The rumble of thunder had been constant for days; the hiss of rain falling through the trees, dripping from branches, leaves, and needles unending. The rain was unchanging and remained through the day, into the evening, and into the night. Katarina could only mark the passing of night into day and day into night vaguely; the clouds were so thick and bunched with rain they blotted out most of the light.

She continued endlessly forward through stands of pine and long-needled fir, boarwood and cypress, sometimes riding, sometimes leading her horse.

Exhaustion dragged at her, dogged her heels, but she plodded on, relentless. Some inner sense told her that she was heading north, though she hadn’t had a chance to orient herself to the stars in some time, thanks to the constant rains. The rain was thick and heavy; it’d been raining for the past week and a half. Katarina’s coat was treated to resist getting soaked, but after a week and a half of rain, even it wasn’t enough to keep the rain wholly at bay.

A wooden wall appeared suddenly out of the rain and mist and shadowy gloom; a wall of thick, roughly hewn logs bound together with crude ropes and thick bronze spikes already green with corrosion. Startled, Katarina drew the reins of her horse, eliciting a nicker of protest.

The rain tapped against her leather hat and ran down her duster in thin streams. Her braid, a wrist-thick cable that hung past her hips, was a heavy, sodden mass that weighed on her. Overhead, the roar of rainfall drowned out everything. In this part of the forest, pines ruled, but further in, back the direction Katarina had come, stands of boarswood dotted the landscape.

Katarina glanced back at her charge, a filthy woman with a glassy-eyed gaze and mud in her hair that was trickling down her face in dirty rivulets. She lay draped across the rump of Katarina’s horse and mostly under the woman’s duster like a lumpy bedroll.

“What do you think, Mystia?” Katarina asked the woman tiredly, pitching her voice to be heard over the rainfall. “Should we find ourselves a bed to sleep in?”

The woman was unsurprisingly mute, given her condition. The woman who lay draped across the rump of Katarina’s horse with a vacuous expression was a runaway mage. Katarina had caught her in the woods, and after a short, violent tussle, she’d fed the runaway an herbal mixture that kept her barely conscious and docile to keep the woman from casting spells.

Katarina turned her horse and began to follow the wall, barely visible in the night and the rain. On a night like this, with thick clouds obscuring everything, it was hard to pick anything out. However, Katarina moved with a simple confidence; eventually the wall would lead to a gate, and from there she’d be welcomed into this frontier town.

When the gate appeared, she very nearly missed it. It was the same construction as the wall; rough-hewn logs, roped and nailed with the same corroded bronze spikes. In fact, the only reason she was able to tell it was a gate in the dim light was the rutted road leading up to it.

Katarina tried experimentally pushing on the gate, but it wouldn't budge. Likewise there were no handles for which she could pull, either. She reached under the woman who was draped over her saddlebags, where she kept a pair of metalshod gauntlets. She drew one on, drew back her fist, and began pounding on the gate as hard as she dared. It took several long minutes of her incessant pounding before she realized that likely nobody was there to open the gate. Katarina took a shaky breath and drew her sword and began probing the logs for a gap.

Once she found the gap between the gate and the wall, she worked her sword for the latch or bar that kept it closed, and once it was triggered, she took a startled step back as the gate lifted with the rattling clank of chains and gears.

Katarina drew back, walking her horse back down the muddy road a few steps as the gate swung upwards. Katarina raised her eyebrows in wonder at this. Most gates opened like doors, and she'd assumed this place to be no different. To open upwards like that required either a great deal of sophistication or a significant amount of manpower. As she rode under the overhanging gate, she was blessed with a brief reprieve from the rain. Here she reached under her coat and withdrew her holy symbol, a palm-sized amulet in the shape of a miniature shield. Emblazoned on the front was a lily with two tiny sheathed swords behind.

She rode past the gate, taking a moment to eye the mechanisms' construction. Indeed, it seemed far more sophisticated than the actual walls and gate itself. She couldn't make out the details in the late-night gloom, but it seemed complex.

Just past the odd gate was a pair of roads, one headed south, and one headed east. At the apex of the intersection, directly opposite her, stood what looked to be a general store in the uncertain light. All the shops had simple signs- most Anglish peasants couldn't read- that explained their purpose in a generally universal way.

A clothier, tailor, seamstress, or dressmaker might boast a sign of a spool of thread and needle, or perhaps a roll of cloth, a moneychanger or lender might have a balance scales, an apothecary or herbalist might have a sign with plants and powders carved into it. Likewise universal; the sign of a bed or beerstein was a good indicator of an inn.

The street heading south seemed to be composed of a row of houses, constructed with stout planks and sealed with pitch for waterproofing.

All of the buildings were constructed this way; elevated a short distance from the ground, each building joining a boardwalk that allowed people to traverse a street without having to slog through the mud constantly. Katarina nodded. During the spring months, the northwestern portions of the Anglish Empire were swamped with rain, though to be fair she wasn't certain whether or not she was still in the Anglish Empire. Long nights and longer days of endless rain had made it difficult to keep direction.

This town could belong to the Urthan, a nation to the north that violently refused to be annexed to the Anglish. Katarina could count her life in minutes if that were the case. They worshipped The Silver Moon, their goddess. Katarina was a bounty hunter in service to the Golden Lady, the Lady of the Dawn. Katarina would kill someone worshipping the pale moon just as quickly as they would for some Anglish heretic that worshipped the sun.

"Well, perhaps not as quickly." Katarina chuckled. As far as she knew, the Urthans had yet to develop firearms.

Since the street leading south was lined with houses, and the street leading east was lined with shops, Katarina headed east. Sooner or later, left side or right, she would find an inn. Barring that, she could just kick in the door to the local church and sleep on the floor, but an inn, with the prospect of a hot meal and bath, seemed the better bet.

She rode slowly past closed up storefronts, streams of water flowing from overhangs, glancing around her, taking in the town.

This town seemed to be the same as any other frontier town. The buildings were wooden and unpainted, sealed with pitch to resist the weather, and lifted up off the ground slightly. Likely it was a logging or mining town, sending local resources harvested from the surrounding areas down the roads to the next town, which in turn sent them further west, eventually ending up in the port city of Aston, or perhaps continuing from there to be sent south from Aston to Norn or even Darnell itself, the Jewel of Humanity and seat of the Anglish Empire. Assuming, of course, that she was still within the confines of the Empire.

Nobody wandered the streets at this hour. After a long minute her weary mind came up with the reason. Of course they wouldn't, Katarina chided herself. They would properly be in bed, if not for the late hour then for the abysmal weather.

She spied what looked to be the inn, and turned her mount towards it. She was right; the swinging sign bore a bed and stein, universally recognized signs for an inn. Katarina breathed a sigh of relief; on the lintel above the front door of the inn was a carved wooden plaque bearing the sign of the Lily; one of the three sigils that represented her goddess. She was safe, for the moment. Safer, at least, than if she had stumbled into an Urthan village.

She rode her mare into the stables and brushed her down herself, despite the aches in her tired muscles, the soreness from riding horseback, and the exhaustion that came from endless days on the move with little sleep, humming a hymn as she worked. Afterword, she grunted and heaved as she pulled the stable door closed.

She pulled off her saddlebags and slung them over her shoulder and then she picked Mystia up and slung her over her other shoulder easily. Katarina was a tall woman, as tall as most men, taller than some, and strong, besides.

She made a small bed for the mage girl in the stall with her saddle blanket and mounded straw, wedged herself into the corner next to the girl, wrapped her braid in a thick rope around her neck several times, snugged the coat around herself, pulled her hat low, and let sleep take her.

Outside the inn, shadows moved, shifted, and broke apart as a young woman stepped out of them. Had Katarina been awake and seen her, she would have been immediately suspicious. None of the smallfolk living in this ramshackle town would dress the way she did. She was nearly as tall as the Witch Hunter herself, with ghostly pale skin and long, glossy black hair that hung straight past her hips and seemingly disappeared into her dress. It was sleeveless, hanging loosely from her shoulders and clung to her body as the wind blew, revealing a slim figure.

She stepped out into the main street, indifferently tracking through the mud, and headed for the entrance to the inn. She climbed the steps with little effort, eyes flicking briefly to the hexagonal lily charm that hung over the door. She touched the door lightly with her fingertips, dragging glossy-black nails across the wood.

She jerked her hand back- a look of confusion crossing her face- and then descended the steps of the inn to the muddy street below, leaving no footprint nor smear of mud to mark her passage. She looked up and down the street, fists on hips, puzzlement warring with impatience on her face, and then, brightening at the sign of water-filled hoofprints, followed them around to the covered stable. She opened the large door with one hand with no appreciable effort, stepped inside, and closed the door behind her.

Katarina had wedged herself tightly into a corner of the stall she shared with her own horse, wrapped in a thick leather trail duster much too large for her, with an equally massive leather hat with a short crown and brim wide enough to cover the tops of her shoulders. The hat looked ragged and chewed, scorched in some places, stitched in others.

The woman stared down at the Witch Hunter for a long time, arms folded contemplatively beneath her breasts, fingers tapping meditatively on her arms. She could try to do what she came for tonight, what she had tried to do every single night but the most likely result would be Katarina springing to the attack, wholly unaware of what it was she faced. Difficult.

The woman had hoped that since Katarina was in a town, the Witch Hunter would be abed, with perhaps a comfortable distance between herself and her gun. Room to act. Instead... this.

The woman took a long breath that did interesting things to the V neck of her dress, and turned away, vanishing again into the shadows. There would be other opportunities.

It was the same; it was the old nightmare, it was the new nightmare. The shock, pain, and hurt of betrayal ten years gone; the inescapable terror of being chased, relentlessly pursued by a fear with no face.

Katarina was vaguely aware of someone shouting, and a tense, fiercely whispered argument if she were another one of them, whatever that meant, but only came fully awake when someone rudely jabbed her with a pitchfork. With that, she came awake in a flash, hand blurring like a striking snake, fingers closing around the pitchfork as she surged to her feet, pushing her would-be attacker backwards.

As he stumbled backwards with a shout, she indifferently slung the pitchfork to the side, drew her sword and pushed her anti-magical barrier out from her to its limits. Two men, unnoticed by her as she came awake, fell backward with startled cries as they tripped over the thrown pitchfork, their own pitchforks raised to high port as they staggered back in shock.

"Stand and deliver or face the wrath of the Golden Lady!" She shouted, leveling her blade at her would-be attacker's face.

The attacker in front of her, her primary focus, stared at her in fish-eyed wonder, sprawled in the strawdust. He was an older man, balding on top, portly, with a dingy apron that was covered in greasy stains. He had an open face with thin patches of beard stubble on his pudgy cheeks and a gaspy expression of shock on his upturned face.

As her heart settled, she realized he was no mage. There was no sense of magic about him at all. Who was he? Her brain dutifully dredged up possibilities as her eyes flicked to the two other men in the stables; equally middle-aged and fat, but wearing leather aprons. He was likely an innkeeper. A stableman would have a leather apron.

"By the Goddess, don't kill me!" He shouted, hands raised in warding.

Katarina slowly sheathed her sword. "I'm not going to kill you." She finally replied. "Unless you try to skewer me with that thing again." She added severely, with a tip of her head to the pitchfork. The other two men immediately tossed their pitchforks to the stable floor and raised their hands in miserable surrender.

He lowered his hands and peeked at her.

"By the Goddess, you're a woman!" The man exclaimed, eyes dipping first to her bosom, then to her trousers. His face filled with horror and he jerked his eyes away quickly.

Katarina sighed inwardly. As a Witch Hunter, she was required to spend most of her time hunting mages. Invariably this meant stalking through unclaimed wilderness or simply travelling between cities and towns, spending days, weeks, or sometimes even months on horseback. As a concession to this, The Church of the Golden Lady had granted her special dispensation to wear trousers.

In a city it would be scandalous; in a frontier village like this it was abhorrent. Likely she would have to shove the local pastor's nose in the proclamation and beat him senseless until he grudgingly allowed her what the Church had already permitted, and even then it was no sure thing.

"My name is Katarina. I'm a ... Lady of the Church in service to the Golden Lady." Katarina announced with a pause, lifting her holy symbol from her belt and tossing it at his feet. "I need a room and bed for the time being, my good man." She said. "I can pay in coin or we can trade."

She named herself as a 'Lady of the Church', because her title of 'Witch Hunter' would immediately send the men into paroxysms of paranoia and suspicion-fueled hatred. 'Lady' was much more ambiguous, but she would still be able to exercise some authority.

The man picked up Katarina's holy symbol, a palm-sized shield on a heavy golden chain and eyed it, studiously not looking at her.

"A 'Lady', you say." He muttered, and his eyes flicked to her legs. There was an air of judgement, there.

"I have permission to dress the way I do from the Church. Skirts are useless for hiking through the woods and horse riding." Katarina replied to the silent judgement challengingly. "If you can read, I can show proof."

The man muttered something she didn't pick up, and moved to push himself to his feet. As he rose to his feet, he added, "Mayhap we can deal." He began, and ponderously rose to his feet, his face red with the effort. "Come inside." He gestured curtly. "Jav and Hugh, see to the 'Lady's' horse and then come inside as well." His voice adopted a thoughtful tone as it lowered to almost a mutter. "Maybe we can fix this thing before it gets any worse."

Katarina slung her saddlebags over her shoulder, then glanced down at the girl she'd brought into town with her. The daft girl was still asleep, curled into a little ball under the horse blanket. Katarina couldn't leave the girl unattended. She would wake up and Katarina would probably have to chase her down again. Her presence could raise unwanted questions, however.

Katarina let out a pained breath and scooped the girl up and draped her over her other shoulder, and followed after the portly man.

===

Once inside, Katarina carefully laid the unconscious girl on one of the low benches near the fire, doffed her hat, unceremoniously wrung out the rainwater from her braid on the tavern floor, and then leaned against the bar.

The stout man slid her holy symbol across the bar, and Katarina reclaimed it. "I need a room and bed for now, my good man." She repeated. He nodded distractedly at that, not making eye contact with her.

His face went through a series of expressions, and then his thick brows lowered angrily, folding his arms.

"I saw your gun." He began with a dull anger in his voice. He glared at her balefully. "There are no Witches here, m'lady."

Interesting. The only force that carried firearms were the Witch Hunters, those tasked with rooting out witchcraft and heresy. Witch Hunters were rare, though. Across an empire that spanned five continents, there were only a few hundred Witch Hunters. What coincidence that she run across someone who even knew what a gun was?

After a calculated moment where they sized each other up, Katarina shrugged noncommittally. "I don't care about that. I'm here for a bed, a bath, and a meal. When the storm lets up I'll be on my way."

"Just a bed?" He asked warily, and she nodded. "And a meal, and a bath." She repeated.

"We don't need no Witch Hunter here." He warned again.

Katarina smiled diplomatically. "I'm not here for that." She repeated, and cocked her hip to the side and waved her hand dismissively. "I'm jus' here to rest, eat, an' wash up." She added, picking up on his way of speaking.

He raised an eyebrow and gave a slow nod, his weathered face softening. Finally, he let out a ponderous breath. "Ayup, we can do business. Can't let no one say I turned away a servant of the Golden Lady." He admitted grudgingly, and hunkered down and began moving things around behind the massive bar.

The fire in the hearth was nothing more than a bed of coals and a few flickering flames; there were only a couple of lamps lit as well, leaving the common room filled with a warm gloom.

"Is... is there something wrong with her?" The man asked doubtfully, popping back up and gesturing at the unconscious form of Mystia. Katarina shook her head. "No. She's just very tired." Katarina replied glibly. "I'm about to fall asleep again, myself." She added in a weary voice that was wholly unfeigned.

"Huh." The man replied doubtfully. "You was sleepin in the stable." He remarked with a gesture at the door.

"Hardly call that comfortable, right?" She asked dismissively. "So, about that room." Katarina switched topics, bringing his attention back to her.

The innkeeper eyed her askance from his position opposite the bar. "Well, about that." he replied delicately. "Be ya wed?" he asked carefully. Katarina's head drew back in confusion. "What?"

"Wed. Er ya married?" he asked patiently, his face filled with urgent concern.

"Certainly not. There is no place for that in my work." Katarina replied, a touch of irritation in her voice, hand unconsciously falling to the pommel of her saber. "Why do you ask?"

The man pushed himself away from the bar and ostentatiously wiped at the bar with a rag without making eye contact.

"Twould might be better fer ya to take lodgings at the Maiden House, mi'lady." He offered. "Twouldne be proper for an unmarried woman to be usin' the baths here." he urged gently. "They can... they can be a mite lively. Not 'tall like the Maiden House." He wrung his hands and looked at her. "I'd feel just awful if something untoward were to happen." He urged.

After a long moment, understanding dawned. Katarina smiled diplomatically at his urgings. She knew too well the kinds of things that happened in the bathing areas in places like this. There was a reason unmarried women and girls were kept apart from the mixed bathing.

"I understand." She replied, and he relaxed. Katarina smiled, then. "But I'll be vexing you anyway. I'll just take my baths later." He opened his mouth but bit back an argument, as Katarina overrode him. "I know how the stoves work; I can tend to myself. I won't have you up late at night tending me." she added.

He shook his head. "I can't do it, miss." He refused stubbornly.

Katarina sighed, frustrated. "Look. I'm an Agent of the Church," she began flatly. "I accept full responsibility for my person." She continued. "Bathing is usually around sundown, right?" She asked, and he nodded reluctantly.

"Good. I'll either bathe early in the morning or late at night. As I said, I know how to work the stoves, so you won't be put out." She eyed him critically. "Is there still a problem?" She asked, eyeing him carefully.

"Can't do it." He finally stated, folding his arms. "Won't." He emphasized flatly. "Aye and that I'm a man of the Goddess, but it's Her edicts I serve, and if ya ain't married, I kent be easy."

Katarina compressed her lips together. Stubborn. Still, she'd practically learned stubbornness from the teat.

As she was about to begin again, the two stablemen came into the in from the stable door. The innkeep gave them a nod over her shoulder. Katarina shifted her feet; she didn't much cotton to unspoken signals between groups of strangers. She still had room to maneuver; her sword was in good condition and her gun was loaded, and there were only three, besides. She was ready.

"Sides." He began, "We have a wee problem a 'Lady' could fix at the Maiden House anyway."

The two behind her muttered surprise at the girl sleeping by the hearth, where Katarina had put her.

"Problem?" She asked. He nodded. "Ayup." He raised his voice to the men behind her; "Jav; Hugh, set yourselves here an' I'll bring you some breffus in a tick."

"Myself as well, if we're dealin'." She cut in, and his gaze cut to her briefly. "Ayup."

He disappeared into the kitchen area and returned with a bowl of cut potatoes, chopped fried eggs, bits of meat that gave the savory smell of pork, and drowned in a thick pasty gravy.

"Couple'a days back, yun 'lady' came into town wit a sword onner back." He began, folding his arms on the bar, and speaking in a low voice. The two stablemen came closer.

"Lady." Katarina murmured, chewing thoughtfully.

"Ayuh. All done up in silks. Carried a sword onner back, too. Tall as she was, it was." Katarina shook her head, mystified.

"Problem?" She asked pointedly.

He sighed like he did before he'd asked if she were wed.

"She's... a right strange one, Lady." he began, but one of the stablemen picked up the thread of the explanation. "She don't look right, Lady."

"Mutant?" She asked pointedly, but they shook their heads.

"Dunno. Jav here, Beggin your pardon, Lady, but Jav, my cousin, here, he done heard tell that she..." he paused, and lowered his voice to a pale whisper. "She, he, I mean, he done heard she might ... might be onna dem elves."

Katarina sat up straight, at that. An elf? Here? Her mind ticked through possibilities. No sane elf would take up lodging in a human town. On the other hand, hiding in plain sight in a flyspeck town would be just perfect for the arrogance of an elf banking on the ignorance of the populace. Preposterous. Impossible. She was mentally flexible enough to believe in the possibility, however.

"Your Pastor?" She demanded. "Did he say these things? Did he say it was so?"

After a moment, the two stablemen shook their heads. "Well," and one of them tapped the skin on his muscled forearm at the wrist, and then tapped her own wrist with a darkened fingertip. "He ain't really... like us, you ken." He advised, reluctantly.

"I dinna ken." She replied, after a moment. Hugh sighed. "Our families came over, but it'twas the Church who sent us a pastor and guv'ner." He offered, and then tapped his own wrist, which was a rich chocolate color, and then her own pale wrist. Things clicked into place. The language was Anglish but the taste of accents spoke of Lyonesse; the language was the simple speak of villagers, but the rich chocolatey skin tones of the villagers she'd seen so far- admittedly only three- spoke of Kaani heritage, a nation lost to history and having the dubious honor of once having been conquered by Lyonesse before Lyonesse itself was conquered by the Anglish Empire. Turn and turn again.

"I ken." She acknowledged. There was some sort of trust issue with the village and their pastor. The village was itself from the stock of its people, but a pastor or governor was assigned by the church as needed. The Pastor could likely proclaim the suspicious 'lady' to be Saint Celestine returned, and they wouldn't listen because he wasn't a part of them. Her mouth twisted at that, but then smoothed. No, It might be that they simply hadn't asked him, because they just didn't trust him enough.

"Is she like me?" Katarina asked, and tapped her wrist. The three shook their heads.

"Well, sorta-"

"No, I don't-"

"Maybe-" All three began, and Katarina waved her hand and they cut off. "What's she like? Tell me. No fussin' 'bout the corners'n edges, now." she added, and they nodded. Slowly, a picture came together. A slim, almost girl-like figure in a silk dress they'd never seen before, but lacked the ability to explain why it was so different, aside from the fact that it was silk and looked nothing like their womenfolk wore. She had black eyes and glossy black hair cut straight at the back below her shoulderblades and across the brows. She carried a sword, too, at leastaways, they thought it could be a sword, though not like Katarina's. What was so different? Why, it was slim and seemed made of wood, and she wore it on a strap on her back, not at the waist, like a proper blade.

Katarina set three blackened copper coins to spin on the counter as she thought.

"You say she's at the Maiden House?" Katarina asked, and the three of them nodded.

"Two birds and one stone?" She asked the innkeeper with a wan smile and he spread his hands disarmingly.

"Ayuh." She stated, and slapped her hand down on the coins, stopping the spin, and gave them a grin. "Reckon I'll be finding a bed at the Maiden House." She agreed. "Might could be I see somethin' there worth talkin' 'bout." She announced, and the innkeeper nodded.

"Might could, at that."