Ken gasped in pain as he was kicked forward in the queue. Ahead him he saw the gates of Buchenwald Camp of Redemption. The gravel road was lined with guards from the Church of True Faith, the holy book of Ra in one hand and a neural whip in the other. A flaming swastika on their chests showed their devotion.

Passion by wrath, love in pain and freedom through obedience. He knew the mandates, but he had broken them, and now he was to be punished, redeemed.

He took another step and looked around. Behind him a freckled girl faltered. He heard the whining and the crack as a whip took her back. Then a shrill scream.

This has never happened. This is a lie.

The tip of the whip bounced and snapped at his legs. Fire! Flames ate him from below. He burned from the inside, and the pain was far, far more than he could bear. He screamed, and fell.

Behind him the girl who had take the full measure of the whip whimpered. Her life ran out of her mouth in red gushes of blood.

I'm not here. Not real. A Weave, a bastard Weave.

He crawled to his knees. He had to walk, had to earn his right to redemption. Pain was better than what awaited the unrepentant.

As he passed the gates towering chimneys towered above him. Those beyond forgiveness ended their evil days there, but he still had a pure core in his sole. He could still be saved.

Not real. I'll spike your bowels to the door! Damn you Arthur Asshole Arrogant Vain Worthless Wallman!

The last thought lingered between realities. He clung to it but lost his grip. Redemption, he walked the last road to redemption.

***

Heinrich and Juanita, the latter with the help of two men in her news team, tore Arthur and Ken apart. Arthur, or Ken, Heinrich wasn't sure who, had done something, and when he arrived to investigate the screams he found them rolling on the floor doing their best to strangle each other.

All around them in the tavern people where on their knees, screaming, moaning or crying. By the time he was sure he wouldn't have to report Arthur for murder or bring his corpse back to Verd most of the people had crawled away. A few still stayed though, and they were staring at Arthur with gratitude shining from their eyes. Then, slowly as if having made an important decision they departed.

Heinrich didn't care. He barely avoided dragging Arthur through a pool of vomit on the floor and dumped him into a chair.

"What the hell..."

"Idiot! You arrogant child! How dare you interfere? We Weave, yes, but we never interfere!"

Heinrich jumped at the tirade. So, Ken was angry about Arthur doing something. Probably Arthur's doing then. That didn't exactly surprise Heinrich.

"They had to know," Arthur responded.

The strangeness took a short while for Heinrich to register. When it did he shrugged it away. Warrior gorilla or golden eyed alien, or, apparently, some rooms voided the need for interpreters. He was getting used to a few of Otherworld's peculiarities.

"Fool! They know for certain. You changed the Weave!"

"What are you talking about?" Arthur made as if to rise.

He had calmed down, which was good, but Ken was still close to hysteria. Better let him get it out of his system. Heinrich pushed Arthur back into his seat.

"You are an ignorant cretin. Whenever we Weave we travel the threads of the Weave. You have no right to add threads or patterns to the Weave."

"Whatever. Watch and Weave, never interfere. Blah blah blah. People are dying here. We have a responsibility to make them..."

"You just changed history. You made your fantasy Nazi church part of our history. Listen, learn and shut the hell up before you tear this world even further apart!"

This time Arthur only opened his mouth.

Heinrich stared at Ken. He'd stopped believing things were impossible here. Stopped the moment a dragon appeared out of nowhere and made him and his entire command blink out of existence and reappear in the middle of combat a moment later. Juanita gaped as well. She was new here, new to the magic of Otherworld and probably still had problems coming to terms with her suddenly being able to understand the local language.

Ken rose and shrugged away the hands that tried to force him back onto the floor. "Not going to hurt him. He's trying to get himself killed without my help." He turned to Arthur again. "Now I just have to convince you not to kill the rest of us on the way."

"I don't think..."

"Shut up! I don't know how things work in your damn brave new world, but it doesn't seem to have improved much since I left it, so just shut up and listen!"

Hairs rose on Heinrich's back. Ken hadn't spoken the local language at all. It was English, but English of a kind Heinrich had never heard from any holo casting.

Ken coughed. "He forgot to tell you? Yes, I'm from Earth and I'm a fucking seven hundred years older than that misfit of yours, so if he obstructs my lesson again would you be so kind and knock his teeth out?"

"That's, that's impossible..." Heinrich tried to swallow the words back, but it was too late. At Ken's side Juanita gasped.

"No, only unlikely," Ken said and smiled. Then he became all serious again. "That makes me senior to anyone else here. Now," he glared at Arthur, "there are a few details you should consider very, very carefully. When you Weave you Weave. You can change the Weave, add to it, and that Weave is the foundation of this world. Gods do the changing, taleweavers only mend frayed threads or patch together lost patterns. Sometimes we make mistakes, and there's a price to pay. Understand?"

Arthur nodded sullenly but stayed silent.

"Good! We never, ever, deliberately change the Weave, because we can't understand what changing this world will do to it. You just changed the history of this world. People won't become unborn or anything like that, but from now on your disgusting fairytale is part of what happened here. Maybe in someone's true dreams, or somewhere there's a patch of land where a ghost talker can feel the remnants of a short lived nation that almost was."

Heinrich couldn't tell if the words or Arthur's silence was the worst. True or not, Ken honestly believed what he told Arthur, or he had to be one hell of a liar That also made Arthur a criminal of a kind. Criminally stupid? Heinrich would like to think so. The newscaster had dug up dirt everywhere the last twenty years or so, and even though Heinrich had admired the charming hero as a child he'd grown more and more disenchanted with the royal pain in the butt as he grew older. The Wallman empire never ceased to grow. No truth was unimportant—as long as there was a FEM to be made from it.

He remembered how angry he'd been when he found out that Wallman had charged, and charged well, for the holo casts they'd received during those lonely years he spent grounded here after the failed invasion. The navy paid, as Wallman must have known they would. Even a rumour about failing to make life easier for the eight survivors would have been fatal for the navy's reputation.

"...in Kordar probably have new legends they don't know where they came from as well?"

Heinrich abandoned his line of thought as Ken's words brought him back to the here and now.

"What is Kordar?"

Ken stared at him. "Sorry, you wouldn't know. It's a kingdom north of Keen. Used to be warlike with ideals similar to medieval Europe. Knightly virtues and all that."

"I don't understand," Heinrich said. He didn't.

"It's not important. What is important is that I travelled here because I heard a retelling of the King Arthur legend."

Heinrich realized he looked like a fool, but he shook his head anyway.

"You are familiar with that one?"

"I've heard about a king with that name, but ancient history, well..."

"Oh dear," Ken said. "Really! Maybe historical, maybe not, but the legends most definitely have very little with history to do. Now, our bright little arrogant idiot didn't just tell that legend. He had to Weave it I guess."

Arthur nodded again.

"So, somewhere, somehow, all those legends are indeed a historical fact." Ken sighed. "You idiot! They're as little part of this world as your last display. You had no right to interfere with reality here."

"Oh shut up," Arthur said. "You weren't here to tell me at the time. I'll stick to the facts in the future. Happy now?"

Heinrich saw Ken redden, but he didn't go into a fury again.

"I'm not happy, but what's done can't be undone. We can only hope the damage isn't too bad."

Heinrich relaxed a bit. The tension had gone and even though neither Arthur nor Ken looked satisfied an outright brawl seemed unlikely now. Maybe it would be just another calm day on the road after all.

***

Trindai rode through the gates barely throwing a glance at the farwriter. Less than a season earlier he'd been worried about the frantic activity on the tower, but emergencies were just a part of daily life now.

Keen was mobilizing for war, and he was part of that now. Strange. A life in the uniform, and yet he'd never really believed he would ever live to see a war. They trained the best to enforce peace, and maybe that was the reason. The best. He wasn't so sure about that any longer.

Even though the exercises were no longer a disaster the new brigade was still a far cry from the professional soldiers he took for granted. He had his core, the men he'd led murdering their own citizens. A few hundred determined men and as professional as anyone else. Maybe not as well trained, but they absorbed all he could throw at them with a vigour that almost scared him.

What a disgusting way of growing up. Boys, they had still been boys and now they were men bent on vengeance. Some, he suspected, on revenge. He drew a deep breath and let out the air again. Time to abuse his men again. He would make soldiers of them. Too many had the looks of warriors and large units of infantry could not afford that kind of individualism.

Taking his reins in one hand he rode out into the training grounds. Green officers led green soldiers in formation across the dirt and gravel. Soon enough he'd trust them to move together in field manoeuvres That, he knew, would be something different. Uneven ground, small hills and crops of trees to break up whatever experience they'd gained here.

He smiled. At least the rains had forced them to learn how to handle pools of water. They may not look much like an obstacle, but a line of pike men soon became a disarrayed horde as those walking through water slowed down. Now they kept the formation intact. Bruises and a few cuts had taught them that.

At the far end of the training grounds he saw a small group of soldiers involved in exercises of a very different kind. Outworlders, the eight men left behind to make certain those at the sky port didn't come back in arms.

Trindai stared at the men and women in that unit in their outlandish armour They were running and jumping around the three outworlder flying vessels left on the field. He didn't really understand exactly why they trained their movements, but he had a feeling it was supposed to be combat among buildings. Certain enough that he had ordered a mock town built some distance away. It was a new way of training, and he intended to use every scrap of advantage he could steal.

Soon he oversaw rank after rank of men trying to grasp how to change formation. They were getting better, much better. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after that he would march them into the fields further west. Then they would certainly look like idiots again, but that was only part of their education. Before he marched south they'd be able to keep ranks unless they were climbing mountains.

***

"How are we proceeding?"

Olvar de Saiden looked up from his desk.

Mairild returned his glare. Olvar behind a desk was a comical sight. His body simply didn't look like it was used to sitting in the first place, and as he never bothered with ordering furniture large enough for him he always gave the impression of a giant playing with toys.

He wasn't, of course. Some work required paper and solitude, and she had intruded on his. Still, information, she needed as much of it as possible to do her own part in the coming war.

"Markand's south of Krante now. We'll be able to communicate with him for another two eightdays or so," Olvar said.

"And Tenanrild?"

"She says wagon loads are already on their way. Good thing you came up with that idea."

"Thank you," Mairild said. "Any idea how long it will take to set up the new farwriters?"

Olvar rose and walked to a large map behind his desk. "Crews, mostly, will be the problem. I think we can have the towers built in less than an eightday after the carpenters get in place. We don't have that many crews though." He stabbed at a point south of highway's end. "Three within an eightday. Another five shortly after. After that I can't promise anything."

Mairild looked at where he pointed. Eight towers. It would do wonders to their line of communications. Not enough though. They would need more, a lot more.

"I know," Olvar said as if he had read her thoughts. "I'll get the guards trained at least. Garkain has promised more carpenters at least. Women mostly, and they're really not up for the heavy work. Well, at least the towers will be better built when they get them raised."

Mairild nodded. The Minister of Crafts had delivered miracles, and now he apparently tried to outdo himself once more. "I'll have the new crews trained in time then," she said. "If the constructions are going to be a bit late we could as well use that extra time to make certain the operators know the codes."

Olvar smiled back. A huge smile. "Don't want to get our messages wrong, do we?"

Mairild shivered. "They're told rather to request a resend than to make a guess. No, we don't want those messages wrong. Besides, there's little else we're going to send that far south. They won't be as busy as the rest. I hope," she added.

Olvar grinned. It was a grin you could use to scare children, or merchants. "I have convinced Glarien to abstain from the new opportunities created until after we get this war over with."

"He wasn't too happy, I guess."

"He was too interested in his continued good health so he forgot to be unhappy," Olvar responded. "And I made it perfectly clear it would deteriorate with astonishing speed if he tried anything."

That was a threat from anyone. From Olvar it was the next thing to brandishing a weapon. Yes, he certainly was the perfect Minister of War now. Horrifying. Hopefully the papacy would find out just how horrifying. She did have second thoughts. What about after the war? Would Olvar become too enchanted with his new powers? He was a warmonger by instinct and a very dangerous man.

Mairild stepped closer to the map. South. All the way to Mintosa. If they hugged the coast and sailed east before crossing the Narrow Sea they had a chance to fall upon Chach undetected. A chance. And after they made landfall?

"Cavalry is a problem, but then it always was. We won't have enough trained for anything better than a light screen," Olvar said. "That is the good news I'm afraid."

"How so?"

"With trade in decline for several years Garkain really had to scrape his resources dry. Production of crossbows has been abysmal. A hundred, at most."

Mairild wasn't an expert on weapons and their use in massed numbers. Still it sounded rather on the low side even to her. "How many do we need?"

"Six or seven hundred to begin with. I would prefer a thousand. Anyway, we have an even worse problem. There simply isn't any way to make enough quarrels."

He was lying. She could see it in his eyes. "Tell me what you're thinking!"

"Erkateren."

One word. One single word and a nightmare for them both. "After what we did to them I don't think they'd agree to make weapons for us," she said avoiding the real reason for her fear.

Olvar was never one to shy away from his fears though. "They would, if we paid them enough. What happens when someone finds out we go to war with magecrafted weapons?"

She tried to shy away from the forbidden. Too close now. Olvar didn't know just how long she had traded that dance. "I guess we couldn't afford their price. Besides, why pour our coins into artistically crafted ammunition?"

"They can harden the wood with the arts. If we win the field the soldiers could go out and collect the quarrels."

"You would have our men looting the dead?"

"I'll have our men eating the dead if it wins us this war!" he barked in reply. "We either remove the threats of battlemages permanently or we'll end up with them outside the very walls here. If I don't have enough crossbowmen their archers will slaughter our phalanxes."

Mairild had heard the theories. "I'll see what I can do," she said.

"Thank you. I'll assign some miracle worker to start train the number of crossbowmen we need even if we don't have the weapons."

Mairild knew he would find someone he could scare into doing the impossible, and then he'd scare that person into doing it well.

The meeting was at an end and she had work to do, some laws to break, and after that she would violate one of the few tenets held sacred. She had done that a few times before but never as blatantly. Mairild nodded, turned on her heels and left the study.

She sighed. This one was certain to become known. With luck she'd survive the war, but after that her life was forfeit. It seemed she had run out of ways to cheat death. Well, it was for the best of Keen. She would face the Holy Inquisition when the day came.

And that left thinking of things to do and things to plan. A lot of the latter of a private nature. Her children, all of them grown and with children of their own, needed warning. The fathers, at least two of them she would give time to escape as well. The third could die for all she cared.

One husband buried. She never remarried—for good reasons. The spy master was best off without that kind of possible hostages. At least that was how she had reasoned and yet her body bore her two daughters and three sons during the long years she had served with the council. It was strange how life played out its threads in the end.