice.

In better days I had visited Crowley often. Near the center of town are a dozen tall buildings of granite and stone, several in the old Gothic style. Proud churches stand upon the low hills where the Great River can be seen from the steeples. Though most of the streets tend to be narrow, the merchant district has wide lanes for commerce. A paved road runs around the perimeter of the island reaching two harbors and three bridges. A host of elegant residences overlook the long white beaches to the south. Of the six universities, each has its own library located near a tree-lined park where eager students meet to discuss the latest lectures. Outdoor seminars are not uncommon. The two winters of my youth spent studying law at Ashburn College hold many fond memories.

Our first day in the city was a sad one, for I booked passage on a barge going downriver for Jalana and her sisters. Winter had arrived but not yet set in. I knew if they left immediately, they could reach Wheat Harbor in six days, take a keelboat up the Saber to Frawley's Landing, and be back in their forest before second snow. I desperately wanted to see them home before civilization inflicted further tribulations.

"You can come with us," Jalana said. She had said it many times, but always with the same answer.

"My traveling days are over, war captain. If all goes well, I'll end my days here in Crowley. Maybe I'll study medicine as my mother always wanted."

My words drew the attention of young Nilo, who hoped we would study medicine together. He was unaware that I was lying. In truth, I had no plans. No particular hopes or dreams. I was a cripple and all I wanted was a keg of whisky and a quiet place to hide.

We checked in at Doctor Farnakess' clinic where our wounded were finally provided professional treatment, the old man shaking his head at the number of patients filling his beds. Mapps and Kaska had the most immediate injuries, though I was given a stern lecture for too many strenuous activities. I assured him my future would be more sedate.

Our last night together was celebrated at the Ugly Duckling, a quality tavern on the waterfront. Many dignitaries were present, all anxious to see the heroic warrior women. The raid on Kannae was well known, as well as the skirmishes at Martin's Meadow and Varna. Word had also spread of the more recent battle at Trodden. In appreciation, our food and rooms were free of charge, for several of the freed captives had come from Crowley. It was a grateful town that bade us welcome and promised sanctuary against all enemies. We ate roast chicken and had our fill of good drink. Songs were sung, even the new one by Rowena, much to my embarrassment. The Farina had no trouble finding manly company, for Crowley is home to hundreds of virile young scholars.

Jalana and I spent our final night in a private suite. I could do little to make our time together exciting, my condition having worsened during the grueling journey, but she pretended it didn't matter. We pawed and stroked, and I won't say she didn't feel magnificent in my weakened arms. I knew that I would never again know a woman who could so profoundly touch my soul. Or be so satisfying in the furs.

"You truly wish to sit in a musty chamber all day surrounded by books?" she asked as we lay in a large feather bed.

"I look forward to studying law again. Much has changed since my retirement. And I still have my mother's medicine bag. Maybe it will finally be used to help people again," I assured her. And very convincingly, I thought.

"Your mother's medicine bag has already helped many. I don't think it has ever stopped helping people," she said, nestling close. It felt good to hold her close, but I said nothing of what was in my heart. I told myself it was for her benefit, but to be honest, the words were too painful.

"We will never forget you, Owen. Not us, or our daughters, or our granddaughters. We will always be grateful."

"Thank you, little eagle. Maybe someday I'll deserve it."

"You have not resolved the bird tracks on your wrist," she remembered. "The scars of your shame."

"No, still another failure. Perhaps it is God's way of telling us that we can't always have what we want."

"Or maybe it's his way to tell you something else," said suggested.

"Would you like to explain that?"

"It is not for me to explain. But before we part, I must thank you for saving my sisters. Especially Rotanna, though perhaps she hasn't deserved so much devotion."

"You are still angry with her," I sympathized.

"When our mother died, Cathe and I, and our younger sister, Karee, were taken in by Rotanna. Karee was killed a few months later by a cave bear. Rotanna spent the entire summer tracking the bear down. She has looked after Cathe and I ever since. Guided us. But, perhaps, she has been wrong in some ways."

"In what manner?"

"Rotanna has always believed we can trust none but our own. Clan and only clan. It has been our way since the days of the Crookback. Now that I have traveled other lands, I think maybe the Farina are not so different after all. There are good and bad. Cowardly and brave. And one who is both brave and a coward. I was naïve to believe our small party could rescue our stolen sisters, just as Dalena tried to warn. If not for you, we would all lay dead or in slavery."

"I did no more than was necessary," I protested.

"You may say that until the gods are dead, and the bird tracks have eaten you to the bone, but I know in my heart what I know. Do not ever think to fool me again."

She studied me intensely in the dim light of our room, a moon shining through the large window. The black eyes glistened with passion, for Farina rarely speak of such personal matters. Her lips begged to be kissed.

"Fear not, war captain. I'm a coward, not stupid," I said, holding her nearer than ever.

At breakfast, I pulled Kaska aside. His wounded arm would be in a sling for another month, delaying his return to the Black Axe at Two Bridges. I had need of his services.

"Here's the packet. I appreciate your help," I said, handing him a courier pouch for the town fathers at Arbor. And a special letter.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Suzie again. Are you sure you have no interest there?" he asked, eating the hardy meal. The eggs and syrup were excellent, as was the thick eastern coffee. Crowley seemed one of the few places where foreign frills could still be found.

"I'm fond of Suzie, no more. Treat her well."

"That I will. I hear Golan is in Arbor, too."

"You and that big lout can return north together. Thory must miss you."

"We shall see. From what I've seen of your north, I like the south better. Especially the women," Kaska said, glancing at the Farina who crowded around the breakfast board like pigs at the trough. I hoped they wouldn't eat too much. The winter river can be rough on stomachs not accustomed to the pitch and roll.

"The documents are for the town council, or the Widow Potter if necessary. The letter is for Suzie," I explained.

"I thought you had no interest there?" Kaska asked with alarm.

"She and I are business partners. I'm hoping she can forward my funds to the exchequer here."

"I have silver from my share at Trodden," he generously offered.

"I've enough coin for now, but it would be nice not to worry about money for a while," I responded.

Originally I had intended my share of the funds acquired at Kannae for altruistic purposes, but now I needed financing for my retirement. Arbor owed me a small stipend for my term as magistrate, but the papers Kaska carried included my resignation. I no longer had the vigor for public office. Once they found an appropriate replacement, I would be free of official cares.

We went out to the pier where the Hummingbird was docked, Captain Keller looking forward to entertaining his rambunctious cargo. It was a swift barge with two masts and eight rowers, long in the tooth but sturdily built.

"Thank you, Owen," Cathe said, giving me a sisterly hug. I would miss her almost as much as Jalana, for we had spent countless hours together in long conversations. As she pasted tormenting paste on my numerous wounds. She was smart, funny, and caring. For a savage forest woman. She would make a wonderful wife for one of sufficient courage.

Yana, Obina, and the others crowded around, some of them close to tears, though not so close as I. Rotanna was standing at the boarding plank, not bothering to say farewell, which was fine with me. Jalana waited to go last.

"I free you, Owen," she said, giving me a kiss.

"Free me? In what manner am I freed?" I asked.

"You have been mine since the first time we bathed in the mountain lake together. When I saw true love in a man's eyes for the first time. I resented it, in the beginning, until I discovered your heart. I thought long on keeping you, but the Dread Goddess has denied my wish. So now I free you. Be happy. Find a woman to love you, for that's what you need above all."

She tenderly touched my face and ran to join her sisters on the barge as the crew freed the lines. I had looked into that lovely dark gaze for the last time.

As the barge disappeared under the morning mist, I watched Jalana standing on the stern waving. Cathe, Mapps, and Yana were at her side. Once back in the forest, they would thrive without interference from civilization. Women to be envied throughout their clans, for they had experienced high adventure, won glory in numerous battles, and returned with their sisters as they swore. The Dread Goddess had smiled on her daughters.

For myself, I would retreat into a bottle knowing peaceful days from then on. I reached in my jacket pocket, found a flask of vintage rye whisky, and prepared a farewell toast to my girls.

The bottle was slapped from my hand.

"Farnakess forbids strong drink, Magistrate. From now on you will confine yourself to herbal tea," the shrill voice of hell said.

I turned to find Rotanna standing on the dock wearing a long black cloak, her sword hidden from view. Her face was twisted in a scowl.

"You're supposed to be on the barge with your sisters. I saw you board ship," I sputtered in disbelief.

"Foolish male. I cannot go home until my honor is restored. Now come from the damp air. We will go to this place called baths where your feeble muscles may be revived by the therapy of healers," she demanded.

"I don't need your help, or want it. Go away. If you're a strong swimmer, you might still catch the boat," I insisted, weakly pushing her toward the river.

"You took my honor. I will stay until you give it back," she insisted. "Where you go, I will follow. When you abuse your health, I will stop you. When you wish to lie about like an old dog waiting for the last hunt, I will make you join the living. And when you get in trouble, which you will, for it is your way, I will find my honor. Now enough talk. Leave this cold place before it is you who swims the river."

* * * * * *

Just as I feared, Rotanna proved herself the devil incarnate. On the first Sabbath, I went to the New Church on Hubbard Street and tried painfully to kneel in my pew. When the right leg would not bend, Rotanna forced the stiff knee to give way despite my scream of agony. Afterwards, I prayed steadily for an hour, whispering heartfelt supplications for the peace of my soul, the peace of the kingdom, but most of all, for deliverance from the First Sword of the Red Leather.

Within days it began to snow in earnest, heralding another bitterly harsh winter. We couldn't remain at the clinic where Farnakess needed the beds, so Rotanna and I took lodgings at the Pearl Peacock on Main Street, sharing a suite with Nilo. We had nice rooms on the second floor, a fireplace, and enough space for an office. I did not have good use of my hands, at first, but Rotanna continued to work the fingers, wrists, and every other part of my body, twisting, massaging, and pounding me with her small rock-hard fists.

"I have no interest in males, though I see why Jalana seeks you out," she muttered. "You have manly attractions that are not keen to the casual eye."

She could say this because I knew no modesty in her presence, nor did she bother with modesty in mine. There was no sexual tension between us, only never-ending physical torture. Within a week I was able to write again, drawing up new indictments. This time they were for the High Councilors of Kannae.

All was not pain and shame. With access to a wonderful library, I caught up on my reading. Hogarth had no new works, but Druson, Reverend Millbury of Taft, and Doctor Abel French had been busy with revolutionary insights on law and society. I did not agree with all they wrote. In fact, I disagreed with most of it. But I could not ignore their occasional glimpses of wisdom. Millbury, in particular, had advanced a strong advocacy of parliament as a legitimate governing body, reflecting what Sebastian Yallow had said on our trip to Kannae. Though his premise was patently flawed, at least it provided hope, something Northwaye had in short supply. Rotanna could not decide how my time was most wasted, scribbling late into the night or reading someone else's scribbling.

The town traditionally publishes a twice-weekly gazette announcing edicts by the governing board, new goods landed at the docks, and occasional gossip. The gossip was rarely salacious but always interesting. For some ungodly reason, the editor printed a notice on my convalescence at the Peacock, providing background on my previous experience as a magistrate and news from the troubles at Trodden. They did not print Rowena's song, but they did mention a saloon on Salinger Street where it could be heard. The next morning, the downstairs tavern was filled with a dozen petitioners, much to my annoyance and the pleasure of Old Edward, the septuagenarian innkeeper. The disturbance was so great that a young constable was summoned to maintain order. I worked my way down the staircase slowly, afraid of falling, and paused when I saw the restive crowd.

"Give explanation, Magistrate, or I'll kill them all," Rotanna threatened, unnerved by the anxious mob. She had assumed the role of bodyguard and was fierce enough to keep even the most aggressive seekers of justice a few paces back.

"First Sword, you must calm yourself," I instructed. "They come with requests, complaints, and problems of law they want resolved."

"So many?" she asked.

"This is not so many," I said.

"And they come to you? Do you perform some sort of magic?"

"That remains to be seen. Sometimes it's magic. Usually it's just listening," I said.

I directed Rotanna to a stool near the fireplace and summoned Constable McPherson to my side, asking why these citizens were on my doorstep.

"The local courts have suspended official judgments until royal authority is restored. These citizens have heard you will proceed without such exalted obstacles," McPherson diplomatically said.

It wasn't hard to guess the rest. Apparently Crowley's county justices were not fond of Hogarth. The unofficial decisions handed down from their bench tended to be tentative and steep in court fees, leaving none satisfied. I, on the other hand, was the acknowledged Magistrate of Ravenshire, a former Magistrate of Arthur County, and charged little for my services. A poor man's judge unafraid to render decisions. After searching the faces before me, I agreed to hear their petitions. The details could be worked out with the governing board later.

A long oak table was dragged before the fire where I held court while Old Edward sold lamb stew and ale to those waiting their turn. I made it clear to him that the rooms Rotanna, Nilo, and I shared would be without charge from that day on, which he quickly agreed to.

The first case was a disputed bequeath between two sisters, each claiming their mother's prized china. More testimony was needed so they were summoned back the following Monday to bring witnesses. A boundary complaint was easier to settle, the wording clear once I explained the meaning of proprietary divisions. As it turned out, back taxes were owned on the parcel, causing both parties to disavow ownership. For a small commission I had the deed revert to the township. The rest of the morning was equally routine, and by lunch, the most pressing cases were concluded or rescheduled. Rotanna halted the proceedings when she noticed me tiring.

"Return for more justice tomorrow, city folk. The Magistrate hears all voices," she suddenly announced, inaccurately and without my permission. Nevertheless, the court was summarily adjourned.

Rotanna made me eat chicken soup and greens for lunch, put me down for a nap, and dragged me out of a warm bed an hour later for a walk to the baths. I stopped at the gazette to place a notice in the weekly flyer. The court was scheduled for three days a week instead of seven, giving me time to research case law in the library. With luck, I would find a few bright students to act as clerks.

Crowley has several impressive bathhouses, each catering to a different segment of the population. I attended the Felix Spa on Roman Street near the medical school, the facilities best for the intensive physical therapy that Farnakess demanded. The spa had closets for our winter clothes, steam rooms, and a gymnasium for exercise. I usually wore a white cotton robe, and never less than a towel. Rotanna was not inclined to such modesty, and despite the scars of her imprisonment, attracted plenty of admiration, for she moved naked through the gym with the suppleness of a mountain lion. Women, as a rule, were not allowed in the men's bath, but the administrator made an exception for her. At knife point. Gradually, I gained better use of my arms and legs, though they would never have the strength of days past.

Our stay in Crowley grew busier than expected. The winter snows were so deep that most trade came to a halt, even on the river, and mail service was slow. I received one bank draft from Suzie with promise of more, but no more came. The funds were not missed. My legal practice had become unexpectedly prosperous, providing a steady income, and I invested the booty from Trodden with several farm associations. A difficult winter would bring high prices come spring.

The town council appeared content with my new court, even if some of the older jurists resented the intrusion on their prerogatives by a country bumpkin. Before long even the minor gentry was eating Old Edward's homemade stew while waiting their turn.

Growing restless during my therapy sessions, Rotanna began teaching swordplay to the young aristocrats, both male and female, who frequented the university gymnasiums. Her superb ability soon made her a preferred instructor among the aspiring warriors, and by resolutely refusing to kiss their pampered asses, she earned a loyal following. After a few weeks, she was even offered a post in the city guard, but declined, deciding the wages were too low. I found it interesting that she discovered the value of her skills so quickly. Once a week, she spent an hour with a banker investing her funds. Nilo continued studying medicine, basking in his connection with two of the city's most infamous professionals.

This might have been how we passed the winter, and perhaps many years to come, but fate soon intervened in an unforeseen way. One afternoon, a fortnight before Yule Festival, my world and everything I believed suddenly changed forever.

Rotanna allowed me one cup of wine or beer a day. Every saloon keeper in Crowley knew that providing more would invite her displeasure. Though she hadn't hurt anyone so far, or even made her usual dire threats, she could be unyielding in her expectations. It seemed I was the only one with enough courage to defy her, though it never did me any good.

The Staggered Bull was our customary afternoon destination. The roast pork was excellent, the imported wine better. With the streets covered in snow and the temperature as cold as Rotanna's heart, it was a convenient stop on our way home. After taking a seat in the back near the fire, I opened my new copy of Reverend Millbury's Tracts on Dissent, a controversial dissertation asserting a God-given right to civil liberties for ordinary commoners. Even women. Better to read the absurd ravings of a radical cleric than pretend conversation with Rotanna. A voice from another table sounded familiar. I looked around, saw a booth hidden behind a thick brown curtain, and listened more carefully. There was no mistake. The voice belonged to that evil scourge, Stolmeister.

The words were difficult to make out, but he was bartering with someone. I heard a thud, like something being dropped on a table. More talk. A distinguished man about fifty years old emerged from the curtains and hurried from the tavern. By his clothes, I took him to be a scholar. A minute later, Stolmeister appeared with a large book under his withered arm, but the arm wasn't withered anymore! I covered my face but kept watch on him. The crippled hand still had a slight curl to the fingers, but he walked upright with the barest trace of a limp. Of his previous infirmities, only the eye patch was obvious.

I did not understand. Could not understand. The Stolmeister I had spoken with at Kannae had not faked his infirmities. I had seen too many cripples in the service of my mother. Nor did a treatment exist that could heal such terrible deformities within a few short months, if they could be healed at all. My own disabilities were proof of that. Was I mistaken of the man's identity? That must be it. But it wasn't. Years on the King's Bench had given me an ability to recognize people by a variety of means. Without doubt this was the same hunchback who had sent the lost daughters to the Arkland. A monster who had somehow restored himself against all known medical science.

I gulped my beer until the cup was empty, watching Stolmeister settle his bill with the tavern keeper and casually leave through the front door, hiding the book under his cloak. Everything I had ever believed true suddenly wasn't. By training and logic, what I had just seen was impossible, and if God was giving out miracles, I could not imagine that foul slaver being the beneficiary. My heart began to race. Millbury's book shook in my hands. What explanation could there possibly be?

"What's wrong, Owen? Do the etchings of some deranged shaman tell an uncomfortable truth?" Rotanna asked. I looked up in surprise. Nothing Rotanna said was going to bother me. Our portion of the world had suddenly grown very small.

"They say Farina drift through the forest like phantoms. Can they do the same in snow?" I asked.

"Only true warriors attain such skill. Why?"

"I want you to follow that man with the eye patch. Discover where he lodges."

"Is this a trick to sneak an extra beer?" she asked, frowning with suspicion.

"Damn it, woman, just follow the stinking son of a bitch. I'll explain later."

It must have been something in my eyes, or the firmness of my voice, but for the first time in our acquaintance, Rotanna did as I commanded. I summoned the hostess.

"Who were the men sitting behind me?" I asked.

"Owen, I can't..." she began to say.

"Dee, you're going to tell me or I'll summon Constable McPherson," I snapped.

The slender young woman with long brown hair stepped back in surprise. We had known each other since my arrival in Crowley. Sometimes I flirted, though without the capacity to follow through. I had never raised my voice to her before.

"I don't know the man with the patch. He came in for the first time a few days ago. George Manners is the other man. He works in the library at King's College," she said.

"Did you see the book?"

"Book?" she questioned.

"Never mind. I want you to fetch Nilo from the clinic. And have McPherson meet me at the Pearl Peacock. Hurry."

"Yes, sir," Dee said. She ran to get permission from the burley tavern keeper, a former teamster named Gabby Sam. Gabby looked in my direction. I gave him a stern nod. He handed Dee her coat and she started for the door.

"Dee," I said.

"Yes?"

"Speak of this to no one. There's blood in the air," I warned.

Dee's shoulders trembled as she disappeared into the foggy street. I waved to Gabby, ordering a beer and whisky chaser. He obeyed, too. I must have looked very grim.

Rotanna returned half an hour later shaking with cold. Even the First Sword had human weaknesses. She shook the snow off her cloak, sat across from me, and ripped apart a roast chicken with her bare hands. She asked no questions. I offered no explanations. Not in a public place.

Constable Zackary McPherson knocked on our door at the Peacock just after sunset. McPherson was typical of town constables, being in his mid-twenties, of average height, and on the thin side. He wore a simple blue uniform with an embroidered silver badge over his heart and a heavy fur cloak over his shoulders. I found him to be clear-eyed, though not curious enough to see the evil in men's hearts. Time might change that.

Nilo arrived a moment later, no longer the callow youth who had ridden with the Black Axe in the Cat Mountains, his medical studies having given him a maturing confidence. He was now as tall as I and beginning to fill out, but he would never have the warrior physique of a Kaska or Golan. Better for him the life of a professional.

As I greeted McPherson and let Nilo take his coat, Rotanna sat in the back of the room cleaning her weapons, watching but not participating.

"Lord help us, Owen, it's butt cold out there. What's this all about?" McPherson complained, warming his hands at our fire.

"I have dispatches for Arbor," I said.

"Oh, God, not more dispatches. Have you no hobbies?" Zack moaned.

"These must go by secure courier. Give them to the new magistrate and no one else."

"Does Arbor have a new magistrate?"

"They should by now. Otherwise give them to the Widow Potter."

"You look more worried than usual. Should I alert the militia?" he asked.

"No, this isn't a case for soldiers yet. But stay alert. I can't say what might transpire in the next few days."

"What can you say?"

"Nothing more. Goodnight, Zack. Thank you for being our friend," I concluded, painfully rising from my easy chair to shake hands.

He wasn't pleased with my mysterious instructions but obeyed. I noticed many people were doing that lately, perhaps in consideration of my pitiful condition. After McPherson left I sat down and turned to young Nilo.

"You've been busy?" I asked.

"Yes, Magistrate. I visited everywhere you told me to," Nilo confirmed.

"And?"

"None know of what you speak. There is no cure for the bent bones you describe. Doctor Farnakess says he's sorry your recovery is taking so long, but perhaps... perhaps you should grow accustomed to some limitations."

"He thinks the cure is for me? Good. That's good."

My thoughts drifted. What had those stories of the Arkland been in my youth? Hushed whispers. Frightened tales of horrific doings. Did the priests of the dark mountains have cures unknown to civilization? What did it have to do with Stolmeister? Were the lost daughters truly gone forever as I firmly believed or, in my self-absorbed despair, had I given up too soon? If Stolmeister could be cured, why not I?

"Magistrate?" Nilo asked, bringing me back.

"Thank you, my friend. I need another service, if I may depend on you."

"I'm privileged," he eagerly agreed.

"There are silver circles on the mantel. I need a rugged horse, good tempered but courageous. And a pack mule. Supplies for a month. Furs, too. Thick enough for sleep on the trail. All must be ready when the weather breaks."

"Where are you going?" Nilo asked in surprise. And in doubt, for just walking down the street was difficult for me.

"We need two pack mules," Rotanna said, expressing interest for the first time. "And have that miserly stableman fatten my horse."

"I go alone, First Sword. This is a journey that will likely be one way. I'll have no woman tagging along to cause trouble," I denied her.

"Death is nearer than you believe, Owen. Do not think me blind to your doings."

"What would you know of my doings?" I asked.

Rotanna looked at Nilo, wondering if she should speak in front of him. She was normally secretive, but she had heard stories of Thory, the Black Axe, and the bond of brotherhood that remained between Nilo and Kaska.

"I fought shoulder to shoulder with Kaska at the ruined castle," Rotanna said. "He is brother to me, though male and stupid. Are you still brother to him, boy?"

"I am forever, mistress. Brother and friend," Nilo said, awed by the woman who approached him slowly with the broadsword in her tight fist. He was a head taller and at least two stones heavier than Rotanna, yet it made no difference. What she lacked in size she made up for in reputation.

"Then I take you as brother in kind, in faith if not in blood. Do you accept?" Rotanna declared, putting the sword to his throat.

Good it is that kings don't create knights in such a fashion or the nobility would be small in numbers.

"Yes, mistress," Nilo said with a gulp. She lowered the sword.

"Magistrate began his journey on a quest to find two kidnapped women," Rotanna explained. "Since Kannae, he has believed them lost, but he now takes up the trail again. He has gathered a clue and will travel to the Dark Forest itself to find them. Will you say it is not true, Magistrate?"

"It's true," I reluctantly admitted.

"And in this quest there will be great danger. Death our constant companion. The Dread Goddess our only comfort," she added.

I nodded.

"Then I remind you of my oath. Do not seek to deny me," she said, raising the sword in my direction. I nodded consent, for there was no way to stop her from coming. Nor would I have much luck mounting a horse without help.

"Can I go, too?" Nilo asked with a young man's lust for adventure.

"We go to an evil place called the Arkland. Those who make the journey do not come back," I said. "That is, they don't usually come back."

I had need to modify my belief, for I now firmly believed Stolmeister had been to the Arkland and returned. As a newcomer to Northwaye, Nilo had not grown up with the gruesome wives' tales that terrified me. Even the Farina were only mildly frightened, their forests being far removed from the Arkland's black cliffs.

"I'm not afraid," Nilo said.

"I have enough fear for both of us. Now return to your studies. We'll speak more of what must be done in the morning," I ordered.

After Nilo went to his room, I sat next to the fire with Rotanna. Even in our comfortable lodgings, the freezing night attempted to intrude. A woolen shawl helped keep me warm.

"You trusted that young scamp with our secret. Do you now blather all to males?" I said just to irk her.

"He is young, as you say, and stupid. But he is brother to Kaska, and devoted to you, the wizard of all things good and proper, therefore not an ordinary male. If he betrays us, I will kill him."

"What of your mission?" I asked.

"I followed the one called Stolmeister to his lair, close enough to hear his words. He is here to buy books."

"Yes, I already suspected that. Did you see what book he bought from the librarian?"

"It was but leather and paper, like any other," she said.

"I assure you, it was not like any other. Tomorrow we'll visit the library to make new friends. Bring your dagger," I said.

* * * * * *

The next afternoon, Rotanna and I went to King's College on the pretext of legal research. The Old Library is a lovely ivy-covered brick building overlooking Covner's Cove. It's been said the shelves are filled with twelve hundred books and thousands of tracts. There was even a rumor that the archives contained an original scroll written by one of the Twelve Followers penned in ancient Greek.

I was having a hard day, the cold seeping into my joints. A cane helped me walk but with difficulty. I expected Rotanna to bark at my pathetic stumbling, but the woman was frustratingly patient. No doubt just to embarrass me. We ventured to the third floor and pulled a copy of Blackthorn's Trials & Judgments, finding a case concerning the theft of irreplaceable goods. Heartily appropriate, under the circumstances.

An hour later, a tall man walked by us carrying a leather pouch tucked under his arm. It was George Manners, and he had just emerged from the rare documents room. A cautious glint in his eyes told me he was nervous. Rotanna sensed the same, putting a hand on the dagger hidden under her long black cloak.

"Shall we slay him and steal the bag?" Rotanna whispered.

"No, but stop him in the stairwell. Put a knife to his throat if you must, I'll catch up," I told her.

Rotanna quickly left our table, following Manners through the oak door. I hobbled after them, struggling not to trip going down the steps. They were on the first landing, a dark area with none around to see.

"For God's sake, woman, what do you want?" Manners asked. Softly, for there was a dagger pressed against his jugular.

"Mister Manners, good to see you again," I said, gingerly reaching the landing with my cane keeping me steady.

"You are the Magistrate, are you not? We've not been introduced," Manners nervously said. For now he surely realized who Rotanna was. All of Crowley knew we shared rooms. Some thought we shared more than rooms.

"You have a lively business, sir. I would know more of it. Perhaps share the burden of your labors," I suggested.

"I don't know what you mean," he said. I smiled because he certainly did know what I meant.

"How many books have you sold to our one-eyed friend? What titles? In what manner does he take an interest in such literature?" I rapidly asked. At the same time, I drew the leather case from under his arm. He was reluctant to let go, but Rotanna helped convince him.

"Stolmeister is chief archivist to Earl William of Angle. The better sort appreciate rare books," he explained.

"Earl William is illiterate. You had best find a better story," I said.

Rotanna pressed harder, a trace of blood running down the frightened man's neck.

"No, it's true. I swear. The books go upriver to Alcester, then by road toward Earl William's stronghold at Kendal."

"What do you mean? Toward?"

"Stolmeister's agents always stop my deliveries on the Cicely Road. To guarantee his profit," the thief explained.

I doubted that's why the books were being intercepted, and had no doubt the merchandise never reached Kendal Castle, for Earl William would sooner use the pages to wipe his ass than read them.

"Tell me all or die here on these dank stones," I demanded, meaning every word.

"Please, I have six children. Twenty years of service," he pleaded.

"Twenty years of stealing the kingdom's treasures," I replied.

"No, no. I only sold the first book six years ago. Travesties of the Occult by Bishop Warmer. Not that rare in the south. A year later I sold three more. All fantasies, sir. Nothing a man of reason would find credible. Chants and potions. Last year was the first truly rare book. Incantations of the Holies."

"That book is forbidden," I said.

"Many books are forbidden, that is what the archives are for. What hides in the dark today may come into the light tomorrow," he defended. Truly a villainous philosophy.

"And yesterday?" I asked.

"Lassiter's Astrological Charts," Manners said.

"Astrology?" I wondered with disbelief.

"Ancient astrology. Stars in collision. Planets in alignment, that sort of thing. All nonsense, sir. Complete nonsense. And he pays gold."

"Is this nonsense?" I asked, looking at the contents of the leather pouch. It was a scroll as old as writing itself. The language was unknown to me.

"No," he said.

"Is this relic what I think? Do you now steal the most holy of treasures?"

"It's but a loan. Stolmeister promised its return on the next moon once the text has been copied," Manners defended, shuddering with dread.

I closed the pouch and tucked it in my coat. I could tell Rotanna understood little of the arcane references, and she truly didn't care. She only wanted to know if we'd be leaving Manners alive or dead.

"What are you going to do? I won't live a fortnight in goal, and my skin is too tender for the whip," he pathetically begged.

"You will gather what gold you have left and send it to me. Then you will tell Stolmeister you've taken a partner. Have him make an appointment at the Peacock," I instructed. "If you steal again, your children will be without a father. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I asked if you understand?" I repeated, poking Rotanna. She pushed Manners hard against the wall and snarled so fiercely that hairs crawled up my spine.

"Yes, Magistrate," the terrified bookworm promised.

I'm sure he intended to keep that promise, at least until he was far away from Rotanna. It would suffice for the time.

Back on the street, Rotanna and I wrapped ourselves from a snow flurry and walked carefully back to our inn. I was deep in thought. Not about the books, for that was clear as a pie thief's mustache. The means of using the information was not so apparent, for it would seem Stolmeister's organization was more widespread than I'd expected.

"Will we be killing many males?" Rotanna suddenly asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"How many?"

"More than I can count."

"I see now why my sisters seek to ride in your company. Battle follows wherever you go," she said.

"It was not always so," I said with a sigh.

"Do not apologize. Now that a true warrior walks at your side, there will be glory enough for all."

"I care nothing of that," I objected.

"Then you fool yourself. All who breathe long for glory. Even you."

We settled in for the night after a quick meal of cornbread and mutton. Knowing that Stolmeister must send felons to steal the ancient scroll, Rotanna and I stayed on our guard. Nevertheless, when there was a powerful knock on our door, I nearly fainted.

"Owen!" a joyful voice shouted as I let the door creak partially open.

"Suzie?" I said in surprise.

She pushed into the room and hugged me like I had returned from the dead. The last time she'd seen me, I nearly was. Kaska was with her, both bundled against the cold. The travel bags hanging on Kaska's broad shoulders were quickly dropped on the floor.

"Brother, good to see you so well," he said with a hearty backslap. A very painful one. They closed the door and went to warm at the fire, their clothes damp with snow.

"The weather has been so bad the mail is awash. Not a day goes by that I imagined you starving in the street," Suzie said, turning to plop a leather sack on my desk. From the sound, I guessed it to be half a dozen gold crowns. She looked around in surprise. As Rotanna and I had received many gifts during our stay in Crowley, our rooms were filled with woven carpets, tapestries for the windows, and even a porcelain chamber pot. A welcome sanctuary from the harsh winter.

"If this is starving, I'm moving to Crowley," Kaska said, helping himself to our mutton. He glanced at Rotanna, and I swear, for the briefest moment, I saw the irritating woman smile.

"Hello, Rotanna. I'm happy to see you better," Suzie said, apparently having forgiven her for past wrongs.

"I see your ministrations have served my brother well," Kaska added.

"He is stubborn and stupid, as are all males. That he thrives is an accident of nature," Rotanna answered. Suzie took Rotanna's hands and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thank you, First Sword of the Red Leather," Suzie said, pronouncing her title with the accent of the forest. Rotanna took the tribute as her due.

"I thought you were returning to Two Bridges with Golan?" I asked Kaska.

"Yes. There was a bit of a problem with that," Kaska replied, sitting to take off his boots. I abruptly realized they expected to stay the night, for our lodgings were big enough. I wasn't being a good host, my thoughts keeping me elsewhere.

"Shake off the night, enjoy Rotanna's wine, and then explain what a bit of a problem is," I offered.

"It's my fault," Suzie said.

"No, that's not true. It's entirely my fault," Kaska disagreed.

"Not entirely," she said, winking.

They took off their damp outer clothes, hung them over the drying rack, and sat on the rug before the fire. Holding hands. Rotanna filled their cups, filled her own, and let me have a half share. Everyone took the first sip in silence.

"Will you name the first son after me?" I asked.

They looked at each other and laughed.

"It's that obvious?" Kaska said.

"Yes, brother," I answered.

"Owen, my only kin are far up country, if they still live. You are my closest family now," Suzie hesitantly explained.

"Is Kaska expecting a dowry?" I asked.

"You have a dowry? On top of everything else?" Kaska said, turning in surprise.

"I forgot," Suzie said with a laugh.

"What is dowry?" Rotanna questioned.

"It's a custom for the bride's family to give money or property upon a marriage," I explained. "Just as it's required for the groom to pledge lands to his wife and children. You do have lands, don't you, brother?"

"I will, in time. You have my word," Kaska solemnly vowed.

I had been joking. Kaska wasn't.

"In the meantime, between my sword and Suzie's writing, we're growing prosperous," he said, giving her a kiss.

"Oh? And what have you been writing, Miss Smith? A cookbook? Or perhaps advice for young girls new to the city?" I said with a smirk.

Suzie looked down, red-faced, and reached into her pocket for a pamphlet some fifty pages in length. At first I thought it a new work from Hogarth, the printing style similar, but I quickly saw that wasn't the case. My face turned white as the snow on our windowpane.

"You wrote this?" I said, leafing through the first few pages.

"Yes, Owen," she said, almost apologizing.

I found it hard to breathe and felt dizzy. The title of the booklet was Magistrate of the Dark Land, A Brief History of Owen Vander and His Liberation of the Innocents. Looking through the sections, it recounted my search for the lost daughters, various battles, and the raid on Kannae. It was embarrassingly glowing, more so because Suzie displayed a decidedly theatrical talent. I suddenly realized what she had been writing in the courthouse while I had been working on my writs. The final chapter was about the skirmish at Trodden Castle, no doubt related to her by Kaska, though the number of slain freebooters had grown from forty to a hundred.

"The first printing sold out in a week," Kaska said, hugging Suzie close.

"Thank God for that," I sighed, thinking the damage wouldn't be so bad.

"The second printing only lasted three days," Kaska quickly added. "I didn't realize you can actually make money as a scribe. Mister Grosset said we'll make even more when royalties come in from Piedmont and Wheat Harbor. And that promoter fellow, Crazy Joe Fetters, wants to do a play. Hell, I'd pay a half-silver to see it. Grateful young lasses begging for freedom. Half-naked warrior women. Owen Vander, the Magistrate, hacking off the heads of outlaws by the bushel. You could tour the world with a play like that."

"It's not all about naked warrior women, Owen. It's about your search for truth. A search for answers," Suzie quickly said, embarrassed by Kaska's summary.

"You should have asked permission before making me famous," I said, trying not to sound angry. For how could I ever live up to such grandiose expectations? Or operate in secret when necessary? Or fight off bushels of outlaws when they came looking for revenge?

"You're already famous, brother. My wife-to-be has made you a legend. But she left out the part where you crawled beneath my legs seeking protection from Golan," Kaska said, holding out his cup for a refill.

"That sounds like the Magistrate I know," Rotanna said with satisfaction. "Cheer up, Owen. Many warriors find glory they don't deserve."

"Speaking of Golan, there is something we forgot to mention," Kaska said.

There was another knock on my door. I put a hand on my dagger. Rotanna quietly reached for her sword. Suzie saw nothing, but Kaska noticed our apprehension. Nilo poked his head in.

"Owen? We have company," Nilo said.

"Yes, I know," I answered, wondering why he wasn't entering.

"No, I mean more company," he said, throwing the door open.

Damn, I thought.

"Magistrate. Again living the royal life," Golan said, barging into my rooms and dropping a heavy travel bag. "Suzie girl, you made us march up King's Road in a snowstorm to save Magistrate from homeless starvation. May we all starve so well."

The giant rogue came forward and insisted on shaking hands as if we were friends. His face beamed with pleasure, and perhaps a few beers from the tavern downstairs. Someone appeared in my doorway.

"Fuschia!" Rotanna yelled, running to greet her. "How have you come here? Why are you not returned home?"

"First Sword, thank the Dread Goddess you thrive," Fuschia said, dropping off her winter cloak. "I have shocking news. News you may not like."

"Why? What's wrong? Has something happened to Jalana and our sisters?" Rotanna asked, more human than I had ever seen her.

"No, they are long back to the forest by now," Fuschia reassured, taking Rotanna to the hearth and sitting down. I'm sure the warmth of the fire felt good, but I had the impression Fuschia had been indoors for a while now, possibly waiting to come upstairs. She seemed nervous.

"Our sisters are home, but you are not?" Rotanna asked.

"I am home, cousin. I am married," Fuschia said, holding out her hand. A gold band decorated her ring finger. Such was not the custom of Farina.

"Married?" Rotanna sputtered.

"Married?" I said in equal disbelief.

"You may congratulate me, Magistrate. I have corralled the fiercest, most beautiful woman of them all," Golan said, wrapping his arm around Fuschia's shoulders. She nestled in as if she belonged there. I staggered backward and dropped into my easy chair. Rotanna gave me another half cup of wine before filling her own to the rim.

"I know this is rare, First Sword, but what could I do? I love the oaf, and I will not share him with the forest," Fuschia explained.

Rotanna appeared angry at first, and disappointed, but it soon passed. At least, the anger did.

"It's troublesome to traffic with males," Rotanna admitted, drinking her wine.

"How will such a marriage fare with your Axe brothers? Will Thory accept her into your guild?" I asked, half in jest.

"My days as a mercenary are over," Golan said without regret. "A married man must learn to keep his gold, buy land, and plan a life for his children. Many children. Thus, have I taken up a new profession."

"What idiot would hire you?" I asked.

"You did, Magistrate," he answered with an annoying grin.

Golan reached into his pocket and took out a letter. It bore a familiar seal.

"My God," I said, reading the preamble. "You're the new sheriff of Arbor?"

"You told Captain Toban a sheriff needs to be canny, suspicious, and knowledgeable of evil. Who better?" Golan replied.

He had me there, and he wasn't the first villain to find a new life on the better side of the law. Golan laughed when he saw I would accept the situation. I turned toward Kaska, who grinned slightly and opened his jacket. There was a copper deputy's badge pinned to his breast pocket.

"I told you, I like the south," Kaska said.

"Dispatches," Golan announced, handing me a courier pouch. "The town fathers reject your resignation. They feel the outrages of Kannae mustn't be allowed to continue and approve your writs against Lord Kirkon. A council is called for the spring."

I pawed absently through the many letters, including a very kind one from Judith Potter explaining why I was still needed. And it had been my decision to issue the indictments. Still, it was a lot to take in at once.

"Owen, you've got to understand," Suzie said, sitting at my feet. "When we returned to Arbor with the freed women, the town went crazy. All of Ravenshire went crazy. People came from all over to reclaim their loved ones. Church bells rang for days. We were paraded through the streets. Golan was forced to make speeches."

"It was glorious. Never did I think life in a city could be so pleasurable," Fuschia said, puffing up her chest. I continued to think, trying not to brood.

"This is not the end of the world, Magistrate," Golan said, beginning to sound resentful. "It was your doing that gave me a woman, gold, and a place in the world."

"Fear not, sheriff of Arbor, it's not you who troubles my thoughts. You served loyally at Kannae. I have no doubt of your service now," I said. I wasn't completely sure, but praising him was bound to get better results than mocking him.

"Is it my book, Owen?" Suzie asked with worry.

"No, it's not your comedy, Suzie. Though I wish you had waited. If nothing else, I could have helped with your spelling."

She laughed with relief. Kaska, too. I hadn't noticed how anxious they were.

"Care to explain the weapons?" Kaska suddenly asked. I started to say no but Rotanna cut me off.

"Magistrate seeks to bring down a band of criminals who steal women and books. Even now they may skulk in the alleys seeking his blood," she revealed.

Our guests immediately showed alarm, checking the location of their swords.

"You really can't stay out of trouble, can you?" Golan said, amazed.

"The danger is minor here in the inn, and I doubt they'll attempt mischief even on the streets. I have something they want, and it can't be gotten with murder," I said.

"Gold?" Golan asked.

"A scroll," I answered.

"Many males in this city value paper above all else. It is a strange thing. Today I saw a man weep over this trifle," Rotanna said, reaching for the pouch hidden in her winter cloak.

"What is it?" Nilo asked.

"When we know that, we will know all," I answered.

My rooms were getting crowded. Having learned from experience, I obtained lodgings down the hall for Golan and Fuschia, then found it necessary to turn in. Two cups of wine had me drowsy. The day's stress left me drained. All but Suzie decided to go downstairs for a late meal.

"Thank you for not getting mad," Suzie said, tucking me in.

"The world is full of things to be mad at. You're not one of them," I said, fondly remembering our nights together in Arbor. When I had still been fully a man. Not that I would have invited Suzie to share my bed, Kaska being a friend.

"I will come with you," she said.

"Where?"

"Wherever you are going."

"People don't come back from where I'm going, especially beautiful young women. I will go with Rotanna. I'll negotiate with my enemies, and if that doesn't work, she'll kill them for me," I said, smiling at the thought.

Suzie didn't object, but I could tell she had something on her mind. I hoped it wasn't another pamphlet.

The next day was clear of storm clouds for the first time in weeks. It was a court day so I spent the morning on the bench dealing with routine matters. From time to time, I'd glance around the saloon to see Kaska standing at the end of the bar. Then Golan. Then Kaska again. They were taking turns watching over me, giving Rotanna time to visit with Fuschia. I think the First Sword missed her sisters far more than she would admit. The last petitioner of the session was a lean man with a black patch over his eye.

"Have you a grievance, sir?" I asked as Stolmeister stood before me.

"Yes, I have lost valuable property," he said, the voice calm.

"Are you sure it's lost? Perhaps it is merely in the custody of one more deserving?" I questioned.

"I would still have it back," the villain said.

Three rough looking men appeared near the door to the street, long cloaks hiding weapons. I almost laughed.

"How would you choose to get the property back?" I asked, smirking.

"Quickly," he said, not so amused.

A subtle wave of his hand brought the ruffians forward. I was truly surprised he thought to intimidate me in my own courtroom, tavern though it may be.

"The procedure for recovering lost property is rarely quick. Legal technicalities often slow the process," I warned.

"What technicalities are those?" Stolmeister asked.

I pointed toward the door. Golan, Fuschia, and Rotanna had come in behind Stolmeister's minions. Kaska had come up to my side. Every expression was grim enough that Old Stolly understood my friends were as determined as his. And I had more friends.

"Another time," Stolmeister said, slowly backing away.

"Wait, sir, you have not paid your court fee," I advised, using my cane to stand.

I motioned for the three raggedly dressed minions to come forward. They hesitated, not taking the situation in so quickly as their leader. Rotanna helped them decide.

"Forward, males, that you may pay homage to justice," Rotanna growled, her sword still sheathed.

"I don't go nowhere on the say of a cripple and a bitch," one of the hired thugs said.

"Your words inspire me, male," Rotanna said, inching closer.

"Rotanna, do you need our help?" a youth standing at the bar asked.

It was one of her fencing students, Russell of Wymark. With him was Thomas Kilkirk, Sir Brecy's son. I wondered why they were loitering in a tavern instead of attending classes.

"They are naught but a trifle," Rotanna said.

"Rotanna? The blood thirsty Amazoi?" the shortest of the three ruffians cried.

"I've heard she doesn't like being called that," his friend whispered in warning.

"Blood thirsty?" the short one said.

"Amazoi," the friend answered.

Indeed, it was true. Rotanna nearly had her sword drawn, fully intending to disembowel the villain for the blood insult, when I raised my hand for order. By now the dozen casual onlookers in the tavern knew serious trouble was brewing and edged toward the staircase.

"Here's your damn fee," Stolmeister said, dropping a silver flat on my table.

I pointed, motioning for more. He put down two more. I shook my head.

"All of it, and the purses of your friends, too. This has been a difficult case," I insisted.

Stolmeister's face flushed with anger. His men were startled, scarcely able to believe they were being robbed by a judge. They stood mute, wondering what to do.

"Draw your sword, male. I long to taste your heart," Rotanna whispered so quietly I barely heard her.

The tallest of the rogues looked down into her fierce green eyes. The man was big enough and possibly talented enough to give her a good fight, but Rotanna's challenge was declined. He was afraid, she wasn't. He put his leather purse on the table. A small amount of copper by the sound. His companions did the same.

"Now the weapons," I said.

"No. Never," the heaviest of the minions objected.

Rotanna stuck him in the back with her dagger. Not deeply. I don't think. He squealed like a pig and spun around.

"I fear your case grows more complicated, sir. I may have employees requiring compensation," I said, thoroughly enjoying myself.

Three swords and three daggers were placed on the table before me, none of them high quality. Each man glared at Stolmeister, blaming him for their predicament. Stolmeister had done a poor job of recruiting. Or maybe he just didn't pay very well.

"Sirs, if I will have quiet from you, you may reclaim your blades," I offered.

The three men grunted, picked up their weapons, and filed out of the tavern thankful to leave. I scooped up their purses and handed them to Kaska. He tested the weight before tucking them in his jacket. Golan nodded to me from the far side of the room with approval.

"I believe we have business to discuss," I said to Stolmeister, indicating a room off the dining area.

When we had first met, I could have thrashed him with my eyes closed. Now he was whole and I the cripple. But I had something he wanted and did not expect further trouble. Rotanna was less trusting, following us into the room and closing the door. I sat near the fire, my limbs cold despite my long coat. Stolmeister sat across a small table. I motioned for Rotanna to give the man some breathing space.

"What do you want?" Stolmeister asked without wasting time.

"To be as you are," I said.

"That's impossible."

"I think not," I answered.

"You have no idea what you ask. Accept the gold and be done with it."

"I have gold. I don't have healthy arms and legs, or the ability to be a man."

I noticed Rotanna squirm at my remark. She had not thought my infirmities so extreme. It was an embellishment I didn't correct.

"You will not find such solace easily. Where I have traveled is not a trip to the spa," Stolmeister warned.

"No, I will find solace with a journey to the Arkland, perhaps by meeting helpful guides on the Cicely Road seeking knowledge. Perhaps seeking forbidden knowledge," I said, taking a pouch from my pocket.

I opened the flap and slowly drew out the ancient scroll, careful not to tear the fragile parchment. Stolmeister's eyes nearly popped. I could tell he wanted to reach for it but knew Rotanna would cut off his hand.

"You're well informed for a backwoods lawyer," Stolmeister felt compelled to say.

"I do not pretend to understand how the magic is performed, but please understand, I will have my body back. I will also reward those who help. I'm not a greedy man."

"Will you barter in virgins? For that is the usual price," Stolmeister said.

"I can offer Rotanna. Or some of her sisters," I suggested. Stolmeister turned to look at Rotanna, huffing under his breath.

"There is no such thing as a virgin Farina," he snidely remarked.

"Virgins are few in the dead of winter, but I'll find what's needed in time. But first I will have my desire, or your masters will not have this scroll," I demanded.

"We cannot leave until the winter breaks. The canyons are impassable. Then we must hurry, for we must arrive before the spring equinox."

"I take it you plan on departing for Alcester rather than winter in Crowley."

"You are well informed."

"Your room at the Standish is only rented for another two days."

"Will you come to Alcester with me?" he asked.

"I have duties here. I'll meet you by snow's end and we'll travel to the Arkland together. And if another attempt is made on the scroll, I'll burn it."

"Don't even think that. You have no idea of its value. No idea at all," Stolmeister urged.

"Then we understand each other. Good day, sir," I said, standing up. I had not offered him food or drink. He noticed, nodded, and left the room quickly. I envied his smooth walk and the natural swing of his arms.

"The three of us will go to this place called Arkland?" Rotanna asked.

"That's hard to say. I think only two of us will make the journey."

"I'm going with you," Rotanna insisted.

"Yes, I expect you are," I agreed.

* * * * * *

The Yule Season arrived, a time of singing, dancing, gift giving and reverent prayer. Nilo moved in with some fellow medical students to make room for Suzie and Kaska. With the weather comparatively mild, I could have sent Golan back to Arbor, but duty had requirements beyond my personal preferences.

The last few court sessions of the year were not held at the Peacock. So many cases required review that we moved to the town hall on University Street. I expected an excess of petitioners, but I didn't anticipate so many spectators. A dozen rows of seats were filled with young law students, and even many of the older barristers were attending. Kept close at my side was Golan. He was now sheriff of Arbor. If he was to be of value, he needed to know how the law worked. Fortunately, the man was merely arrogant and boorish, not dimwitted.

By the term's last session, I noticed Golan was no longer making snide remarks about my profession. With marriage having made him ambitious, he was impressed by the array of citizens seeking my counsel. In time he would receive similar respect. It was important that he understand his obligations.

"Have your days always been this busy?" Golan asked as we finally closed the doors.

"No. Arthur County is mostly rural. I often traveled from town to town hearing cases in churches and taverns. Crowley is urban. Much of Drew and Star County seek justice here. It would seem I've developed a reputation for country law that inspires curiosity from the formal establishment. Maybe they came to laugh."

"No one is laughing, Owen. You handle a courtroom like a sailor on a troubled sea, and they know it."

It was the first time I could remember Golan addressing me by my first name. Perhaps he thought it a good time to curry favor.

"Have you any questions?" I inquired.

"My reading skills are only fair. It feels like there's a lot to learn," he said nervously. I could not have asked for a better answer.

"Speak with the Widow Potter when you return to Arbor. Tell her you'll need the help of my clerks for a while. They're very bright and know the law. But remember, they work for you, as you work for me. Ask advice and then make the final decision."

"It will be as you say," Golan agreed.

"What did you do with the gold?" I dared to ask. "The reward must have come to several gold crowns."

Golan laughed.

"I took my share and invested in a livery. Nice one just off Lambert Street. Has a lot big enough for twenty horses. Some went into a fund for lost women. Ones who are having trouble finding family. Fuschia and I drank some of it, but not as much as you think. And I put your share in the Mercantile Trust."

"My share?" I said in surprise.

"I know, you told me to keep your share, but you said it out of fear. You didn't need the bribe me, I gave my word," Golan explained, hinting at the insult he felt.

"I'm sorry, Golan, but many lives were at stake that night. Including mine. I did not trust your honor," I admitted.

"So you sought to buy it?"

"Gold is the usual currency."

"I don't want your gold, Owen. Perhaps I've not always deserved your trust, but I'm a respectable member of the community now. A man of property and position. Such men don't take what doesn't belong to them, do they?"

"Sometimes they do. Just don't make a habit of it," I recommended, offering a smile.

We met Fuschia and Rotanna on the street. Preparations for the Yule celebration had them mystified. Even Golan seemed a little surprised by the proliferation of twisted pine branches, red ribbons and popcorn strings. Every window had a candle, every door a wreath. A group of carolers were on the corner singing Precious Child. An old-timer dressed as a Wise Man was collecting alms for the poor in a traditional clay bowl. I dropped in a half-silver flat.

Fuschia walked with an extra bounce in her step. She had been glum much of the previous week but would not share the problem with Rotanna or anyone else. Golan seemed not to notice, nor would I have expected him to, being shallow in this respect and concentrating on his new duties. Finally, Fuschia came to me, in private and in tears.

"I don't know what to do, Magistrate," she had said.

I took her in my arms and hoped Golan wouldn't suddenly walk in. He was not one for long explanations.

"I've not been married for many years. The problems of newlyweds rarely mark my calendar. But I'll try to help if you wish to speak of it," I said.

"I have been asking of this place called Arkland. A viler place cannot be imagined. You and Rotanna travel there, and I must go, too, or be without honor. Yet Golan must return to Arbor. He has taken an oath to protect the city dwellers, but he is new to such responsibility. Golan needs me at his side. His lack of book skill gives him much worry and sleepless nights. I am torn in half. My halves are torn in half. Must I abandon honor for my love? If I abandon my love, what honor remains?"

It was clear why she couldn't discuss her dilemma with Rotanna, who was already displeased by the marriage.

"Come with me," I urged, putting on my heavy coat.

The second Sabbath had arrived. We walked to the corner church where I knelt before the altar, then went to light a candle. I waved for Fuschia to join me. It was late in the afternoon, most of the parishioners long departed. The priest knew to leave me alone in my prayers, for I never cared to be interrupted.

"In the forest, you make a bonfire to remember lost sisters when they die, then speak of them only at the summer council," I said, knowing well of their customs. "Here we may remember our loved ones anytime we wish. Some people of my faith come here every day. Some never come at all."

I lit five candles with the fervent prayer I always whispered.

"I had a wife. Her name was Martha. I had two children. Their names were Leila and Samuel. I had a loving mother and father. Their names were Bertha and William. My time with them was joyful. When I kneel in remembrance, I wish I could see them one more time. Hear one more laugh. Share one more touch. I've known honor, Fuschia. I've known love. I won't tell you which is more important. I will tell you that you've got to follow your heart."

We slowly retreated to a pew where I read several chapters of scripture, as was my custom, and started back to the inn. The day was cold, a modest wind blowing in from the west. We did not take the direct way, but rather diverted a block south to Market Street. Fuschia gave me her arm for help over the icy patches.

"Owen, do you love Jalana?" she asked.

"I love all your sisters. We faced many dangers together. They are like family."

"You sent Jalana away."

"Yes."

"Why would you send her away if you love her? Why do that if life's moments are so precious?"

"Jalana has a rich life before her. She is young and bright. A leader. The richness of my life is behind me. Yes, sister, I love Jalana. I love her enough to send her away. And each day I think of it, I'm glad I did. Does that answer your question?"

Fuschia walked quietly at my side. We stopped outside a small dry goods store where I sometimes bought sundries. The Hubbards were stocking their shelves. The elderly couple worked as one, having fifty years of marriage behind them. He accidentally dropped a roll of yarn and she caught it. They looked at each other and laughed, a sparkle in their aged eyes.

I took Fuschia's arm, leading her toward the corner where a young mother was struggling with two energetic brats. The boys were four and six, the younger wanting a piece of fruit that the older refused to surrender.

"A problem, Sarah?" I asked.

"Two boys, one winter apple," she said.

"Fuschia?" I said, giving her a look.

Fuschia smiled, drew her dagger, and cut the apple in half. The boys grinned and took their shares.

"Thank you, Magistrate," Sarah said.

"No, Sarah, thank you," I said, tipping my hat.

Fuschia and I resumed our walk. A few minutes later we were standing in front of the Peacock.

"You miss Jalana, don't you?" Fuschia suddenly asked.

"Yes," I confessed.

"I will return with Golan to Arbor," Fuschia said.

"I'm glad for you," I answered, taking her hand as we went in.

* * * * * *

We would commemorate First Eve at the Marcher Lord, one of Crowley's finest restaurants. The elegant timber building overlooks Franklin Bay where the River Moth empties into the Great River. It had started to snow again, but lightly. Perfect weather for the Holy Days. I felt a need to show appreciation, especially to my friends for putting up with my bad temper.

Much of my morning was spent with Kaska and Golan. After a brief stop at church, they took me to the Staggered Bull for a cup of fine wine. When Golan offered me a second cup, I instinctively looked over my shoulder for Rotanna. The Axe brothers laughed.

"The First Sword has you trained well," Kaska chided.

"I bet that wasn't hard," Golan agreed.

"Wait until she slices you up within an inch of your life," I said, not so amused.

"Was it really that bad?" Golan asked.

"Yes, it was really that bad," Kaska answered for me. "He looked like Beknar after Trolley Pass." Golan's eyebrows went up.

"Yet you tolerate her? You even seem to have forgiven her?" Golan said.

"I forgave you," I said, drinking my second cup slowly.

Golan appeared inclined to say something but thought better of it. And wisely so.

After the Staggered Bull I expected we'd return to the Peacock, but Kaska insisted on heading down to the bay where we went fishing. I enjoy fishing but I'd never heard Kaska or Golan express an interest. I caught a nice fat carp, drank most of a beer, and took a nap in a coal warmed boathouse near the inner harbor.

Getting good sleep had been difficult for me lately. I'd had strange dreams since Stolmeister left for Alcester. I told myself that venturing to the Arkland was about one last effort to find the lost daughters, though by now they were certainly dead, victims of some pagan ritual. The books stolen by George Manners had made that much clear. My dreams were telling a different story. In backdrops of gray and black stone, I was healthy again. Moving, jumping, reaching for the stars. Jalana was in my arms. And we weren't standing up. I was whole again, and all it cost was the blood of innocents. I'd wake up covered in sweat. Such dreams should be nightmares, but they weren't. I could hear Stolmeister in the back of my mind, whispering. Always whispering. Tempting me. And why not? Why should he be more deserving of grace than I?

On the way back we stopped at the dry goods store where I bought Kaska and Golan red ties in celebration of First Eve. We had not seen the women since breakfast, and I wondered what they'd been up to. Suzie and Fuschia had been acting suspiciously. When I asked Rotanna about it, she called me male and stupid before walking away.

Before heading out to the Marcher Lord, we lingered at the Peacock to wash up. Unlike my first few months in Crowley, I was now able to take a bath by myself, glad to be free of Rotanna's scrubbing. When I emerged in a fine brown woolen outfit complete with high black boots and a maple cane, I was amazed to find the ladies wearing new dresses. All three of them. Suzie looked natural in her lacy blue gown, hair tucked into a bun on top of her head, the low blouse showing plenty of bosom. Fuschia was a dazzling sight in yellow frills and a necklace of small white seashells. Rotanna was the most surprising, wearing a long red evening dress. I had never seen her look like a woman before. And quite frankly, I think forest leather suited her better, but chose not to be unkind. It was a night to honor our Savior, after all.

Kaska and Golan were similarly fitted for the occasion in gray frock coats, and we were soon joined by several more companions. Nilo and a darling young nurse named Candace arrived first, followed by three of Rotanna's fencing students. Lord Wymark was with Stephanie, Baron Strophe's daughter. Thomas Kilkirk had volunteered to be Rotanna's date, perhaps on a dare. Lastly, Zackary McPherson arrived with his pretty wife, Miranda. Though Crowley was a peaceful town, it was reassuring to know we had eight strong swords in our party.

"You look wonderful, Owen. Quite the gentleman," Suzie said as we walked toward the waterfront on a frosty cobblestone street. She held my elbow on one side, I used my cane on the other. Some of the streetlamps had been given red and blue shades.

"I must look my best, Suzie, to be in the company of such beautiful women," I said, looking back at Rotanna. The First Sword was uncomfortable in her snug dress. I wondered how Suzie, or Fuschia, had talked her into it. I would not make fun of her, as much as I wanted to.

"This is a special night, isn't it? A very special night?" Suzie asked.

"We are among loving friends preparing for First Eve. The town is safe and prosperous, our obligations met. It's hard to imagine a more special night," I agreed.

"But still, some nights can be more special than others," Kaska said, briefly looking back at me.

I wondered if he was jealous, for Suzie spent a good deal of time with me, often in intimate conversation. And he had been looking strangely at me all day. I suppose he had good reason for resentment. Everyone in town seemed to know me, as they did Rotanna. Golan was now a sheriff on the verge of a prominent career, and none who gazed on Fuschia could easily turn away. Even Nilo, once dishwasher of the Black Axe, was soon to be a doctor. Was Kaska feeling ignored?

We turned onto Wharf Street. The sidewalk was damp and I almost slipped, nearly taking Suzie down with me. Fuschia came up on my other side, keeping me steady. Neither Fuschia nor Mapps had warmed to me during our adventure in Kannae, and though I gained some respect in their eyes since my blundering at Salisbury Cross, we still were not close. Not like the bond I felt with Cathie, Yana, and Dalena. And even Obina, on occasion. I sensed Fuchsia's feelings had changed since our talk. Perhaps I was emerging as a sort of father figure.

A group of well-dressed gentlemen passed us going in the opposite direction. When they saw me pressed between two beautiful women, they whispered and tipped their hats.

The entry of the Marcher Lord was grander than most ballrooms, made of marble and hung with lush tapestries to keep out the chill. We checked our overcoats with the hostess, admired the new painting of a Roman bath by Van Rouse hung in the parlor, and turned toward the dining hall. I surrendered Suzie to Kaska, who remained oddly quiet, and gave Fuschia to Golan, who suddenly appeared nervous, perhaps due to the large crowd. Thomas Kilkirk took Rotanna's arm, so I entered alone, counting myself lucky.

The chandeliers were filled with candles, gas lamps kept the corners well lit, and four hearths burned logs as large as tree stumps. The tables were covered in white linen with the best silver laid out, though I suspect much of it was polished pewter. An eight-man orchestra set up on the stage, for there would be dancing before dinner.

"Magistrate. Magistrate," someone called out.

It was Purvis Jenkins, Crowley's deputy mayor. A pleasant man better known for clever politics than good administration.

"Did you receive the summary of my briefs?" I asked, shaking his hand.

"Oh, I probably did. That's what clerks are for. Good evening to your ladies and gentlemen friends," Jenkins answered in a bold voice. I smiled and looked toward Golan and Kaska, wondering what they thought of being called gentlemen.

"We appreciate the invitation," I said.

"This way, this way. I've held a superb table for you near the window. Right next to mine. Have you met my family?" Jenkins eagerly asked.

We made introductions for the next few minutes. To my surprise, we were seated among the gentry, a distinctive honor for visitors without rank or family. The mayor presented his wife, the county advocate gave us a friendly nod, and an excited group of young people burst forth to offer their names. I spied Suzie's pamphlet in the pocket of one. Had she brought copies to sell in Crowley? I had not thought her such an entrepreneur.

As we settled in at our table, Rotanna's students dragged her off to meet their parents. No doubt a frightening experience, for Rotanna had two daggers tucked in her gold belt. Golan and Fuschia went to the bar, ordering several bottles of excellent wine. I had permission for some self-indulgence, provided it wasn't excessive. And I fully planned to sneak a few glasses when the girls weren't watching. When the dancing started, Suzie, Kaska and I were the only ones left at the table.

"You should be out on the floor. Dancing on First Eve honors the sacrifice of the Savior," I said.

Suzie looked at Kaska, who stood up as if to leave. Their behavior was making me uneasy. Golan and Fuschia were watching from the bar with more than casual interest. Rotanna stopped to stare in my direction. I considered backing toward the window in case there was trouble.

"The first dance is mine," Suzie said, offering me her hand.

There was no way to decline, for to do so would dishonor the spirit of First Eve.

I followed her out on the floor hoping not to embarrass myself. There were already a few couples swaying to the sound of a mandolin, none of them paying us the least attention. I tried to relax, but something was amiss. I glanced from side to side, yet everything appeared normal. It was the Yule season in a room filled with prominent citizens, what could be wrong?

"I love you, Owen. A lot of people love you," Suzie whispered.

Kaska came up and tapped me on the shoulder to take my place. I gratefully gave way, but another woman entered my arms before I could flee the dance floor.

"My turn," the woman said.

I took her hand, put my other hand around her waist, and looked down into her big black eyes. It was Jalana. I fainted.

* * * * * *

We are now entering the last legs of Owen's journey. To be continued in part eleven, For the Arkland.