Mis yelled out in pain as Ynnia pressed his knife into the fleshy area under his collarbone. Whatever it was that the strange Freeman had shot at him caught both of them by surprise, and had lodged itself inside the man. He was pulling Mis along as far as he could before the man’s blood loss prevented him from moving forward.

“Quit your squirming, useless fool!” Ynnia exclaimed. He’d been inspecting the wound closely under the light of the quick fire he’d put together as best he could. Whatever he’d been shot with needed to be removed before he cauterised the wound.

Mis was pale, his lips dried. Ynnia had already lost one of his men to the blasted Freemen; he wasn’t about to lose the other.

Mis, to his credit, grit his teeth through the pain as Ynnia dug around in his flesh. A few times his knife made contact with something rigid, but he was having a tough time getting the knife deep enough to pry whatever it was out.

Finally, he had enough, and with a deep jab, managed to catch the object with the end of his knife and press it out. A small chunk of metal fell out of Mis as he yelled out again.

“Quiet! Do you want to announce to the whole of the Pactlands where we are?” Ynnia yelled. He quickly balled up a length of cloth and pressed it into Mis’ shoulder, placing Mis’ hands overtop. “Hold it there to stem the bleeding.” He turned to tend to the growing fire and placed his knife in the glowing embers.

“What was it?” Mis asked, pointing to the chunk of metal.

Ynnia picked up the metal and poured some water over it, cleansing it as much as he could of Mis’ blood. He turned it over in his hands by the firelight. “It’s just a chunk of iron,” he said. “It’s not even sharp. It’s not like an arrowhead. No place for a shaft to fit, even.” He narrowed his eyes and looked closer. There was some design on a part of it. A circular pattern with… writing?

The lettering was faded and warped, as though it had been etched on metal that bore a very different shape. Ynnia suddenly realized it had– whatever forced caused the chunk of metal to speed through the air like it had did it with such force that the very shape of it could not hold. The lettering was familiar to Ynnia. It reminded him of something he’d seen during his days at the Deyish Academies.

His jaw dropped as he understood. It was the Old Script. He’d paid little attention in his lessons regarding the Old Script. It was enough that he could read, but much of the Old Script was similar enough to the Common Script that he could decipher what it said.

It read: Luger 9mm.

The existence of the Luger metal presented a problem to Ynnia. First, he could not fathom how the metal was shot at such speeds. He assumed the loud noise that preceded it to have a part to play in it, but could not understand how. Second, even an Earth Mage that spent most of their lives learning the intricacies of metal manipulation would find it difficult to etch such fine print into solid metal.

“It seems these Freemen have a few tricks to them,” he said to Mis, showing him the metal.

“What does this mean?” Mis asked, looking at the metal.

Ynnia poked the fire a bit, checking on his knife. “It means, Dear Mis, that we have stumbled across a tribe of Freemen that are more than what we’ve come to know,” he said. “It means we need to return to Anastae and inform General Ryde.” He winced as soon as he said it. The General wasn’t known for his forgiving nature. He suspected reporting back to the General would be accompanied by some discipline, despite the power behind the name of Ynnia, but he’d already lost one man, almost two. Ryde would be unlikely to overlook that. After all, Ynnia was in charge of them. He would be the one to suffer the consequences of their foolishness.

It wasn’t fair, but it was better than deserting. The punishment for deserting was too steep a price, even for one from a major House.

“What will we report?” Mis asked.

“The truth, stupid. We were going about our duty as any good man of Vector would when they ambushed us, killing Hatsch and nearly you, forcing us to retreat.”

Mis raised his eyebrow. “How many of them were there? I could only see the three men.”

“Your eyes deceived you,” Ynnia replied. He picked up the knife from the fire and inspected it. “It was dark. They hid in the shadows.” He looked over to Mis. “Are you ready to stop the bleeding?”

Mis looked up at him with some trepidation, but then grit his teeth and nodded. It wasn’t enough to cease his screaming.

Nalya sat in her tent, gathering some of the things she would need for the trip back to Halen. She’d spoken to Syrel and her other Lieutenants to ensure none would mistake her orders. She sensed many had questions on the tips of their tongues, but none dared to answer. She wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or not. She’d been taught strategy and command during her time at the Deyish Academies, but she was still uniquely new to commanding men. There was much about the role that had to come with experience, and Nalya’s level of experience was not high. Since her ennoblement, she had been elevated to the equivalent rank of Captain, but unfortunately she lacked the wealth of knowledge needed to rise through those ranks based on merit, and her men knew it.

Still, if they took issue with her actions, they knew better than to speak against her. At least to her face. She knew she still had to prove herself to these men to earn their respect, but the present situation presented something of far greater importance than her role as a Captain. Even greater than her role as the Countess of Roses.

Thankfully, she could trust Bayne to speak his mind to her without fear of reprisal.

“It’s not too late,” he said, sitting in the corner of the tent as she sorted through her things. “We could continue the mission, secure your lands and holdings, then lay your claim at the feet of the High Justice with the backing of Hillbreaker. He can’t rightly ignore that.”

Nalya took in his words. That had been the plan the whole time, despite her uncertainty.

“Things have changed, Bayne,” Nalya replied. “These people need our help.” She looked over to them. “And I have a feeling we’re going to need theirs.”

“Because of the ravings of a madman?” Bayne asked. “Even if your Uncle hadn’t been stark-raving mad, his words could have meant anything.”

Nalya sighed. There was a chance Bayne was right. There was also a chance her uncle’s words came directly from his madness. But something about what she had witnessed, as well as the presence of the town itself, told her what she was doing was right.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Nalya said.

Bayne sighed. “Lass, I’ll follow ye into the depths and back again if ye ask it of me,” he said. “But these people of Ladysmith. We know next to nothing about ‘em. They’re a queer people. The one that ye think to have the Green Sight. How do we know it ain’t a trick? Her hair is an unnatural shade. Their little tablets can capture moments in time, their radios, their lights and trucks and screens. How are we to know if her Green Sight isn’t a consequence of their techknowledge?”

Nalya thought about it for a moment. “We don’t,” Nalya said. She looked to him. “But I feel… I feel like this is the right thing, Bayne.”

Bayne nodded. “That’s good enough for me, Lass,” he said. “But I still cannae trust them.”

“I don’t expect you to,” she said. “I believe the Constable feels the same way you do, judging from his interest in our activities here. But for now, we must treat them as friends. At least until they show us they’re not worthy of our friendship.”

Bayne nodded. “Aye,” he said. “Although I do like the music that one makes. The young man. Ryan?”

Nalya had to agree. She’d never seen a six-stringed lute before, and the masterful way Ryan played it produced pleasant sounds unlike anything she’d heard. Even then the soft sounds of his playing outside in the distance drifted in her direction.

A guard poked his head into the tent. “Lady Ruus?”

“Yes?”

“The Freeman Constable is here to see you,” the guard announced.

Nalya nodded. “See him in,” she ordered.

A moment later, Cale entered the tent and looked around appreciatively. “Fancy,” he commented.

“Constable,” Nalya said in greeting. “I am nearly finished here.”

“I’m not here to rush you,” Cale said, looking around the tent. “I just had an incident with Terra and one of the villagers.”

“What happened?”

“Things got a little heated. Words were exchanged. Not nice ones.”

“Freemen have little trust for outsiders,” Nalya said. “And for good reason. They often try to exploit them. Distrust between them is to be expected.”

“Still, I’d rather not have to apologise for her behaviour once we arrive in Halen. I don’t think your King would be so forgiving.”

“I see your point,” she said.

“What's this?” He gestured toward a banner that had been stitched into the wall of the tent.

“That is the Banner of Halen,” Nalya explained. She pointed to the series of triangles in the centre. “This represents the Cilasian mountains, who lent their name to the Capital City. The blue stripe at the top, the Cerulean Sea. The purple at the bottom signifies the House of Hillbreaker. The centremost mountain is Mount Canto, where the Sculpted Palace was carved. You will see it when we arrive. It is a sight to behold.”

“Sort of like our national flags on Earth. I get it.”

“Your nation also has a banner?”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling off his backpack. On the back of it a patch had been sewn into the fabric. It was a red leaf between two red bars. “The Canadian flag.”

“Not as grand as the Halish banner,” Bayne commented. “And nothing like the banner of the High Court!”

“High Court?” Cale asked.

“Aye. The High Court governs and oversees all the lands of Rasza,” he said.

Cale raised an eyebrow. “Rasza, that’s another nation, right? You don’t have a King?”

“No,” Nalya explained. “Rasza is ruled by the High Justice Fallon Yonge. The Court of Rasza makes all laws, provides guidance for the people. Rasza is unique in the Pactlands as a High Justice is elected to serve us, whereas Sovereigns and Kings are often born into it.”

“Wait, so it’s like a democracy?” Cale asked. “That’s surprising. I figured they were all monarchies and empires.”

“Halen is the only Kingdom. Rasza, a Court. Vector is an Empire while Shavi is a Dominion. These systems were put in place a thousand years ago at the Signing of the Pact, and have persisted since.”

“Wait, hold on. So all these different nations are over a thousand years old?”

Nalya nodded. “Since the Eventine War,” she said. “All the Nations are overseen by the Pact, which is guarded by the High Magus Council.”

“So this Pact is starting to sound a lot like the United Nations back home.”

“United Nations?”

“They’re a council, too. Composed of people from all member nations.”

“I see,” she said. “The High Magus Council is also composed of people from across the four Nations of the Pact. That has been the way of things since he was originally signed by the Founders.”

“Founders?”

“Mair, Ayre, Flenn. They united the tribes. Fought against the Void of Eventine.”

“Eventine, you’ve mentioned that a few times.”

“It’s said that before the Signing of the Pact, the peoples of the continent were under constant assault by the Void of Eventine. Horrible monsters, creatures from beyond the Lost Ocean. Back then, Humans co-mingled with the El’Dar and the Featherclaw, and the three races were pushed to the brink of extinction until the Founders emerged from their home at Saveurest. They united the tribes, found a way to fight back the Void and force them to return. To prevent the war from returning to the Pactlands, they formed the Pact. A system of common laws, rituals and customs designed to prevent them from ever returning.”

“Creatures? Like the dragons?”

“You mean wyverns?” Bayne asked. “Those beasts are mostly harmless unless ye got a corpse in yer possession. They only eat what’s already dead. They fear the living.”

“No, the Void of Eventine are much more sinister. Intelligent. Calculating and cruel. They prey on the weak of mind and will, then consume them whole. None remember what they look like, it is against the laws of the Pact to depict their image, lest it invite them back. But none have encountered them for a thousand years.”

“Here,” Bayne said. He stood up and plucked an old book from a nearby table and passed it to Cale.

“What’s this?” He looked at the leatherbound book and gently opened it. “It’s written in a different language.”

“It’s written in the same language we’re speaking,” Nalya said. “Although I find it curious your people make use of the Old Script, which hasn’t seen use for centuries.”

Cale raised an eyebrow. “We use the Old Script?”

She nodded. “We’re taught to read the Old Script at the Academies. Strange that I never truly thought I’d have to use it. It’s the same script the original Pact was signed in before the Common Script became widely used.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Cale said. “The Old Script is a thousand years old, but it’s the same script we use? A thousand years ago the language we speak was still forming, and the way we wrote it was way different. Still based on Greek, but if you were to ask a modern person to read a thousand year old text, they likely wouldn’t be able to.”

Nalya raised an eyebrow. “When we spoke the same language, I had assumed it meant our two peoples crossed paths before. Perhaps we even shared a common ancestry. But your Script is ancient to us. I can’t help but wonder if your people split off from ours long ago, and now inhabit the world of your origin.”

Cale shook his head. “That can’t be. Humans have been on earth for hundreds of thousands of years. Much longer if you count what we evolved from.”

Bayne barked out a laugh. “Impossible. Man isn’t that old. The histories only go back two thousand years at most.”

“Written history goes back about five thousand years on Earth. But we’ve found settlements and buildings as old as thirteen thousand years.”

“I doubt that,” Bayne added. “How do you ask a building its age?”

Cale shook his head. “It’s… complicated. But there are ways.”

“Sounds suspect,” Bayne replied.

“There is a copy of that book in the Royal Library at Halen written in the Old Script,” Nalya said. “The Tales of Rasshauer Flenn has been around for nine hundred years.”

“Flenn. That’s one of the Founders, right? Of the Pact?”

Nalya nodded. “He and Wendel Mair and Becca Ayre, yes. It is ultimately a book of fables, with tales meant to teach children to be good. But it may prove useful for your people to read.”

“I think I’d like that,” Cale said. “Unfortunately I can’t read this.”

“Still, perhaps it would be prudent to bring you and your people a Book of the Common Law. There are many copies still written in the Old Script. If you are to survive here, it’s important you follow the rules and customs of the Pactlands at large.”

Cale nodded absently, then looked again at the book Bayne had handed him. “How was this book printed?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, it’s just… this looks like it was printed by a press. You have a printing press?”

Bayne and Nalya looked to each other. “I don’t understand. That book was made by the Bookkeeper’s Guild in Shavi.”

“So they have a press?”

“They alone know how it was printed. A press?”

“You don’t know what a press is?”

“The Bookkeeper’s Guild are the only ones allowed by the laws of the Pact to reproduce a book. Certainly we can keep records, logs, journals. But it is a crime to reproduce such things.”

“Well that’s one way to protect copyright,” Cale said. “So they keep their methods close to heart?”

“The Guild is elite,” Nalya said. “Only they know their methods.”

“I mean, every schoolkid in Ladysmith knows how a press works. We even have a newspaper press in town.”

“Newspaper?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You know, a way to spread the news?”

Bayne laughed. “What a queer idea. D’ya know how many people ye’d have to teach letters to for that to work? Better to rely on the Street Sirens.”

“Most everyone over the age of ten in Ladysmith can read,” Cale said.

Bayne chuckled sarcastically. “Is tha’ right, then? A book in every household then?”

Cale nodded. “Yeah, actually. Usually several dozen. I’ve got a book collection numbering in the hundreds.”

Bayne suddenly stopped chuckling. “That ye penned yerself?”

He shook his head. “Mostly books about history. I like to read.”

Nalya blinked. “I’m sorry, Constable, you said you had hundreds of books?”

“Yeah. Is that so weird?”

“There are perhaps three hundred books in the libraries at the Deyish Academies. You’re saying you personally own hundreds of books?”

He nodded again.

Nalya looked to Bayne and passed a knowing look to him. If that was true, the Bookkeeper’s Guild might have something to say about it.

“Constable,” she said. “When in Halen, perhaps it is best to leave that detail away from your lips. At least for now.” She gathered up the last of her things. “We should start preparing to leave. Will you fetch Ryan and Terra?”

Boomer’s help was invaluable to them that morning. When it became clear that the three of them alone would struggle to have the place ready by two o’clock, Boomer took a fifteen minute break and returned with Justin Alverra and two others to help get the place ready.

Lily had been obsessive about being ready in time. As she understood it, another seven people had displayed evidence of magic since that morning, although many apparently weren’t planning to attend the meeting that afternoon. Either way, they should at the very least expect a healthy turnout. Ten at least, perhaps up to thirty.

Boomer and Justin carried out the last piece of trash just before two, and a lone figure appeared at the door. Raine Walsh, a teenager Lily had seen around town, stood in the doorway with his longboard hanging limply from his side. He wore a look of consternation on his face, as if he wasn't sure if he belonged there or not. His left shoe was charred and blackened, and it squeaked with every step he took.

Lily beckoned him in and took a seat behind a table where she had set up her triage. Her first order of official business was to interview each person to discern which of the nine Foundations they were displaying. Some, Arie had warned her, would take some time to manifest. Light Mages, for instance, were much harder to detect, and in some cases people have lived entire lives without knowing they had the ability. As Lily understood it, Light Magic was akin to illusions. They could manipulate light in such a fashion that a skilled practitioner could produce lifelike imagery from thin air.

Many of the other Foundations of Magic were self-explanatory. Lily, for instance, showed clear signs of being able to use lightning magic. She found it easy enough to control, but was curious at just how big of an electrical force she could manifest. What was more interesting was that it didn’t harm her at all.

The same was true for Raine Walsh. As his charred clothing implied, he seemed to be able to manifest Fire Magic. While his clothes didn’t fare well, extreme heat didn’t seem to do anything to him. Raine had been busy showing Boomer how applying the flame from his lighter to his hand did nothing to him. He said it felt warm, but didn’t hurt.

Air magic, water magic, and Arie’s earth magic were easy enough to understand. Body magic appeared to be uniquely tied to healing abilities. Soul magic confused Lily at first, but Arie had explained that it, too, was quite rare, but that practitioners could manipulate the soul of a person, and actually remove a soul from its host body and apply it to something else. Under the laws of the Pact, a soul could only be transferred to a Widow’s Tear, and Soul Mages often found employment in the various court systems of the Pactlands.

Then there was Boomer and his mind magic. That was another thing entirely. Arie had told her the limits of mind magic were poorly understood because of the rarity of the gift, but that things like telekinesis and telepathy were possible, and a skilled Mind Mage could masquerade as another type of mage without being found out. Lily stored that for later use. If Boomer wanted to keep it a secret, he could probably just say he was another type of Mage.

Of the nine Foundations, Arie seemed most concerned about Mind and Soul magic, because, if uncontrolled, both types could lead to needless death.

Thankfully the rarity of those types of magic put Lily at ease somewhat. Still, if Boomer was a Mind Mage, she suspected there could potentially be a Soul Mage somewhere in Ladysmith. Even so, Arie had expressed doubt that it would come up.

Lily took down Raine's information. He had first displayed the power the day before, while riding his longboard right outside the Traveller’s Inn itself when thick flames shot out from his feet, knocking his shoe right off. She filled out his contact sheet, had him sign a contract that Shannon had written up the night before, and put a tick next to 'Fire Mage' on her tally sheet.

By the time she had put Raine through and instructed him to go speak with Arie about getting a basic hold on his powers, a second person showed up. She looked up to see a wheelchair-bound First Nations woman wheeling into the inn. She wore thick, dark glasses and her legs were amputated below the knees. Her hair had streaks of grey against black, and she wore a wide smile on her face as she wheeled into the building.

“Hello,” Lily greeted.

The woman responded with a flurry of gestures, and grunts, which caused Lily to raise a speculative eyebrow.

“She's speaking sign-language,” Boomer said as he swept the last of the dust off the floor. He walked up to the woman and began to make a number of exact gestures, communicating with her.

“Since when do you know sign language?” Lily asked.

He shrugged. “Dated a girl with deaf parents,” he said. “I don’t know much, but you can generally get by with the alphabet.” He looked at the woman and signed a bit. “Her name's Marie Wilby,” he said. “She's been staying at the Lodge up on Fourth.” He waited as the woman signed at him, and made a gesture for her to slow down. “She… healed her grandson? Skinned knee. Says she touched it and the wound just went away.”

“She is a Body Mage,” Arie said. She took a moment to regard the wheelchair. “An ingenious idea, to give her a chair that moves. The Pactlands could benefit from this.”

“How’d she lose her legs?” Lily asked.

Boomer signed to her some more. “Diabetes,” he said. “Type One. That’s not good. Insulin’s going to be a challenge in the near future I bet.”

“Could she heal herself if she learns how to control her abilities?”

Arie raised an eyebrow. “I’m unfamiliar with this disease,” she said. “But Body Mages cannot regrow lost limbs, and it is a rare occurrence when one can heal themselves. It depends largely on their knowledge of the blood and body.”

Lily wrote down the woman's name and put a tick next to Body Mage on her sheet. She then passed the paper to Boomer. “Here,” she said. “You can communicate with her better than I can. Get her information.”

Boomer took the paper from Lily and beckoned Marie to wheel over to another table, where he started taking down her information. Before long, two others showed up. Georgia Wallace had an issue the night before when, while taking a bath, all the water had started pouring up to the ceiling, pooling there, and then falling back down on her. After her, there was Mark Slade, who, like Raine, was a Fire Mage. Mark worked as a Ladysmith town worker, one of many men hired by the town to take up such duties as planting flowers, changing garbage and removing roadkill.

Between Lily and Boomer, the two managed to get the information from each and every person to come through the Traveller's doors in twenty minutes. At the end, they compared each other's sheets.

Raine and Mark were Fire Mages. There was one other Lightning Mage besides Lily, ironically it was a girl she went to school with named Tiffany Loewen. Georgia Wallace was the lone Water Mage, an older gentleman by the name of Frank Bertrand appeared to be an Earth Mage, while three others displayed the abilities of an Air Mage. Oddly, two of them, Misty and Martin Emery were twins, and the third was an older woman named Cathy Kissinger that worked at the pharmacy across the street.

It wasn’t a bad start, but Lily had expected more. The idea of suddenly being able to use magic would no doubt be hard on people, but she hoped they would come around on their own accord when they were ready. Arie estimated that if there were eight thousand people in town, they should expect up to fifty more Mages.

With everyone's information jotted down and neatly filed away, the meeting officially came to a start. The first order of business was an exercise that Arie had claimed was the first thing she had learned when she had been discovered to be an Earth Mage. Something her mentor had taught her.

The first step, as Arie had explained, was to control the power, not to let it manifest unless you wanted it to. Lily had already sort of gotten to that point, as had some of the others. In Marie’s case, it would have proved difficult without a wound to heal, but Arie wasn’t shy about cutting the palm of her hand open to help her. It was almost as if she had done it before.

For two hours, the meeting went off without a hitch, and by four o'clock, the group had broken off into small groups based on their Foundations and were working together to try and control it.

“I guess we can call that a meeting,” Lily said finally.

Arie nodded in agreement. “That's about all I can do for now. I think it might be better once we start getting more members to keep the groups separated based on ability. It would make the learning process easier, and I can go from group to group and help with guidance.”

Eventually, the lessons devolved into conversation, and before long everyone left to go their own way, leaving only Boomer, Arie and Lily.

“Well, that went well,” Boomer remarked.

Lily nodded. “Nothing blew up,” she said. “That's a start.”

“You know, I've been wondering about something,” Boomer said, then looked to Arie. “Why is it that you have to go all the way to Shavi to learn how to use the magic? That's a little out of the way, isn't it?”

“There are mentors who can help you near the beginning of the manifestation,” she explained. “But all must attend the Deyish Academies under their Wing,” she said, as if that was enough of an explanation.

“Their Wing?”

Arie nodded. “I studied under the Wings of the Loon,” she explained. “Fire Mages study under the Wings of the Phoenix. Water Mages under the Wings of the Gull, and so on.”

“But why all the way to Shavi? Shouldn’t there be local schools?”

Arie shook her head. “The Pact requires all Mages to be taught under the same roof.”

“Seems a little rigid,” he said. “Why?”

“At one point, I thought it was because it fostered peace between the Four Nations. If our Mages all studied together, it was easy to have friends in Rasza, in Halen and Vector. But now, I’m not so certain.”

“Seems to me,” Boomer began, “that it’s because it’s easier to indoctrinate people if they all learn in the same place. No room for nuance. It’s this way, or no way.”

Arie remained silent for a moment. “I’m inclined to agree.”

Boomer regarded Arie for a moment. “You don’t seem to be a fan of this Pact,” he commented.

Arie sighed. “I thought I was,” she said. “The Pact itself is a beautiful document, designed to foster peace in the Pactlands, and for what it’s worth there have been no wars fought between nations. But I fear the Council has forgotten it was meant also to free us. To keep us safe in an unsafe world while granting us the agency to choose our way of life. Lately, I feel like we are merely given the illusion of choice.” She frowned. “I don't believe they have the right to decide the course of life in the Pactlands, but they would tell you otherwise.” She looked to Lily. “I fear what will happen when the Council learns of this place. It was enough to have Wild Mages in the Disputed Lands, but so long as news of misdeeds never spread as far as the borders of Halen and Vector, the Council largely ignored them. Ladysmith, however, has great wonders without magic. I suspect they will show great interest.”

“Well, that should be interesting,” Boomer commented. “Especially when we tell them where they can shove it.”

Lily laughed, but she wasn't sure why. In fact, she felt a quick stab of anxiety when she thought about the situation. What would the Council be capable of doing in order to secure their way of life?

And what kind of hell would be unleashed on Ladysmith if they didn't cooperate?

The lamp shone into Errin Hatsch's face and blinded him so much that he preferred to keep his eyes closed, except when talking. He had been trapped now in the small room with the table for hours with the man he had learned was called Boone. He was a Sergeant, apparently, but did not carry himself like a soldier. He was busy asking question after question.

The same bloody questions, over and over.

“What is your name?”

“What is your rank?”

“Who do you report to?”

“Where is your camp located?”

Hatsch saw no harm in answering the questions. It wasn't as if this man, and the strange people he represented could do anything about it-- but the questions were repetitive, and Hatsch was sore, hot and uncomfortable. This was nothing new for Hatsch, who had grown up near the tarfields of Las Drui in the Western Lowlands of Vector, but these men hadn't allowed him to see a Body Mage, and his wound throbbed with every heartbeat.

The only reason he hadn't voiced his displeasure was because of the small device that the other man, Johnson, was holding, which he had referred to as a 'taser'. Johnson, as Hatsch had understood it, was also not a soldier, merely an old man who had taken it upon himself to become involved.

Finally, after another round of questions, Hatsch looked Boone in the eye. “All afternoon I've been answering your questions. I've told you the same answers to the same questions time and time over,” he said. “Are there any new questions, or must you hear the same answers until the lands turn to ash?”

Boone looked Hatsch in the eye. “I'll keep asking these questions until I'm satisfied you're telling the truth,” he explained.

“The kid's not wrong,” Johnson remarked. “He's said the same thing over and over. If he's lying, he's either really good at it, or even he doesn't know truth from fiction.”

Boone looked up at him and sighed. “Fine,” he said. He pointed a finger right at Hatsch. “You're going into a holding cell until I need you again.”

Hatsch merely put his head down. Since they had left the hospital, Hatsch had gotten a fairly good look at the town he was now in. With its paved roads and street after street of homes, shops and parkland. They had taken him into one of their wheeled machines. At one point, they crested a hill which truly displayed to Hatsch how large the town actually was. Whoever these people were, General Ryde would not be happy about them. In fact, he'd probably stop at nothing to have them all conscripted or killed.

But where would that leave Hatsch? Whether or not his information had helped these strange people, Ryde would not be happy about his being captured. He would likely have Hatsch sent in to work the latrines for the rest of his military career, if he didn't kill him outright. Even so, he may yet be executed by these… Canadians.

Boone stood up and walked over behind Hatsch, and released his hand from the small, yet ultimately strong shackles he had been subject to since being captured, and pulled him to his feet. Hatsch went along willingly. There was nowhere for him to run. He had no idea where to run to.

The three of them left the room and walked down a series of narrow hallways until they reached the area that was to be his cell. His first impression of the place was that it seemed a little too clean and comfortable. Compared to the cells he himself had thrown a number of people into, coated with lice and scat and other unspeakable things, it was a palace. The walls were clean, the room well lit, and there was even a soft bed to sleep in, complete with pillow and blanket in case he grew too cold.

By then, Mis and Ynnia would likely be returning to Anastae, bearing news of Hatsch’s capture by an unknown enemy. Not Halish. Not Freeman… but something else entirely. An unnatural settlement within the Disputed Lands. A town full of people from another world, if what he had heard from Sergeant Boone was to be believed.

From the wonders he'd seen, he found he had trouble doubting the claim. As the door to his cell closed and latched shut, Hatsch, for the first time since being a young boy in the Western Lowlands around Las Drui, feared for his life.

“What do you think?” Boone asked.

“Seems like it could be legit,” Andy replied. “But these Vectorans have some damned funny names. How do you even spell Burz Ynnia?” He flipped a pen around between his fingers as they walked.

Boone shrugged. The two of them had spent a little too long working on the prisoner, and they had quite frankly lost track of the time. Thankfully, they were where they needed to be. They had decided that, at least for now, the Ladysmith Detachment would be used as a makeshift headquarters for Ladysmith’s small-scale answer to the Department of National Defence. Word had gone out and a number of people had arrived hoping to participate in the fledgling military project. Boone had asked two of the volunteers to meet the there. As they entered the briefing room, Andy recognized Ansel Stephens. He was an old Fisherman who had served in the Navy for a short while (and ran a somewhat lucrative smuggling operation for a time, a fact he wasn't sure if Boone knew about), and Luc Dreston was sitting against the far wall. Andy nodded to him. He didn't know the man well, but he knew he was a pilot. Andy wasn't sure if the man had had any prior military experience.

“Took you long enough,” Ansel announced, his voice deep, coarse and unmistakable.

“Sorry,” Boone said. “Beating some information out of our prisoner.”

“Beating?” Luc asked.

“Turn of phrase. We only tased him. Once.”

“Doesn’t take long for human rights to get tossed to the four winds, does it?” Luc commented.

“You think these guys care about human rights?” Andy asked. “We didn’t torture him. Just let him know how it feels to be on the receiving end of fifty thousand volts. He co-operated after that.”

“And what if he didn’t?”

“Look, we’re not here to argue about cruel and unusual punishment. We’re in a cruel and unusual situation,” Ansel said. “We can worry about human rights once we’ve adopted a universal declaration. For now, the important part is what he had to say.”

Boone nodded. “He says his name is Errin Hatsch, his direct commander is one Lieutenant Burz Ynnia, and the Vectoran site of operations is about three days journey by foot south, a place called Anastae. Appears to be their forward operating base in the Disputed Lands. He threw a photocopied map on the table, with a mark made to represent Ladysmith, and another Hatsch had made to represent Anastae. “He had that on him. Probably our first look at a map of the region. We had him point out where he was when we got ‘em, so it’s safe to assume it’s accurate.”

“We're going to need some more detailed maps,” Luc said. “This isn't any more than a few squiggly lines.” He tapped on it. “That should be our first order of business.”

“The Committee’s on top of that. They got a group of guys surveying the coast north of town,” Ansel said. “Sailboats. They’re keeping the diesel-powered boats for fishing. What about our new friends from… what was it, Halen? Can’t they provide us with decent maps?”

“We’re working on that,” Boone said. “Brad Renfrew is accompanying them back to town. Could be some time still.”

“So then what’s the plan for now?”

“Chain of command,” Boone said. “We need to have a standing militia in place. For that to work, we need to start putting it together. That’s where us four come in.”

“What are you saying, you want us to act as top brass?”

“Andy Johnson,” Boone said. “Worked with the Intelligence Branch of the US Army until he retired and came up here.” He gestured to Ansel. “Ansel Stephens, you were a Boson on the HMS Protecteur, and Luc Dreston, you fly choppers for Search and Rescue. I’d say you’re the best and brightest we have at our disposal, but I think you already know that.”

“Jesus,” Luc said. “We’re the best and brightest? We’re doomed.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Ansel commented.

“Point being, we need to start thinking about how we’re going to organize an effective four-tiered militia. Land, sea, air and information. And that’s why we’re here. We have to start putting the LDD together.”

“LDD?” Luc asked.

“Ladysmith Defense Department,” Andy explained. “Trust me, you don’t want to hear the other name he tried to suggest.”

Boone nodded. “Now, I approached each one of you for your experience in the fields I think you're best suited for. We're extremely understaffed here, and we need as much as we can get in order to keep this situation in hand. We need to take stock of what we have at our disposal, and what we need.”

“The airport ran an inventory last night,” he said. “We lucked out in that the Blacklight only took out a big chunk of runway and part of the terminal building. We've got about fifteen different aircraft right now, including four choppers, and most of the owners were from out of town. Which means we can safely commandeer them.”

“Christ, we have an Air Force?” Andy asked. He laughed and banged his fist on the table. “That'll make those turd-burglars think twice.”

Boone nodded. “For now, we're going to be holding off on sending up any aircraft,” he said, then looked at Luc. “There seems to be a consensus among the Committee that we should save them for when they're needed. Military use only. Those machines run on specialised fuel of which we have a limited supply”

Luc nodded. “Yes boss,” he said.

Boone turned to Ansel next. “Next on the list-- Navy,” he said. “I've got authorization for fuel to keep two trawlers going, and we can afford to be a little more generous with those diesel engines you got running in most of those ships. With that said, I’d like for us to start thinking about wind or human powered vessels. We’ll need to start ocean patrols along the coast. We don’t know yet what kind of sea capabilities to expect from the locals, so it’s important to establish dominance in the waters around us as soon as possible. But be careful. Andy’s encounter with the dragons suggests we may have other things to worry about out there. Especially in the deep ocean where we can’t always see what’s under us.”

Ansel nodded and jotted a few notes down in his logbook.

“As for ground forces, we're still waiting on Lieutenant Wicket and Brad Renfrew to come back from Stone's Mouth with the Halish, but I'm going to talk with him about the temporary integration of our two armies; we'll train a few of them to use guns, they help train our boys to use bows and arrows and melee weapons. Also, we're going to be keeping tabs on the Magic Society, dipping into their talent pool for a few good men. I hear we've got someone capable of healing.” He checked off a few other things on the list, then looked over at Andy.

“And that leaves you,” he said.

Andy nodded. He had originally assumed that Boone had wanted him for something to do with the assembly of an Air Force, but since Luc had gotten that station, Andy's mind reeled for another option.

“Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce to you the head of the Ladysmith Special Intelligence Agency,” Boone said, then stabbed a finger in the air. “But none of this compartmentalization bullshit. Between the four of us, there are no secrets. Get me?” He asked, then looked around the table. “Everyone?”

“Christ,” Luc said. “A day in and we’re already starting up the goddamn CIA.”

Keltz could see the flashing lights of Shelly Littleton's police cruiser from over the ridge. While he had never met the woman personally, Brad Renfrew had informed him that she'd be there waiting to take him and some of the men from Stone’s Mouth. Two of the Stone's Mouth villagers had agreed to go along with them and see Ladysmith with their own eyes before agreeing to any trade between the two places at the behest of the Elder. There was an older man with a curve in his spine named Ashe, who, as Brad had been told, was the village herbalist, and another man, a pig farmer by the name of Roston. The two men were apparently old friends, which was evident by their friendly, good-natured bickering since they had left Stone's Mouth.

Keltz cast his eyes back to the north. Nalya and the others had departed Stone's Mouth on their way to Halen just before their men had been packed and ready to move the encampment. It was only five hours ago, and Keltz imagined they were at least a day's hike away by now.

Keltz turned back just in time to watch himself step from the Disputed Lands, over the border into Ladysmith, and he stopped to regard the police cruiser in front of him. The men with him were ultimately bewildered by the roving red and blue lights. Shelly Littleton got up and out of her car and walked towards Brad Renfrew.

“Everything cool?” Shelly asked.

Brad nodded. “Just about. Shelly, this is Ashe and Roston, of Stone's Mouth,” he said. The men nervously shook hands with Shelly, but were too busy admiring the roving lights and chattering under their breaths about it to do anything else. Shelly looked back at the long line of soldiers as they started to crowd up to the ridge and step out onto the logging road. She gave an appreciative whistle.

“Christ, that's a lot of soldiers,” she said.

Keltz nodded. “They'll cooperate,” he said. “But we should hurry to our staging grounds before night falls. With this many, it would still take another few hours to reach town, I fear, and I'm unsure where exactly this... High School Field is.”

Shelly nodded. “That's why I'm here,” she said, then looked to Brad, Ashe and Roston. “But first I have to bring these folks down to see Goose. You can find your way into town from here, right?”

Keltz nodded. “I believe so.” He looked back to Lieutenant Syrel, who was yelling at a couple of soldiers who were lagging behind the rest of their squad. “When we reach the road, should we wait?”

Shelly shook her head. “Don't worry about that,” she said. “I'll be back long before you get to the road.”

Keltz nodded and started to shout the orders to the men, making sure they passed the ears of the Lieutenants. Brad, Ashe and Roston climbed into the cruiser with Shelly and drove off, and Keltz continued to lead the men down the logging roads by horse and myrnah. The beasts may not have been as fast as the quads they had ridden to Stone's Mouth on, but they were a great deal quieter. Keltz lost himself in thought as they walked down the logging roads and approached the town.

Before long they had reached the long hill that offered Keltz his first view of Ladysmith, and he heard the excited chatter of the men as they bore witness to the true scope of the town they were entering. He could hear the chatter as it worked its way back among the men not yet in sight of the strange place. He smirked to himself. The men had truly seen nothing yet.

Another hour had passed by the time they arrived at the exit of the logging roads, and his horse made a satisfying solid 'clop-clop-clop' sound as it stepped out onto the pavement. True to her word, Shelly Littleton was waiting. She waved for Keltz to follow, and started driving alongside the army, slowly as ever as they made their way through Ladysmith's streets. The men were getting anxious, eager to see and explore this new city, but thankfully the High School Field wasn't far. It was still two hours from sunfall by the time they had arrived-- plenty of time to set up tents and prepare for the night. When they had all arrived, Keltz gave the order for the men to rest, and to listen. Goose was already there, and Sergeant Boone stood alongside him, along with another man Keltz had never met. His name was Andy Johnson.

“Men, as you've been told,” Keltz belted out as loudly as his lungs would handle. “We are here to offer our assistance to these people in the form of protection against the forces of Vector!” He took another deep breath, ready to yell again, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Goose stood there, holding a strange-looking horn of some kind. He passed it to Keltz, briefly told him how to use it, and let him continue.

Keltz was delighted with the wondrous little device. It amplified his voice tenfold, which made it easier. Now he could be sure his men would hear him.

“As you've been told, this town is called Ladysmith, and it was never originally a part of the Disputed Lands. This place is new to us, alien. But this is not so for its residents. Many have lived in this place their entire lives. But it was a life spent in another world. And now they are here-- in ours. And we owe it to them, we owe it to ourselves, it is our duty as men of Halen to offer our very lives in order to protect these people, and stop the Vectorans wherever they may think to strike.”

“Vectoran dogs!” a soldier exclaimed.

“Remember,” Keltz continued. “We are not in the Disputed Lands, we are here on behalf of Hillbreaker to show these people what it means to be men of Halen. This means that we will respect their laws. We will respect their women, and we will lay down our lives as easily for the poorest among these people as we would for our own king!”

Keltz paused as he let what he had said disseminate among the soldiers. Once he was satisfied they had understood, he instructed them to start setting up the camp, and then took Syrel with him to go and speak with Goose.

“This is Lieutenant Syrel,” Keltz said, introducing the man. “He is Lady Nalya's second.”

Goose shook the man's hand vigorously. “Very pleased to meet you, Lieutenant.”

“And I you, Elder,” Syrel said, and bowed his head.

Goose looked back to Keltz. “We had an incident last night,” he explained. “A number of Vectoran men attacked a residential area this morning. They killed a man.”

“I had heard of this,” Keltz said. “You captured one, did you not?”

“We owned them,” Andy said. “This time. But there were only three of them. We captured one, shot another. We've got a few answers out of him so far, but a lot of it is going to be useless without your help. We need to start gathering intelligence on these guys, before they come back with too many for us to handle.”

“General Ryde wouldn't do that,” Keltz said. “Likely he would send in a scouting party first, seek weaknesses along your borders. Perhaps try and capture some of your people and submit them to questioning.”

Andy and Boone gave each other a grave look, and then looked back at Keltz simultaneously.

“Well then,” Boone said. “We need to start getting to work, because from what our prisoner is telling us, we've got three days before Ryde finds out we're here, and another three or four days after that, the party begins. We've got at least seven days before we have to start dealing with their shit, so we'd better start coming up with some real fucking good ideas.”