The deep gulp of malty liquor burned in my mouth. To purify myself further, I spread salt on my lips and hands.

  Our 'battleground' was a wide ft rock near the town walls, just outside the ritual borders of Attisa. Hatriv stood a few spaces from me, still wearing his armour, though without a helmet. The scion lifted his hands at shoulder level and turned towards the distant treeline. In a melodious voice, he beseeched Amsama the Forest Lord to grant him righteous victory.

  I made my no prayers. Calling the attention of the kindly gods would have done me no good.

  The townspeople had gathered a few dozen paces away. I had asked them to remain silent and not aid me with songs of their own.

  I couldn't see the knight in the deeper mirage. Sulme had only been able to tell me that Hatriv would be no pushover, but nothing more.

  The knight started his song uncontested. I wanted a feel of his prowess. He sang high, as if his voice hadn't yet broken, but with full control of his tones.

  First came the posturing: an account of the names of his great forefathers and their half-forgotten deeds. Of his own merits he had little so say, except apparently he had felled a rge elk belonging to some forest spirit. Most important of his staves were those detailing how a Prince of Vonir had granted the March of Isso to the freelord's father.

  Hatriv sang of obedience, and called forth curse on those, who transgressed against the sacred order of things. The words were forceful, yet affected me not. Under the Vonir w, the nobleman Ryymi was the freelord's peer, even if of lesser status in practice.

  I gnced towards the townspeople. Those, who understood Vonish, had apparently been affected by the scion's words, as many knelt in prayer.

  The knight's voice began to strain, and good tradition dictated that I should take my turn to sing.

  However, I wasn't sure what poems to chant. As a serpentist, I had never been widely trained in mysteries and incantations. Starting with songs that kill would have been an immense faux pas, possibly bad enough to get spirits of justice interested in the contest.

  I hummed the rhythm of war drums at approach. Without warning the words poured from my throat.

  Of melting shackles, I sang, and of burned whips. I chanted about the poison of many vipers, which overcame the mightiest elk. My song turned to shattered thrones, hidden knives in the dark and the power of fire, which needed no strength of arms to kill.

  Fear fshed on Hatriv's face, but disappeared into rage. "So, you truly are a serpentist!"

  The scion sang of the birth of the first man and woman. How they came from the same egg as equals, yet that harmony was tainted by an unfaithful wife and false children. He sang of the curse of womanhood, the pain of their cycle, the feebleness of their bodies and the agony of childbirth.

  He thought to subdue me with a hex against women. I guffawed into an anguished moan. The insides of my lower abdomen hurt as if raked by talons. I ughed the ughter deranged by pain. Yet despite my mirth, I couldn't handle the torture much longer.

  I sang of the forge, for all bridled fire was Luiheki's own. I reminded the steel, which Hatriv wore, of the heat of its making. His armour was warded with great runes, but their protection was nothing against my Master's might.

  The scion's fear returned to his face. He continued his repetitive chant against my womanhood, while he fumbled to unstrap his armour.

  Though pain fuelled my force, I retained control of myself, if only barely. Screaming the words of crucible and furnace, I walked towards the youth with leaden feet. The scion's words dissolved into a wail.

  I pushed Hatriv over to his back and sat on his stomach. To show that the heat didn't bother me, I pressed my palm against his scalding breast pte.

  My blood sang murder. I had to breath out the worst fumes, before I demanded: "Do you surrender?"

  "Y-yes," the knight, reduced into a boy, whimpered. "Who are you?"

  I grinned wide. "Umu the daughter of Luiheki." I helped Hatriv to his feet and out of his armour. Free from the heat, he ran straight to his horse and galloped towards the fortified manor of his father.

  The pain lingered inside my lower stomach, but it was a bizarrely comforting discomfort. My page brought my horse. It took me a three tries cmber on the saddle. I leaned forward to test my groin. The usual items were still present, as I had assumed, but it didn't dampen my ached glee.

  Sulme cantered to me. "Are you alright?"

  "Yes." I smiled, leaned to him and kissed his cheek. "Come, we are not done yet."

  The crowd cheered, as I rode to them.

  After the worst din died down, I shouted: "Is there a sage among us, who can lead worship in the proper way?"

  The crowd stirred, and a familiar old man was pushed out. He was the head priest at the temple in which I and Sulme had stayed. The sage appeared reluctant but walked to me.

  I dropped off my horse and knelt in front of the sage. "Grandfather, lead a grateful prayer for us."

  "Very well. To which god should we pray?"

  "Luiheki the Free."

  The sage's expression gained even deeper apprehension. While Luiheki was counted among the kindly gods, his worship was burdened by restrictions, all of which I aimed to shatter.

  After the short wavering prayer, the mob stared at me in silence. I got back on my horse and surveyed my followers. Though their support was welcome, most of the townsfolk were less than useless for taking over a fortified manor.

  I listened to the reeve's opinion on the situation and sent a word among the crowd to encourage anyone with any chores or duties to leave. Anyone without a proper weapon was also encouraged to return. If they still wanted to help, they should go fetch food and drink.

  The remaining, armed and ready for the time being, I commanded to form into groups of ten or so people, who already knew each other. These groups were to elect a leader, which would convene with other four group leaders to form a company.

  While the commoners argued over how to group themselves, I called any and all veterans, who weren't already part of the town militia, to my personal audience.

  What came to me was a group of older men. They were mostly intact, though a few boasted rugged unhidden scars or lost limbs. Though they had been willing to stay, it didn't save me from their examining gaze. These were men, who knew what a true commander was like. Most had been in the wars overseas and had only returned home in the st few years. Others had been part of the lesser local wars of recent past. One greybeard went as far as to cim to have fought in the wars against the Nangoans, but I wasn't going to openly doubt him.

  "It is good to have a few men like you to show the rest of Attisans how soldiers act," I said.

  "So you are going to fight the Prince, eh?" a man with a poleaxe asked.

  Some of the men might harbour loyalty to the Tamsi tyrant, despite what the Fulgurite Prince had forced them through.

  "No," I said. "As long as he does not sic his dogs to oppress us. I work only for the Ekran good." I swallowed to keep the next words from burning my tongue. "If the Prince cares about our benefit, then he will support our cause."

  "What about you, dy?" a grim man with more scars than facial hair asked. "You said you were at Surtalm."

  My mouth had bthered faster than my mind could follow. There were no convincing lies, so the unconvincing truth had to do.

  "I was among the Ekran serpentists."

  The eyes opened wide, telling for sure which of the men knew the truth.

  "But..." the scarred man continued. "You are a woman."

  "Yes. Nobody noticed at the time."

  That was all anyone wanted to talk about Surtalm.

  Quicker than I had expected, the town's volunteers were arranged into seven uneven companies. No attempt was there to create proper formations, but we weren't marching off to proper war either.

  A rge number of women remained in the throng. I found myself mulling over, whether or not send them back to town. Such sentiment wasn't quite hypocrisy, considering my experience. Then again, the march to the manor was only a few miles. Besides, the womenfolk would bance and reinforce our communal forces. Men tended to be less willing to show cowardice under female gaze.

  With the town militia in front, and the volunteers trailing behind me, our little army marched across the ploughed and sowed fields. The locals came to watch us, and a few even answered calls from their retives and friends to join the procession.

  My page had a wide smile on his face, as he walked beside my horse. Perhaps it was a young man's excitement over his first campaign, no matter how minor. Or perhaps he had pride over his mistress.

  I leaned and whispered, so nobody else heard us: "What are you smirking about, boy?"

  Karsa the page straightened his posture and wiped away the smile. I grinned to myself.

  The freelord's manor house peeked over stone walls, which were just tall enough to stop any man from scaling them without a dder. Even a small group of men-at-arms could have held the little fortress quite some time against a proper army, something which I didn't have.

  I couldn't hope our numbers to do the work. A fresh commander didn't start a war by gaining reputation as a butcher of their own soldiers.

  My forces spread around the walls outside the easy bow-range to catch any te runaways. I took the handgunners and pikemen in front of the gate to discourage any foolish sorties.

  "Send my demand," I told the reeve. "The terms as following: surrender now, and nobody will be killed. Everyone, save the freelord's family, will be guaranteed passage to the harbour, where they will acquire passage to the coast of the innd sea. The freedy and her son will remain my unmolested guests."

  The reeve forwarded my command and said to me: "I doubt the freedy is willing to become a hostage."

  "Believe me, I am more than willing to string her up as an example. Nonetheless, she must provide an excuse first."

  The reeve gave me a questioning half-amused look. "You don't fear the freelord's revenge, my dy?"

  I ughed. "Out of the high nobility in Ekra, that indolent glutton concerns me the least. By Numma, he might even be grateful to hear of the loss of his fief and family; then he does not need to leave the feast tables of the capital."

  On a nearby hill, three riders appeared. One of them wore full armour. A faded red fg flew above them.

  "Who is that?" I asked my reeve.

  "A local knight."

  "Is he Ekran?" I asked.

  "About as much as you."

  I scowled. "What do you mean by that?"

  "I mean, he talks with simir accent, presumably due to Vonish being his mother tongue."

  My frown deepened. Even though I had learned to speak in courtly manner first, my Ekrish was immacute. It was hardly a second nguage to me, even if I had learned it second.

  The reeve's smirk disappeared, as his eyes blew wide.

  "Send a man to call the knight here," Sulme said. "We'll have to negotiate with the local notables sooner than ter."

  "Yes, of course," the reeve said and hurried away.

  A deep sigh mellowed my pointless anger.

  Save for his distantly Vonish accent, the knight was thoroughly Issoan. To the point I wouldn't have been able to tell him apart from the peasants without his armour. He was altogether pleased with the prospect of casting down the Tamsi freelord. Yet he did acknowledge that the revolt would result in the Ekran nobility losing their privileges and possibly lives, should we fail. The knight went on to cim that he would have joined the recent war on the side of the Ekran cns, if he had heard about it in time.

  "Just to be clear," the knight of the faded red fg said. "You aren't pnning to let the peasants overthrow us local men of good breeding?"

  "I am after no Ekran's ancient rights," I said.

  The knight nodded, said his farewells and departed to 'convene with his kin and peers'.

  Eventually the shape of a spindly woman appeared on top of the gatehouse. Her ochre-brown curls were framed by a rge ce ruff rising behind her head.

  "We will not accede to the demands of brigands," the man next to the freedy shouted. "The word has been sent, and the freelord will return and punish all revolters in the manner most harsh."

  "Buggers." The reeve sighed. "We can send for the town's cannon, though it will take time to get them from the walls and all the way here."

  "Crushing the manor that way would be a waste of shot and powder," I said. "Sulme, can you get a fire arrow through those roof tiles?"

  "Depends on how sturdy they are," the Nilkoan said. "But the household spirits are sure to extinguish any small fire in the rafters."

  I smiled. "Not if the fire is mine."

  After rerolling a paper cartridge to better suit my purposes, I attached a length of grenade match to it and tied it to one of Sulme's arrows. I took my pistol out and pced the end of the match to the chamber holding the spirit.

  "Awake, little Aanu," I cooed. "Serve me well this once, and you will be free. A whole mansion I offer as your meal. Take the match and wait a moment."

  A hot red glow swelled in the iron chamber. The fme flickered and leaped to the match.

  "Now, shoot," I commanded Sulme.

  Gingerly, the Nilkoan took the arrow. With swift movements he drew his bow and sent the lit missile flying in a wobbly arc. The projectile thumped into the tiles. After a small explosion, the fmes disappeared.

  "Didn't work," the reeve opined.

  "Give her time." I cleared my dry throat and sang about the ruthless fire of Surtalm. Those Aanu remembered well.

  Tongues of fme flickered in the roof. A cheer went through my handgunners.

  "Now, chant with me," I commanded and began a song, which was simple to follow, to the glory of Inmo the Mother Wildfire. My own faltering voice was duly reinforced by the fresh voices of the Attisans.

  A counter-song rose from the mansion, but calling forth rain was much more difficult than encouraging an already roaring fme. The air itself and the water in it refused to obey the foreign voices, especially after the humiliation I had served to the scion of the freelord.

  By the time the small dribble fell from the white clouds, the roof of the manor house was a bze. A horn bellowed, and the gate was thrown open. I changed my song into a serpentine litany.

  The din of galloping hooves echoed from the gatehouse. A group of knights in splendid armour poured out.

  "Fire!" the reeve shouted.

  The thunder of the handguns shook the earth. Drawing from Umu's strength, the powder exploded with immense fury. Lead pierced steel, bone and thick bodies of muscle, in carnage of a kind I had not seen since Surtalm.

  The first rank of the knights colpsed, and the second hadn't escaped without wounds either. At my command, the pikemen advanced forward. Soon enough, the remaining bewildered Tamsi warriors, stuck between stone and mounds of dying flesh, were unhorsed and silenced in this life.

  Though my limbs were lead, I left my handgunners to nurse their bruised shoulders and led the intrusion into the tiny fortress.

  Nobody fought us, which was good, because I could barely stand from weariness. The remaining people were quickly rounded up in the courtyard. Even the freedy allowed herself to be herded, though the haughty woman showed no sing of being cowed.

  "Send men to pile every item to the yard," I commanded the reeve. "And have each servant checked, if they are Ekran. If they are, let them go and carry off anything they want, save jewellery and coin. Strip the rest of their valuables."

  "What if the servants are Vonir?" the reeve asked.

  "They might be gentry in disguise, so they stay."

  The freedy's composure couldn't be damaged, not even when the handgunners stripped her of gems, silver and gold. She did try to browbeat me with her steely gaze, but the increasingly uncontrolble fire of the main building maintained my mirth. Having a poised and timid courser mare, taken from the freelord's stable, between my legs did also elevate my mood.

  Two soldiers carried a small but heavy chest to me. They lifted the lid to reveal a hoard of silver and gold.

  "Great. Reeve, distribute one gold coin's worth to each volunteer group for sharing equally, and three per ten men to your militia. Rest of the loot goes to the town council."

  "What about your share, my dy?" he asked, presumably due to no mention of his own share.

  "I will take none. I am not in this for my own gain. Speaking of that, as the freelord's fief is now abolished, any duties over the nd formerly under its direct control go to the Attisa council."

  The reeve mulled the order only for a moment, before he drew a sharp breath. My command made him one of the most powerful men in the March. Yet I had left out any mention of privileges over the nd. His status would be the subject to the sanction of the town council. Ultimately the reeve's power stemmed from whatever authority the locals considered me to have.

  If the reeve was as covetous as I assumed, he would now on give me his fervent support.

  "Excuse me," the freedy snapped. "Are you going to negotiate our terms of surrender?"

  "What surrender?" I asked. "You have been captured in the process of wilful resistance."

  The noblewoman scowled. "You should treat your hostages with better respect."

  "I would have you burned on a stake, but your lot is not worth the wood." I turned to the reeve. "Herd them back into their manor. Let Luiheki grant them swift, if not painless death."

  The bewitched rain blossomed into a real downpour, but at that point the manor had already colpsed. I walked through the scorched doorway and knelt next to the lingering embers.

  "You did well, Aanu. Did you eat your fill? I treated you well, did I not? Now, do you want to dissipate, or would you serve me still?"

  I didn't have to coax the spirit more. It jumped back into the hold of my pistol.

  "Do you want a spirit like that in your gun?" Sulme asked.

  "Why would I not? She will not burn me."

  Sulme frowned, though this time the expression wasn't quite funny. I sighed to concede his point, but I needed every advantage I could get. A fire spirit engorged with human sacrifice was one of them.

  "You disapprove my actions," I said.

  "No, I can't. You did what you needed to." He gestured at our burned surroundings. "This is all strategy. Burning bridges behind us, so to speak. Show no mercy, so the rebellion can expect none."

  "Indeed. Commoner revolts fail the moment when they lose their taste for blood and begin to negotiate. Princes never heed their lessers for a moment more than required to regroup their own forces to crush the insurgents."

  "Would you have let them go, if they surrendered at once?"

  "Of course. I am not a monster." My mouth wavered. "Am I?"

  Sulme opened his mouth but hesitated. He spread his arms, and I pushed to hug him. Fortunately the rain hid my tears.